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  Part- 348:

  Dipa watched silently as Sourov rose to his feet. He was moving too stiffly, fav his injured leg just a little too much. Her heart sank. Something wasn’t right. But again, she said nothing. Now wasn’t the time t it up.

  Sourov stepped onto the mat, feeling the weight of tless eyes on him. The crowd’s cheers blurred into a dull roar in his ears. Jiko, the captain of Badda High, was already waiting on the opposite side. His lean, muscur frame exuded fidence as he rolled his shoulders, preparing for the fight.

  “It’s been a while, Sourov,” Jiko said with a friendly yet sly smile. His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp, studying Sourov’s every movement.

  Sourov forced a tight smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Hello.”

  They bowed to each other, and the referee gave the signal. The match began.

  The tension in the gym was unbearable. Every eye was fixed owo heavyweights as they bowed at the ter of the mat, signaling the start of the final bout.

  From the sidelines, James again sed the glowing stats from his system window. His heart sank as the numbers floated before him:

  **Sourov: bined Power – 202** **Jiko: bined Power – 312**

  The difference was staggering. James bit his lip in frustration. "This isn’t a fair fight," he thought grimly. Sourov was stepping into a battlefield where every move would demand more than just skill—it would take grit, resilience, and maybe a miracle.

  Jiko’s eyes gleamed with calm fidence, his posture steady and low, like a predator waiting to strike. Sourov adjusted his stance slightly, fav his injured knee. Sweat dripped from his brow, and the bandages on his leg felt tighter with every sed.

  Jiko exploded into a. He charged forward, lightning-quick for someone his size. Sourov barely had time to brace before Jiko seized his colr with a crushing grip and yanked him forward. Sourov's feet scraped against the mat as he struggled to stay upright.

  The croed as Jiko twisted his hips and attempted a throw—**Seoi Nage**, the shoulder throw that had earned him his reputation. Sourov staggered but mao hook his foot around Jiko’s leg just in time, disrupting the teique. The two fighters locked in a tense grapple, muscles straining as they fought for trol.

  From the sidelines, Ryan leaned forward, g the edge of the bench. "Don’t let him get under you, Sourov!" he shouted, his voice crag with ay.

  But it was easier said than done. Jiko was relentless. Every time Sourov blocked a throw, Jiko switched tactics, pressing down with crushing force, as if testing how much Sourov’s injured leg could take. Sourov’s face torted in pain, but he gritted his teeth and refused to yield.

  Jiko smirked, sensing Sourov’s disfort. "That knee of yours won’t st," he whispered, just loud enough for Sourov to hear. "You should’ve let your backup fight. You’re only making this worse for yourself."

  Sourov said, "How do yo..."

  Jiko replied, "Easy, when I touched my leg with you leg, I could feel baheir."

  Sourov responded with silence, his jaw tightening. He shifted his weight subtly to distribute the strain on his leg, keeping his grip firm on Jiko’s sleeve.

  Zia felt his pulse qui. **He’s in too much pain,** he realized, watg Sourov’s every move. **If this keeps up, his knee won’t hold.**