Part- 353:

  Jiko’s fident expression faltered as Sourov overpowered him with sheer will. In a sudden burst of strength, Sourov executed a perfect throw, smming Jiko onto the mat.

  The referee’s whistle blew, signaling the end of the match.

  The arena echoed with the roar of the crowd as Sourov stood over Jiko, the referee’s whistle pierg through the cacophony of noise. He was breathing heavily, every inhation a reminder of the battle he had just fought. Jiko y o, staring up at the ceiling, disbelief etched across his face. For a moment, time stood still as reality settled in.

  “Impossible...” Jiko muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper. His mind raced through every calcuted sario, every training session that had led him to this moment. He had been so sure of his victory. Yet here he was, defeated by a fighter he had dismissed as inferior. A slow, relut smile crept onto his lips, realizing that he had uimated Sourov’s spirit. It was his st high satch, and though he hadn’t won, he could at least respect the fight Sourov had given him.

  With a heavy sigh, Jiko slowly stood up, extending a hand toward Sourov. “Good match,” he said sincerely, his voice carrying a hint of admiration.

  Sourov, still riding the adrenaline of victory, reached out to shake his hand. But the moment he made tact, a wave of pain surged through him, and his legs gave out beh him. He colpsed to the mat, a scream of agony tearing from his throat as he clutched his injured knee.

  “Sourov!” The worried voices of his teammates cut through the din of the crowd. James, Ryan, Zia, and the rest of the team rushed to his side, their faces pale with fear and .

  Zia k beside Sourov, looking at him with wide, guilty eyes. “He’s been pying with an injury this whole time,” Zia fessed quietly, his voice trembling. The revetion hung in the air, thick with the weight of truth. Everyoared at him in stunned silence, realizing the toll Sourov had paid to secure this victory.

  Sritted his teeth, trying to hold baother scream as pain shot through his leg like lightning. The reckless use of Crazy Mode had pushed his body beyond its limits, and now he aying the price. The exhiration of the fight faded, repced by a stark crity of his situation. This was not how it was supposed to end.

  As he y there, Coach Gi beside him, studying the injury with a serious expression. “We o get him to the physi. Now,” Coach Gin urged, his voice filled with urgency.

  The team moved to help Sourov off the mat, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something deep within him had broken. He had fought fiercely, defying the odds, but at what cost?

  As his teammates lifted him, Sourov’s mind spiraled into a tempest of flig emotions. The adrenalihat had fueled him moments before was repced by a suffog weight of despair. **What had he done?** The echoes of the crowd faded, and all he could hear was the thumping of his heart—a reminder of his vulnerability.

  **“I fought so hard,”** he thought, staring at the bright lights above. **“But is this how it ends? With a victory that feels like defeat?”**