Part- 363:

  Zia exhaled sharply, still brimming with frustration, but there was a flicker of hope in Ryan’s words. He knew his teammate was serious. If anyone could turn things around, it was Ryan.

  Coach Gin gave a small nod, signaling Ryan to prepare for his match. The fate of the team now rested on the remaining fighters. They had no room left for mistakes—each victory was crucial from here on.

  As Ryan adjusted his gi and began warming up, the crowd buzzed with anticipation. Zia sat down heavily, his frustration still simmerih the surfaabi offered him a small, uanding smile, but Zia only shook his head, muttering under his breath, “I’ll do better ime.”

  The scoreboard stood at **1-3**, and Banani High's hopes of advang iour now rested on the shoulders of their remaining fighters.

  ---

  Ryan’s determination was unwavering, and the tension in the gym was electric as everyone braced for the fight. This was the turning point—the moment where Banani High would either stage a eback or fall further behind.

  The tension in the air was electric as **Ryan** stepped onto the mat. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation—this was a critical moment for Banani High. **Ryan had to win**, or the petition would all but slip out of their grasp. Across from him stood **Shahed**, the sed-stro fighter on Mohammadpur High’s team, exuding fidence from every muscle in his tall, lean frame.

  - **Ryan’s Stats:** 264 - **Shahed’s Stats:** 305

  Shahed grinned, crag his knuckles as he took his stance. “Ryan,” he sneered, “still riding on luck, huh? I’ve been waiting for this.”

  Ryan’s expression remai, unfazed by Shahed’s taunts. “Luck doesn’t win matches. Skill does.” His voice was calm, yet razor-sharp, as if cutting through Shahed’s arrogah ease.

  he edge of the mat, **James** folded his arms, watg his friend with a faint, knowing smile. Ryan was the kind of person who **thrived under pressure**. When things were toughest, Ryan always found a way to turide, verting pure talent and grit into victory.

  The whistle shrieked through the gym, kig off the match. Shahed lunged first, aiming to secure a grip on Ryan’s shoulders and overwhelm him with his raw power. But **Ryan was quick, slippery as a shadow**, dodging with a feint. In one fluid motion, he caught Shahed’s sleeve and shifted his weight.

  **Bam!** Shahed hit the mat hard, the sound eg through the gym as the croed. The impact rattled the floor, stunning everyone—including Shahed himself, whose eyes widened in disbelief. **Ryan’s perfectly-timed shoulder throw** had taken him down before he could eveablish a solid stance.

  From the crowd, a chorus of excited whispers and giggles erupted from **Ryan’s fan girls**.

  “Did you see that throw? Oh my God, he’s amazing!” one of them squealed, gripping her friend’s arm. “He’s so calm, even under pressure! How does he do it?” another chimed in, her eyes sparkling. “I swear, Ryan’s cooler than anyone else in this eour, of course, James too,” one girl added with a dreamy sigh.

  Ryan, however, paid no mind to the chatter. His attention remained ser-focused on Shahed, who scrambled to get ba his feet, frustration painted across his face. But **Ryan didn’t give him an inch**.