There was only one individual left on either side who had yet to fight. Because of that, there was no real need for one team to officially send out their next fighter, it was obvious who the final showdown would be between.
Max leaned back, a quiet confidence in his eyes. He knew exactly what Jay was capable of. They’d fought side by side before, back when they first stepped into Clapton together. Jay wasn’t flashy, but he was dangerous.
"Any idea who he’s up against?" Joe asked, keeping his voice low. "I was never high enough up the ranks in Dipter’s crew to keep tabs on the other schools."
The question hung in the air for a mont before Mayson and Crondo turned their attention away from whatever deep dive of last-minute opponent research they were neck-deep in.
"The guy’s na is Reece," Mayson replied.
Right on cue, Reece entered the arena. Broad shoulders, thick arms, and a massive fra, he was practically Jay’s twin in terms of size. But that’s where the similarities ended. His face was all sharp angles and no warmth. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his eyes. It was like watching a machine walk into the room.
The man was bald, or close to it. His head glead slightly under the lights, giving him an even more intimidating presence. His walk was steady, not cocky, just direct.
"Maybe I should call him by his nickna," Mayson added. "They call him the Rhino."
Max raised an eyebrow. "What is it with these guys and nicknas?" he muttered, half amused. Then again, his own crew wasn’t much better. The White Tiger? Really?
Joe smirked. "Can you even talk, you ranger-obsessed freak?"
Max grinned, unable to argue. He had practically given everyone in his circle a title. It was a thing.
"Anyway," Joe continued, "why do they call him Rhino?"
"I think I might have an idea," Steven said, nodding toward Reece. "Look at his trousers."
The group all leaned forward for a better view. Dangling from one of Reece’s belt loops was a keychain, swinging slightly with each step. Attached to it was a small, silver rhino. And around his thick neck, resting above his chest, was a black cord necklace with what looked like a carved rhino horn pendant.
"Wait... is he obsessed with rhinos or sothing?" Steven asked, squinting.
"Haha, I don’t think you guys are going to be laughing so hard once I tell you the story behind it," Mayson said, crossing his arms. "The truth is, Reece was already considered a monster before he ever picked up that nickna."
"Oh?" Max said, curiosity piqued.
"Yeah," Mayson nodded. "Back in his old school, the sports clubs practically fought over him, football, wrestling, even rugby. Everyone wanted him. But Reece wasn’t exactly the team player type."
"What happened?" Joe asked.
"He kept getting into fights," Mayson explained. "Not just scraps, brawls. The kind that cleared out locker rooms. And the way he fought... it was like sothing out of a nature docuntary. He’d throw punches while roaring like so wild animal. No technique, just pure aggression and raw strength."
"The thing was, he would use anything to fight," Mayson continued. "And one day, he literally ran forward, charging headfirst like a madman. Rumor has it, he missed his target completely and slamd straight into a steel door, bent it inward, like it was nothing."
A few eyebrows raised as Mayson said this.
"Ever since then, they’ve called him the Rhino," he added. "Using that massive do of his in fights, breaking through whatever gets in his way. Apparently, after that whole incident, he just leaned into the whole image. Hence the keychains, the necklace, the whole aesthetic."
So of the others exchanged skeptical glances, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously.
"There’s even talk that he’s beco a little too obsessed," Mayson went on. "I’ve heard rumors, yeah, real rumors, that he listens to actual rhino mating calls to psych himself up before fights."
Joe narrowed his eyes. "Alright, now you’re just making crap up."
But just then, right before their eyes, Reece reached into his ears and casually pulled out two wireless earbuds. He tucked them into his pocket without a word.
The group went silent, and they could only imagine what kind of wild noise had been blasting in his ears just monts before. Maybe Mayson wasn’t exaggerating after all.
At the sa ti, Jay entered the ring, stepping forward with a steady, relaxed stride. As soon as he crossed into the cage, both he and Reece locked eyes.
A hush fell over the group.
"Regardless of the rumors," Steven said, arms folded and eyes fixed on the cage, "I think Jay’s got this one in the bag." A confident smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "After all, he’s the sa guy I had a tough ti against too."
Right after Steven finished speaking, a group of girls from Seaton Academy leaned toward each other and started whispering, not very quietly.
"Hey, did you hear that? That old man says he fights kids," one of them muttered with wide eyes.
"Yeah, I was wondering why an old dude was even here in the first place," another added. "I guess he just fights students or sothing. We should probably steer clear."
"And why’s he hanging around a bunch of high schoolers anyway?" a third girl chid in. "Isn’t that, like... kinda creepy?"
Steven twitched. His eye subtly flinched, and his posture stiffened. He had overheard every single word. The girls weren’t exactly subtle with their ’whispers.’ Inwardly, he was crumbling, ntally breaking apart piece by piece.
Slowly, almost pleadingly, Steven turned his gaze toward Max, silently begging for so sort of salvation. A defense. A sentence, anything, to shut down the verbal daggers being thrown his way. After all, the only reason he was even here, in the middle of all this madness, was because of Max.
But Max? Max was lost in his own world, completely unfazed and oblivious to Steven’s silent cries for help.
The gossip only got louder.
"Hey, why don’t you ask for that guy’s number?" one of the girls asked.
"He’s so focused," one of the girls whispered, her tone now dreamy. "And standing right there by Max’s side... I wonder why he’s even here?"
Steven, still recovering from the last barrage of comnts, turned to see who they were now fawning over.
It was Aron.
Of course, it had to be Aron.
’Wait a second... that guy’s not a high school student either!’ Steven ntally shouted. ’Why am I the one getting flak for being here? Is it just because he’s good-looking or sothing? Co on, I don’t even think he’s that good-looking!’
With narrowed eyes, Steven stared hard at Aron, determined to find so kind of flaw, anything to validate himself. But the longer he looked... the worse it got.
For so reason, so ridiculous, infuriating reason, it was like Aron started to sparkle. His skin had this weird healthy glow, his posture was relaxed but strong, and his jawline looked like it was sculpted by actual gods.
Steven had to look away. The sheer perfection was only adding to his internal breakdown.
In a desperate attempt to vent his emotions, Steven cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Co on, Jay! Kick his ass, for the Bloodline Group! Show them what we’re made of!"
His voice cracked a little near the end, but the force behind it was raw and real. Every ounce of his frustration, his embarrassnt, his spiraling inferiority complex, it all exploded out in that single scream. It echoed through the open space, catching the attention of nearly every student watching the match.
And then, after a short pause, Max smiled.
"I couldn’t have said it better myself," he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "We’re making history today."
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