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墨書 Inktalez
The young man slumped in a corner of the Ring, his entire body seemingly devoid of strength. His hands hung limply over his knees, and his chest heaved with rapid breaths, as if he had just struggled to the surface from deep water. His vision was blurred, the world around him obscured by sweat and fatigue, while the overhead lights cast halos in his pupils, forcing him to blink several times.
His right eye was swollen, narrowing his field of vision and making everything appear unclear. He wiped his face with his arm, but instead of sweat, he smeared away beads of perspiration mixed with dust and blood, making his face look even more disheveled.
Pain stabbed at his abdomen like needles, radiating from the impact site throughout his body, like invisible currents swirling within him. Each breath made him feel as though his ribs and internal organs were about to tear apart. He glanced down at his sunken protective gear, suppressing a cough that rose in his throat; his stomach churned violently, as if on the brink of pushing him over the edge into chaos.
"This hard battle... is indeed tough," he murmured to himself, a hint of reluctance and exhaustion in his breath. He knew that willpower might keep him going, but whether he could win was another matter entirely. His opponent was not only strong but also experienced, while although his punches were quick, they were not enough to breach the other's defenses.
The pain served as a cruel reminder, incessantly striking at his nerves: You will lose. You can't hold on any longer; give up. No one will blame you.
This thought coiled around his heart like a venomous snake, tightening its grip slowly. He closed his eyes, striving to shake off these negative thoughts, but they kept returning, becoming more vivid with each pang in his abdomen.
Sweat trickled down his forehead; he could feel that his clothes were completely soaked through, every inch of muscle occupied by fatigue and pain. His palm lay open and trembled slightly, the knuckles pale and aching from previous defenses.
He lifted his head, trying to refocus himself, but across the dim light of the Ring sat Hulk in the opposite corner, wiping sweat with a towel, his expression cold and relaxed. That massive figure exuded an undeniable sense of pressure that tightened his chest once more.
"Give up," that voice echoed again, sounding like a whisper from deep within him or perhaps an urging from somewhere outside. He clenched his jaw tightly, determination returning to his gaze. He knew he could not give up; he could not bow down at this moment. Even if the odds were slim, he had to stand up and endure through the next round.
"Surrender is an option, but it is not my choice," he silently told himself as he slowly formed a fist; the pain in his knuckles reminded him that he was still here and still had a chance to fight.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his head once more to face the Ring under the lights. Despite being physically and mentally exhausted, his will still burned brightly.
The young man gasped for air as he struggled to regulate his breathing rhythm, attempting to calm his racing heart. He closed his eyes again, feeling the heavy pressure in his chest from the pain; he pressed his palm firmly against his knee to help himself relax slightly. Sweat droplets slid down his cheeks and fell onto the Ring floor below, leaving faint traces behind.
As he struggled to focus, a dark brown hand suddenly rested on the back of his neck. The grip was firm and steady, causing him to shudder slightly. He opened his eyes wide and turned to look behind him, where a deep, calm voice spoke:
"The Hulk's weakness lies in his movement." The voice carried an undeniable steadiness, as if it were stating an irrefutable fact rather than making a suggestion. "Use your reach to force him to keep moving, make him trip over his own feet."
The young man looked up and met a pair of deep, cold eyes belonging to an unfamiliar face. His mind raced, but he realized he had never seen this person before. He only remembered catching glimpses of the man in the corner of the Boxing Gym, striking the sandbag with powerful punches that made it sway violently. Beyond that, he knew nothing about him.
Those eyes resembled a dark abyss, concealing emotions within, yet the tone carried an authority that was hard to ignore. The young man furrowed his brow slightly, confusion mingling with caution. "Who are you?"
"That’s not important," Mark replied in a low voice, his tone remaining indifferent without any intention of elaboration. He removed his hand from the young man's neck and glanced at the Hulk in the opposite corner before looking back at the young man. "But if you want to win, do as I say."
The young man stared at him, his mind still racing to comprehend why this stranger had appeared at such a moment and offered such advice. He scanned Mark again—from his brown skin to his muscular build and calloused fists—feeling instinctively that this man was no ordinary person.
Mark looked down at him, his expression devoid of unnecessary emotion, only displaying an inexplicable focus. He himself could not understand why he chose to help this young man at that moment. He even questioned whether his actions stemmed from some unconscious instinct. Perhaps it was the young man's stubborn and unyielding eyes that reminded him of his own past. Or maybe he simply wanted to witness a more thrilling match.
Without saying anything further, Mark stepped back a few paces, retreating into the shadows at the edge of the Ring. His gaze remained fixed on the young man, as if waiting—waiting to see if this kid would heed his advice and whether he could use those fists to break through Hulk's seemingly impenetrable defense.
The young man lowered his head for a moment in thought before his expression sharpened with renewed focus. He took a deep breath and raised his gaze toward the Hulk, whose massive figure was currently wiping sweat from his forehead, completely unaware that a new determination flickered in the young man's eyes.
"Ding—!"
The referee sounded the bell to signal the start of the second round, igniting a frenzy among the spectators in the Ring. Cheers and whistles erupted in unison, elevating the atmosphere of the Boxing Gym to another climax.
The Hulk strode forward from his corner, his enormous frame resembling a moving wall that exuded an overwhelming sense of pressure. He raised his fists high and wore a menacing grin filled with confidence. Looking at the young man standing in the opposite corner, he sneered mockingly, "Still not surrendering? Kid, I won’t give you another chance to catch your breath this time!"
He continued to advance, his feet firmly planted on the Ring floor, each step resonating with a thud. A sneer played at the corners of his mouth, as if he could already envision his opponent sprawled on the ground, defeated.
However, the young man across from him unexpectedly smiled slightly. The corners of his lips lifted gently, and a glimmer of relaxed confidence shone in his eyes, as if the previous round's defeat and pain were nothing more than a distant memory. He exhaled softly, quickening his pace, his figure resembling a butterfly flitting gracefully across the Ring.
His movements were agile and swift, as if the disadvantage he had faced in the last round had vanished entirely. Instead of trying to withstand Hulk's power, he utilized his speed to completely evade his opponent's grasp. Whenever Hulk attempted to close in, he would swiftly glide backward, then seize the moment to extend his right arm, delivering a precise jab straight into Hulk's body.
"Smack!"
The punch struck its target with a crisp sound. Despite Hulk's massive size and thick skin, these jabs felt like sharp needles incessantly tapping at him, stirring a hint of irritation within. The young man's punches were not heavy but were remarkably accurate; each jab landed on Hulk's soft flesh at the chest or shoulder, delivering a subtle yet undeniable sting.
The audience beneath the Ring gasped in surprise, their expressions reflecting astonishment and disbelief. They had anticipated that the young man would once again fall into a passive role, possibly being completely overwhelmed by Hulk in this round. Yet now, the situation had flipped entirely. His light and nimble footwork, combined with those pinpoint jabs, left them questioning just how much power this young man truly possessed.
Hulk furrowed his brow; although his confidence remained intact, a flicker of impatience began to creep into his mind. He swung his fists more frequently, attempting to corner his opponent but consistently coming up empty. The rapidly moving figure drove him to frustration, leaving his mind momentarily unable to determine how to strike back.
"What's wrong? Aren't your punches supposed to be powerful?" The young man taunted lightly while dodging, a smirk still gracing his face. "Why do you seem so slow now?"
This remark ignited Hulk's fury completely. Gritting his teeth, he swung harder and quickened his steps, determined to halt the young man's evasive maneuvers directly. Yet every time he drew near, that agile figure would slip away like a gust of wind, leaving behind only rapid and accurate jabs that struck against his ribs and chest, throwing off his rhythm even further.
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