Elio, drenched in sweat and streaked with blood, didn't celebrate. He just stood there, breathing heavily, offering the faintest hint of a smile—half relief, half defiance.
Then he grabbed Jason by the arm and dragged him unceremoniously back to the spectators' area, showing little care or respect.
Without a word, Darian and Arthur stepped forward for their match. Arthur, though still wounded from his earlier battle, looked more capable than Elio had just minutes ago.
"This is going to be an interesting match," Clark said.
"I hope so," replied Clément, not sounding convinced.
Among the students, the conversation was equally focused. Jason, Elio, and Phénix sat side by side, watching the arena.
"I'm betting on Arthur," Phénix said, full of enthusiasm.
"You're only saying that because he's the one who beat you up," Jason replied.
"No, I'm saying that because I know how strong he is."
"Are you sure you really know his full strength? He didn't even go all out when he beat you," Elio added with a smirk.
"Don't start. That just makes him more likely to win anyway," Phénix grumbled.
The two fighters took their positions.
Frank gave the signal to begin.
They approached cautiously. Both launched circular kicks, which were blocked simultaneously. They each took a step back, then rushed at each other again. Arthur threw a left jab, which Darian deflected. Seizing the opportunity, Darian grabbed Arthur's arm and slammed him face-down onto the ground.
"If he keeps using moves like that, this won't last long…" Clément muttered.
But Arthur, showing his raw power, managed to grab Darian by the collar with the arm still locked in the hold. With a grunt, he hurled him violently to the ground. Rising quickly, Arthur tried to follow up with an attack, but was met by a sharp kick from Darian that forced him backward.
Darian was up in a flash. Arthur charged at him. Both threw right hooks simultaneously, but Darian expertly deflected Arthur's punch using his forearm, while his own strike connected hard, sending Arthur sprawling.
"Do they know we're not supposed to hit people on the ground?" Clark asked.
Darian prepared to strike again, but remembered the rule just in time. He stepped back, allowing Arthur to rise.
Arthur struggled to his feet, but then something changed—his body trembled with a violent spasm, and suddenly he stood with ease, as if reborn.
"Don't tell me..." Clark murmured.
Before he could finish the thought, Arthur surged forward with explosive speed—it was like teleportation. Darian barely had time to register the movement before a devastating left hook landed. He managed to block it, but the sheer force sent him flying and nearly shattered his arm.
"He advanced to the next rank... Incredible. We need to stop the fight. He might kill him," Clark said urgently.
"No. Let Frank handle it," Clément replied, eyes gleaming with excitement.
What followed was a storm of blows. Arthur launched a flurry of rapid strikes—jabs, elbows, and knees—that came at Darian like a relentless torrent. Darian blocked some, dodged others, but several landed cleanly, battering his ribs and shoulders. He was forced on the defensive, retreating step by step.
Arthur spun and delivered a vicious spinning backfist. Darian ducked just in time, countering with an upward palm strike to Arthur's chin that snapped his head back, but Arthur barely flinched. He retaliated immediately with a knee to the stomach, driving the air from Darian's lungs.
Despite the pain, Darian lashed out with a sweeping leg kick, catching Arthur's ankle and unbalancing him. As Arthur staggered, Darian went for a takedown, gripping both legs and slamming him to the ground with force. The impact shook the arena, dust rising around them.
Arthur didn't stay down long. With a guttural roar, he twisted and kicked Darian off him, flipping to his feet with surprising agility. The moment he stood, he unleashed a barrage of punches, each one heavier than the last. Darian parried one, two—but the third landed across his jaw, dazing him.
Just as Arthur readied a final uppercut that would end it all—and Frank hesitated to intervene—Darian's body convulsed in a violent spasm. His head snapped back, narrowly avoiding the punch. Leaning backward into a vertical position, he pivoted and drove his right heel into Arthur's temple.
The tide turned.
What came next was unlike anything seen before. The fight escalated in intensity, reaching a level far beyond any previous match. Some spectators, including Lisa and Clark, didn't understand why Frank wasn't stopping it. But Clément, who should have intervened, was instead watching proudly.
He saw this brutal duel as necessary—a chance to finally push his son to his limits, to help him grow and prepare for what lay ahead.
Now both fighters had reached Rank 2. Despite his battered condition, Darian regained the advantage. After all, Arthur had just fought another match before this one.
Darian unleashed his own set of attacks now: rapid-fire jabs, mixed with brutal low kicks that targeted Arthur's damaged thigh. He ducked a wild haymaker and buried a hook into Arthur's side, causing his opponent to groan.
Arthur tried to respond with a spinning kick, but his injuries slowed him. Darian stepped in close, grappled him, and drove his knee into Arthur's stomach twice before tossing him aside like a ragdoll.
With immense effort and resilience, Darian emerged victorious.
The audience was left speechless.