Rick had thrown his strongest punch, the same devastating blow that had once stopped even Mayson from getting back up. That same fist had crumpled others before they even knew what hit them.
And yet… There Max stood. Upright. Calm. Smiling.
His lips curled, almost tauntingly, as if to say Was that it?
"Hey… is it just me," Joe asked, blinking in disbelief, "or did Max take that hit on purpose?"
It wasn't just Joe thinking that. From the West side of Brinherst, murmurs echoed the same suspicion.
"I think you're right," Steven said, crossing his arms as he watched from the stands. "I've seen how Max fights. He's too skilled to take a hit like that unless he wanted to. He's got techniques, dozens of them, he could've used to dodge or redirect it."
"Maybe…" Mayson muttered, his mouth swollen and voice raspy, "he was just scared. I've taken punches from Rick. They hurt."
"No," a calm, deep voice said.
It was Aron.
