Xavier had made up his mind.
Ranked fights weren't supposed to be reckless gambles. Every fighter knew that stepping into one meant accepting the brutal reality of the academy's hierarchy—win, and move up. Lose, and stay exactly where you were.
At rank 306, he wasn't supposed to challenge someone at 299.
The gap was too wide.
The academy's unwritten rules dictated that fighters climbed in increments, carefully choosing their battles, waiting for the right moment to strike. But Xavier didn't care about tradition. He didn't care about what was supposed to happen.
He wanted to move up.
And the only way to do that was to break the rhythm—to do something nobody expected, something even his opponents wouldn't be prepared for.
So he stepped into the ring.
The crowd wasn't enormous, but it was big enough—fighters who had heard about his challenge gathering just to see how badly he was about to lose.
His opponent, Rank 299, stood ready, confidence evident in his stance. He knew Xavier was out of his depth, and he wasn't worried.
At least, not yet.
The fight started.
The first strike came fast—a brutal jab that snapped Xavier's head sideways. The impact sent a sting through his jaw, but he barely had time to absorb it before his opponent closed the gap again, pressing forward with a devastating knee aimed at his ribs. He twisted just in time, minimizing the damage, but the sheer force of it rattled his bones.
Then came a spinning kick. Xavier saw it late. He ducked on instinct, the air slicing above him, but his opponent was relentless—already shifting his stance, already preparing the next attack. A low kick shot toward Xavier's shin. He reacted fast, lifting his leg to block, but the moment his foot touched the ground again, another fist came crashing toward him.
Pain erupted across his cheekbone. The hit landed clean.
He stumbled back, adjusting, searching for an opening—but none came.
His opponent was faster. More precise. Every time Xavier moved, the next attack was waiting.
And the audience knew it.
Murmurs filled the arena, quiet but growing. He wasn't winning—he was enduring.
Another jab. Xavier dodged it. A kick to the side—he twisted away. His body ached, breath coming in sharp bursts, sweat stinging his eyes.
Then came the worst part.
Doubt.
Xavier felt it creeping in, clawing at the edges of his resolve. His opponent was too good. Every strike Xavier threw was seen before it landed. He wasn't just fighting someone stronger—he was fighting someone smarter.
So how did he win?
He clenched his fists. His opponent was already stepping forward, preparing the finishing sequence—ready to end this battle cleanly, decisively, efficiently.
That was his mistake.
He assumed it would go according to plan.
Xavier shattered that assumption.
Instead of retreating—he rushed forward.
Instead of dodging—he absorbed the impact.
The next strike crashed into his ribs, but he didn't flinch. His opponent's expression shifted—just for half a second, a flicker of uncertainty. Xavier seized it.
A wild elbow shot upward, landing squarely against his opponent's jaw. Then a knee—sharp, controlled—driving into his gut. Not enough to knock him out, but enough to shake his balance.
Enough to shift control.
The audience murmurs halted, tension thick in the air. His opponent adjusted, realizing—too late—that Xavier had changed the rhythm.
The fight wasn't going the way it was supposed to anymore.
And Xavier wasn't done.
He ducked low, sweeping forward—then twisted sharply, launching a powerful roundhouse that cut through space and crashed into his opponent's ribs. The impact sent him stumbling sideways.
He recovered fast. But Xavier wasn't stopping.
He wouldn't let him reset.
A fist connected with his opponent's shoulder. Another kick followed—this time straight to the chest, forcing him back further. Xavier pushed forward, breaking him down, breaking the rigid structure of his defense, forcing him into unfamiliar territory.
For the first time in the match, Rank 299 looked uneasy.
And that was enough.
Xavier exhaled, gaze sharp, body aching—but still standing.
"If I can't win like this..." his voice was low but certain, "then I'll win another way."