Chapter 322: The Battle For Revenge 2

Before Nemesis could throw a punch, the bell rang, signaling the end of the round.

"No way!"

"Damn it! Just when things were getting interesting!"

The audience erupted in protests. They had been waiting for an explosive exchange, only to have the round end before Nemesis could land a single blow.

But their frustration was far from over.

The next two rounds unfolded in much the same way.

Nemesis remained light on his feet, his movements fluid as he circled Rocky. He wasn’t in a hurry to attack. Instead, he watched, observed, and tested his opponent’s reactions.

Every time Rocky lunged at him, Nemesis simply slipped out of range.

A sidestep. A pivot. A slight shift of his shoulders.

That was all it took to make Rocky’s punches miss.

Nemesis barely seemed to be trying, yet Rocky couldn’t land a single clean hit.

The audience’s initial excitement gradually gave way to impatience.

"Come on, Rocky! Hit him!"

"Stop dancing around and fight!"

"Finish him already!"

The shouts grew louder, echoing through the arena.

Rocky gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting with every missed punch. He didn’t need the audience to tell him what to do. He wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into Nemesis’s smug, masked face.

The problem was that he couldn’t even touch him.

Nemesis was simply too fast.

By the fourth round, even Nemesis seemed to have had enough of the one-sided chase.

He suddenly changed tactics.

Instead of waiting for Rocky to attack, he took the initiative.

Rocky seized the opportunity and threw a powerful right punch.

This time, however, he had anticipated Nemesis’s movement. The instant Nemesis slipped to the left, Rocky followed with a sharp left hook, aiming to catch him before he could retreat.

For the first time, the audience thought Rocky might finally land a hit.

But Nemesis was already one step ahead.

He bent backward, narrowly evading the hook. Before Rocky could recover, Nemesis swept his leg out from under him.

THUD!

Rocky crashed onto the canvas.

A stunned silence fell over the arena.

For a moment, thousands of eyes remained fixed on the fallen fighter.

Then Rocky pushed himself upright.

The sweep and the fall hadn’t done much damage. He was strong, and it would take far more than that to put him down.

But strength alone wouldn’t save him.

Rocky had barely regained his footing when Nemesis darted forward and drove a straight punch into his face.

BAM!

The impact snapped Rocky’s head backward.

Before Rocky could retaliate, Nemesis had already retreated beyond his reach, leaving him swinging at empty air.

The crowd watched in disbelief.

This was no longer a contest of brute strength. Nemesis was dismantling Rocky’s confidence one calculated strike at a time.

And for the remainder of the round, he continued the same infuriating strategy.

Strike.

Retreat.

Wait for Rocky to overcommit.

Then, strike again.

Nemesis never stayed within reach long enough for Rocky to unleash his full power. He would dart in, land a clean hit, and slip away before Rocky could counter.

It was a maddening game of cat and mouse, and Rocky was losing.

With every blow he received, his anger intensified. His breathing grew heavier, his movements more reckless, and his punches increasingly wild.

"You son of a bitch!" he roared. "Stop running and fight me like a man!"

Nemesis didn’t even bother to respond.

He merely tilted his head, as though Rocky’s insults amused him.

That only made Rocky angrier.

He cursed and lunged again and again, throwing punches with enough force to knock an ordinary opponent unconscious. Yet every strike missed its mark.

Worse, his frustration was beginning to work against him.

The harder he swung, the more energy he wasted. His shoulders grew heavy, his footwork began to falter, and his once-powerful attacks gradually lost their precision.

Nemesis, meanwhile, appeared almost untouched.

Then another straight punch slammed into Rocky’s head.

His vision blurred for an instant. He staggered, struggling to steady himself as a dull ache spread across his skull.

Fortunately, the bell rang.

Rocky stumbled back toward his corner, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Sweat trickled down his temples, and his fists trembled—not from fear, but from the strain of fighting an opponent he couldn’t seem to touch.

He had faced plenty of formidable fighters before. But none had ever made him feel so helpless.

As he lowered himself onto the stool, a sharp throbbing pulsed through his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear the haze clouding his thoughts.

Then, without warning, something stirred deep within his memory.

A fragment. A voice.

A scene from years ago that he had long since forgotten—or perhaps had desperately tried to forget.

Rocky’s eyes snapped open.

Wait...

His breathing caught in his throat.

That movement. That fighting style.

Why did it feel so familiar?

And then, like a door that had remained locked for years suddenly creaking open, a memory began to surface.

...

He was at the gymn training a slender teenager. He had knocked her out a few weeks ago causing her to be hospitalized.

Now she was back after three weeks.

When the girl stepped back into the gymn, the change was undeniable. Her stance was steadier and her eyes colder.

This time, when Rocky threw a punch, she dodged it, every single one. Her movements were fluid and calculated. And when she struck back, her punches connected—light as they were, they still landed and he felt a slight pain.

Once she landed a punch, she would retreat immediately.

His frustration was palpable. Though her hits barely fazed him physically, his ego took the brunt. Each time she slipped out of his reach, his growls of irritation grew louder.

Though she wasn’t strong enough to hurt him yet, Lara had found her edge. For the first time, she saw Rocky’s confidence falter. He became more distracted as he focused on hurting her, and his punches became more forceful but careless.

She spotted an opening. She was too small to land a powerful uppercut—her punches barely reached his chest.

Instinct took over. In the heat of the moment, she shifted her weight and launched a front kick, aiming high.

Her foot connected with a sharp crack against his chin. His head snapped back, and a fragment of white flew from his mouth, mingled with a spray of crimson.

"F*ck! #@^!" Rocky spat, clutching his jaw as he staggered. The air was thick with the sting of sweat and humiliation. Enraged, he lunged toward the girl who did not even reached his chin, bellowing a string of obscenities.

But the little girl was quick, darting around the gym like a shadow. She weaved between punching bags and ducked under equipment, her small frame giving her an edge in agility.

His own heavy steps thundered after her, his breath becoming labored with each failed attempt to catch her.

Panting and worn down, he faltered.

The girl seized the opportunity. With precision, she unleashed another kick, this time striking him squarely in the face. The impact reverberated through the room.

"I’ll... I’ll kill you, you b*tch!" Rocky snarled, his words dripping with venom.

But his curses became his downfall. Every time he opened his mouth to bark an insult, Lara found her chance. Another kick, and then another, each one striking hard. His once-dominant stance crumbled under her relentless, calculated strikes.

For the first time, he felt fear of the little girl. He could see that she felt something new coursing through her veins—power.

She was no longer the helpless girl he brutally beat weeks earlier. She was fighting back, and with each kick, her confidence surged. For once, she wasn’t just surviving. She was winning.

After she was done, his face was badly bruised, just like she was three weeks ago. She took out her gloves and threw them over him, who was sprawled on the ground.

That was one of the greatest humiliation in his life.

To be beaten by a little girl who was less than half his size.