CHAPTER 28: STAND PROUD, YOU’RE STRONG

The power to see five seconds into the future.

C could see every move Theo made, every opening in his stance, every misstep just before it happened. If he activated that ability now, this fight would end differently.

But...

A thought crept into his mind. Not here. Not in front of Neil.

He had already seen it, if he used his ability now, in front of Neil Arkes, what would happen?

What would the consequences be?

Would Neil notice? Would he figure out the truth behind C’s skill? And if so, would he come after C once the match was over?

The risk was too great.

C couldn’t afford to expose his secret, not for a fight that, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t really matter.

That hesitation—the weight of caution, dragged his focus down.

Theo’s punches came relentless, heavy, and fast.

C absorbed a few to the shoulder, another to the chest, and barely dodged one that skimmed past his faceless cheek only thanks to last-second instinct. He was still dodging, still blocking, still moving—but it wasn’t easy anymore.

Each breath came harder. Each movement felt heavier.

Theo looked surprised. His bruised black eyes widened as he kept pressing the attack, and yet C was still standing.

"I didn’t expect this, C!" he shouted, loud enough to make C flinch. "You’re tougher than I thought, you’re actually keeping up with me!"

This fight had already lasted longer than any of Theo’s other fifty matches. C’s endurance, despite lacking brute strength, had shattered his expectations.

But C knew the truth.

He couldn’t win against Theo with strength.

He couldn’t outmatch him in speed either—not with his tired body.

He had to change the game. He had to use what he did have: deep understanding of patterns, of rhythm... and most importantly, of combat psychology.

He needed a new strategy.

When Theo fired off a lightning jab, C didn’t parry.

He stepped forward—closer, letting the jab barely graze his shoulder.

The movement brought him into Theo’s blind spot. But C didn’t strike. Instead, he reached for Theo’s wrist, redirected his momentum, twisted just enough to throw Theo off-balance.

This wasn’t an attack.

It was disruption.

A whisper of contact. A subtle nudge. A shift of angle.

C didn’t punch hard, he didn’t need to. He became a shadow wrapped around Theo’s form, gently guiding his attacks into inefficiency.

A punch meant to strike would now miss by a few degrees. A kick meant to land would suddenly lack balance.

He didn’t fight back with force. He eroded Theo’s rhythm. Turned each of his attacks into small failures that chipped away at his energy.

C became a parasite in Theo’s flow.

And Theo felt it.

His eyes widened again, disbelief flashing in his gaze.

His fists, once deadly and precise, now missed or landed with weakened impact.

He tried adjusting his timing, changing his tempo, but C had seen this before. A thousand times before.

He knew every shift in Theo’s stance, every twitch of a muscle. He stayed inside his rhythm, unraveling it thread by thread.

But even so...

Even with all that experience.

There was a limit.

Because Theo was Theo.

The protagonist.

In every loop C had lived, Theo always found a way to win.

And now, he was adapting again.

The hesitation in his movements was vanishing. His strikes came faster, stronger, no longer so easily disrupted. He was regaining control.

He began to strike with clearer intention, focused force.

And they landed.

C was punched. Kicked. Tossed.

The doubt—the refusal to use his power, had become a weight dragging him down.

C let out a bitter laugh, barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

So this... is my limit.

Even with all this experience... even with strategy and timing... he still couldn’t win. Not when fate itself fought against him.

This was his ceiling. The limit of a background character.

Theo had taken control again, like gravity reasserting itself.

One final hook—clean, brutal, landed square.

C felt his whole world spin. Pain exploded through his skull. Darkness nipped at the edges of his vision.

He crashed to the ground, the ring’s concrete floor cool against his back.

The referee didn’t hesitate. He declared Theo the winner.

The crowd erupted, chanting Theo’s name like a victory anthem.

The commentator screamed himself hoarse, repeating the name The Unbroken over and over.

C’s vision blurred, but through it, he saw Theo step closer and offer a bruised, outstretched hand.

"Stand proud. You’re strong," Theo said. His voice was raw but sincere.

C felt a lump in his throat. His eyes stung.

If only...

If only I were more than a background character.

If only I wasn’t trapped in this goddamn loop.

If only I could use all of my strength without consequences.

Would I have beaten him then?

The question hung in the air, bittersweet and silent.

From the shadows, Neil Arkes clapped slowly. That twisted smile of his stretched wider.

He would profit once again from Theo’s victory.

But there was something new gleaming behind his lazy eyelids—an interest. In C.

An interest in what he was.

Beside Neil, the club owner sighed in frustration, visibly upset at having to pay out once again.

Theo and C, both exhausted, dragged themselves to the resting room. Their steps were heavy, but a strange sense of peace followed them.

The scent of sweat and disinfectant clung to the thick, humid air. Theo wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth while C gently touched the faceless area that still throbbed with pain.

They dropped onto the bench, backs against the wall, lungs desperate for air.

"You’re insane, C," Theo murmured, voice hoarse but filled with respect. "I don’t know how the hell you stayed on your feet that long. Your endurance is unreal."

C chuckled weakly. A dry, breathless sound. "You too, Theo. Your punches... they’re something else. I’ve never faced that kind of strength—anywhere. And your strategy at the end... caught me off guard."

"You’ve got a weird strategy too," Theo replied, offering a crooked grin. "I’ve never been that frustrated in a fight before."

Silence settled between them. Comfortable. Bruised. Tired.

Then, C’s phone buzzed.

He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. The soft glow of the screen lit up his blank face.

Luna Destiara’s name flashed across the screen, her bright profile picture smiling back at him.

She was calling.

C stared at the name for a moment... then picked up.

[C! Hurry! They’re already gathering outside Ivansia’s house!]

The panic in her voice snapped him upright.

What?!

They weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow!

"Wait for me, Luna! Just hold on!" C yelled, heart pounding.

He shoved it back into his pocket and turned.

Theo was already at the door, bag in hand, panic written across his face.

He bolted out without a word, and I without thinking, rushed after him.