The fight was clearly over. Rick didn’t get back up, not right away, and not with the kind of fire you’d expect from someone eager to continue. If Max had wanted to, he could’ve kept going, delivering more punishment until someone dragged him off. But there was no need. The answer was obvious. The result was written across the silence of the crowd.
’Was that really the result of the ten million I earned in one go?’ Max thought, staring at his fist, slowly unclenching it. ’Strange... my body doesn’t feel like it’s changed all that much.’
But it had.
’The vow... it didn’t just make me stronger. It increased everything, my strength, my speed, my insight, my flexibility. All of it. Maybe it’s because of my experience... or my ability to replicate what I see.’
His breath slowed, the adrenaline fading into quiet satisfaction.
’An overall improvement in every category, it adds up. Bit by bit, that difference becomes something massive.’
Max was right. As Wolf had once put it, what truly carried his stats, what set him apart, was his experience. That, and his unique talent to mimic others.
It allowed him to know the exact moment to strike, and how to strike with precision. Every technique he used, he could perform at a level few others could match.
There were always arguments in games and real life alike: what made the best build? What stats were the most broken? Which path was optimal?
Thankfully for Max, his vow had carved the perfect path just for him. Even if someone had better raw numbers, it wouldn’t matter, not when he could outmaneuver and outthink them.
Still, he couldn’t ignore the other side of it.
’I did get lucky that the coin landed on red. If it had landed on black... that fight could’ve been a lot more painful. For both of us.’
Eventually, Max began walking over to Print and Erik. The others, still processing what they’d seen, were already handing back the envelope he had given them at the start of the event.
"You were really impressive out there," Print said, offering a slight nod of approval. "Something tells me this won’t be the last time we see each other."
"I hope it’s not for another fight like this," Max replied, brushing dust off his sleeve. "Honestly, I want to be done with all this high school nonsense."
"What do you mean by that?" Erik asked, narrowing his eyes.
"As I said to Rick... my goal is something far bigger than all this," Max said. He turned his back to them and walked toward the exit. "There’s a reason I don’t use our school’s name. I call us the Bloodline Group for a reason."
Erik and Print, the two leaders of Brinherst, exchanged a glance. They didn’t need words, they were both thinking the same thing. And they weren’t the only ones.
Every school present for today’s showdown, including Clapton High, was watching Max as he walked away. Watching the Bloodline Group at his side. The air was thick with envy.
Envy of what they had. Envy of who they were becoming.
It now felt foolish, laughable even, that they had once believed they could take him down.
"As the result of today’s match," Max announced, turning back to the crowd one last time, "the Clapton High alliance is officially abolished. The victor is the Bloodline Group. Everyone here has witnessed it. And if any of you have a problem with it... don’t worry. We’ll be happy to pay you a visit."
With that, he turned away again. No hesitation. No lingering.

Rejected Corps – Missed Call
’It’s better if I call them tomorrow,’ Max thought. ’The school situation’s dealt with... but I still need to make sure the Rejected Corps sees me as valuable. I’ll let things cool down before I check in.’
A few hours later...
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