From Bullets To Billions novel Chapter 487

Chapter 487: The Last Bet (Part 2)

It was difficult for Aron to form a full analysis of the matchup in front of him. He had a solid grasp of Na’s capabilities, he’d seen enough of Na’s growth, his raw strength, and the strange new precision he possessed, to make reasonably confident predictions. But Evon was an entirely different problem.

Aron still hadn’t figured out how Evon managed to win every one of his matches with such overwhelming dominance. The man’s movements were deceptively calm, yet each strike carried unnatural power. His reactions didn’t match someone of his build or demeanor. And the way he blocked hits, the way he absorbed momentum, it was almost inhuman.

The only answer Aron could come up with was unsettling:

Evon might be a superhuman as well.

If that was the case, if both fighters inside that cage were operating on a superhuman level, then picking the winner was nearly impossible. Everything came down to variables Aron still didn’t understand.

"We only have one choice," Aron finally said, exhaling. "We have to count on Na. He’s the one working with us tonight, so we put the bet on him."

He didn’t fully trust Na as a committed member of the Billion Bloodline group, not yet. Na was cooperative, yes, but trust was something Aron rarely gave freely. Still, if the situation was as unpredictable as a coin toss, why bet against the person theoretically on your team?

Sheri nodded despite her nerves. She followed Aron’s instruction and made the bet.

The amount was substantial, far more than what an average guest would place, but by now everyone watching this final match was prepared to go all-in.

Inside the cage, the cheering only increased. It didn’t die down like usual right before the bell. If anything, the noise grew louder, a rolling wave of excitement swallowing the room. Everyone knew this was the match they had been waiting for.

Na inhaled deeply.

Evon. I never thought I would be fighting someone from the Gilt Rats.

Of all opponents he imagined facing, a fighter connected to a syndicate-level gang wasn’t high on the list. Knowing who Evon was made the moment heavier.

In a situation like this... should I lose? Would that be safer for me? For the group?

He glanced at Sheri and Aron. Since he hadn’t given them any signal to bet against him, there was a good chance they had placed their hopes, and millions, on him winning. If he intentionally lost, all that hard-earned money would vanish.

He tightened his fists.

He needed to make money for the group. For Max.

After everything that happened to Abby, it felt like the only thing he could do to contribute, to help repair the damage none of them could erase.

There might be consequences for winning, Na admitted inwardly. But we can deal with those later. Max needs this money. That comes first.

The bell rang.

Na took his usual defensive stance.

Evon stepped forward smoothly, feinting a punch before snapping a kick upward. Na blocked it easily with his forearm. Evon didn’t slow down. He moved fluidly, spinning into a heavier kick. Na caught that one too.

Evon’s eyes sharpened.

So I was right earlier... this guy’s actually skilled. Highly trained. But you’re not winning anything if you don’t attack me, friend.

Evon shifted his posture subtly. Then he began purposely leaving openings, obvious ones. His kicks extended too far. His movements slowed just enough to be readable.

Na responded immediately. The compact strikes he countered with were fast and heavy, the kind that could break ribs if he didn’t hold back. Even then, Na was cautious. He didn’t know the full extent of his strength, and he didn’t want to kill anyone in the ring by accident.

But because he held back on power...

He also held back on speed.

And those openings?

Looks like I didn’t need the exoskeleton after all. I could’ve won every fight tonight without it.

Damn it... I keep falling for it.

The frustration wasn’t anger at Evon, it was anger directed entirely at himself. He knew he was holding back too much, but if he didn’t, someone would die. Every punch he threw had to be restricted and controlled. Trying to fight while restraining himself so tightly was draining his focus.

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