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Novel Catalog
Chapter 135
Skadi and her companions had already descended from the second level to the arena floor. With staff blocking the stairwell, they could not return upstairs to comfort Bianca.
Their coach, brow furrowed, called out, “Bianca, stay vigilant. You left an opening by pressing the attack too eagerly!”
Bianca took a steadying sip of mineral water and inclined her head in agreement. She admitted to herself that she had indeed let her guard drop. Though she had spent hours studying Black Widow’s striking style in recordings and modelled her training accordingly, nothing could substitute feeling an opponent’s raw speed and power in person. The first round had been her chance to gauge those very qualities.
“In this next round,” the coach continued, voice firm, “you must prioritize defense. Let her expend her energy, then look for an opening as the clock winds down.”
Bianca nodded once more. She had unleashed most of her strength in the opening minutes and now needed to conserve what remained.
The referee’s whistle cut through the roar of the crowd. Bianca pressed herself back into position, leaning against the ropes to find her center. Soon she and Black Widow met again at the ring’s heart.
As the official counted down—three, two, one—both fighters slipped into motion, feet dancing across the canvas. Black Widow probed with lightning-fast jabs, while Bianca adopted a guarded stance, her knuckles raised.
The first three blows came in quick succession, each one parried cleanly by Bianca’s forearms. Undeterred, her opponent followed with a straight punch and then a sweeping hook. Bianca’s reflexes held firm, and she wedged backward just enough to evade half the power. Each time she blocked or sidestepped, cheers erupted from her corner. The coach pounded his glove-clad fist and barked, “Exactly—defend first, then strike!”
Yet Black Widow’s icy gaze never wavered. She pressed forward relentlessly, and soon Bianca’s fair arms were reddened with the impact of each blow.
From the railing, Skadi’s voice trembled. “Bianca keeps absorbing hits. Why won’t she counterattack?”
Hera gripped Nash’s sleeve. “She can’t win—this Black Widow is unstoppable.”
Nash crossed his arms, expression calm. “Black Widow is the Dark Lord’s daughter,” he said quietly. “She began boxing at age three. Ordinary challengers don’t stand a chance.”
Skadi stared at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”
He offered a half-smile. “I looked her up online.”
Hera snorted. “You haven’t touched your phone since we left the car.”
“When you all were cheering,” Nash said, “I skimmed some background on Black Widow.”
In truth, Nash needed no digital research. Years ago, after a narrow escape following an assassination abroad, he’d sought refuge in a derelict boxer’s training hall. A down-and-out fighter had saved him from pursuers and nursed him back to health. That boxer’s dream was to fight in the World King of Fighters Championship, a brutal contest reserved for Golden Belt holders and overseen by the legendary Dark Lord himself.
Although Nash was already a grandmaster of the ninth stage—a rank far removed from the ring—he’d shared whatever technical knowledge he could to help the boxer reach international competition. Within months the underdog reached the World Championship, and Nash became both his coach and agent under the alias McNash. By year’s end, that humble fighter claimed the Golden Belt.
Now, understanding the Cold Widow’s pedigree, Nash merely watched as Bianca absorbed each strike, waiting for the moment when her opponent’s relentless flurry would finally ebb.