The Colosseum's radiant light flooded the arena once more. The deafening cheers of tens of thousands of spectators echoed from every direction, rebounding against the marble walls already riddled with cracks from countless devastating impacts.
At the center of the arena, two figures still stood facing one another.
Tiago Ghost Moreira.
And Asterion, the Guardian of the Forest.
Both of them breathed heavily.
Blood trickled down Tiago's temple, soaking the bandages wrapped around his arm.
Across from him, dark crimson blood flowed from the corner of Asterion's mouth, staining the brown fur across his broad chest.
The mockery had vanished.
The smug smiles were gone.
After exchanging dozens of crushing blows, they had both come to understand a single truth.
The opponent before them could not be defeated with a single strike.
Tiago wiped the blood beneath his nose.
"...Damn."
He clicked his tongue.
"His endurance is completely absurd."
Normally, the mythical creatures he had hunted would have begun losing their balance after enduring such a relentless barrage.
Goblins.
Trolls.
Even Minotaurs.
Yet the centaur before him still stood tall, as though his body had been forged solely for war.
On the opposite side, Asterion stared at the human without blinking.
His chest still ached where Tiago's fists had repeatedly struck the junction between his human torso and equine body.
His grip tightened around the haft of his giant axe.
This human...
He doesn't fight with strength alone. He fights with observation.
Silence settled over the arena.
Not a single spectator uttered a word.
Everyone waited to see who would make the first move.
Slowly, Asterion raised his colossal axe.
Its gleaming blade reflected the sunlight with blinding brilliance.
Tiago drew a long breath, glancing briefly at the bandages wrapped around his left arm.
"Well... now that it's been exposed..."
"What choice do I have?"
His fingers reached for the bandage and slowly loosened the knot.
Layer after layer unraveled, revealing several dark red capsules hidden beneath the wrappings.
Libra watched without blinking.
"So..."
she murmured softly.
"At last... you're going to reveal humanity's weapon."
The bandages fell away completely.
Tiago picked up one capsule and swallowed it without hesitation.
Within seconds...
the world around him slowed.
The audience's cheers stretched into distant echoes.
Their movements became sluggish, as though time itself had slipped into slow motion.
Even the light around him blurred at its edges.
He looked down at his trembling hand.
Bulging veins rose beneath his skin.
A low groan escaped his lips as he struggled against the side effects rapidly spreading through every inch of his body.
"So... this is what it feels like..."
"No wonder these drugs are forbidden."
His voice was barely audible, spoken more to himself than anyone else.
Tiago clenched his fist.
His muscles tightened like steel cables heated in a blazing furnace.
Libra unconsciously held her breath.
A strange mixture of admiration and horror crossed her face.
Because what stood before her was no longer merely a clash of muscle against muscle.
It had become an extreme experiment.
Natural strength... versus engineered strength.
Asterion stomped the ground.
Marble dust erupted like a miniature sandstorm.
But before he could attack—
Tiago vanished.
Asterion blinked.
His eyes darted left and right, searching for the human.
Five seconds later—
The sickening crack of bone echoed through the arena.
A fist struck his jaw with the force of a sledgehammer.
A spinning kick slammed into the side of his chest immediately afterward.
Tiago moved like a brutal dance—
a seamless fusion of Capoeira and Kung Fu.
Every step flowed effortlessly.
Every strike carried deadly intent.
It was as though each movement followed the rhythm of a song written only to destroy.
Asterion struggled to stabilize himself.
Yet Tiago seemed to have already deciphered every defensive motion the centaur attempted.
He attacked relentlessly.
Gone was the elegant, calculated Street Symphony from earlier.
Now there were only fists.
Knees.
Elbows.
An endless storm of violence crashing down without pause.
Inside the medical ward, giant monitors displayed the battle in crystal clarity.
Hayama, his body still wrapped in bandages, watched without blinking.
Bittersweet admiration flickered within the old ninja's eyes.
"Power obtained through force is never a warrior's true path."
"It merely delays destruction."
"It never prevents it."
Back in the arena—
Another explosive impact thundered across the Colosseum.
Tiago drove his fist into Asterion's chest with all his might.
Metal.
Flesh.
Bone.
The sounds collided into one deafening crash.
The centaur was launched backward, smashing into the arena wall hard enough to crack the marble like a falling tree.
Tiago remained standing in the center of the battlefield.
His chest rose and fell violently.
His eyes had turned blood-red.
The pounding of his heartbeat roared inside his ears like war drums.
The entire world seemed to pulse in slow motion, as though submerged beneath thick water.
Yet his body moved far faster than his own consciousness could follow.
Every muscle.
Every vein.
Felt like burning steel wire.
"Hold together..."
Tiago muttered to himself.
He charged again before the centaur could rise.
His right fist crashed into Asterion's chest once more.
The Guardian roared.
Black blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.
The massive four-legged body staggered backward.
But it still refused to fall.
Asterion glanced over his shoulder.
Then lashed out with both hind legs—
like a warhorse throwing off its rider.
The kick landed squarely on Tiago's chest.
The tattooed fighter was hurled backward several meters.
His bones creaked.
His lungs tightened painfully.
Yet Tiago merely spat blood...
and smiled faintly.
As though pain no longer held any meaning.
On the Technology Throne, the President unconsciously straightened.
His expression hardened.
"His body is beginning to reject the drug..."
he whispered.
"He's falling apart from the inside."
"But his will still refuses to surrender."
Asterion wiped away blood and sweat.
His breathing grew heavier.
Yet the determination in his eyes burned brighter than ever.
Softly—
almost like a prayer—
he whispered,
"I must protect the forest fairies..."
"And my people."
His trembling fingers reached for his nearly shattered axe.
Yet his grip had never been stronger.
On the opposite side of the arena, Tiago had dropped to one knee.
His chest heaved violently.
Each breath scraped through his throat like steel dragged across stone.
"Damn..."
"The side effects..."
"They're far worse than I expected."
Dark blood streamed from his nose and left shoulder.
His vision blurred.
The roaring crowd spun before his eyes.
Then—
A single silhouette among the mythology stands froze him in place.
"...Lucia?"
he whispered.
His gaze pierced through the roaring audience.
There—
among the forest spirits—
stood a young spirit dressed in leafy green.
Her hair.
Her eyes.
Everything reminded him of his little sister.
He slowly shook his head.
"...Ah."
"So it's just a hallucination."
His bitter whisper barely escaped his lips.
Yet tears had already begun running down his cheeks, carving bright trails across a face stiffened by pain.
He looked toward Asterion, who was still struggling to stand.
Then—
something inside Tiago quietly began to collapse.
"Hey..."
"Big guy."
His voice was soft.
"Why..."
"Why are you fighting so hard?"
Asterion lifted his head.
He looked at Tiago through bruised, bloodied eyes.
"Because..."
"I am the Guardian of the Forest."
"The keeper of peace."
His voice was hoarse—
yet unwavering.
It rang through the Colosseum like the toll of a bell echoing through thick fog.
Tiago fell silent.
His lips trembled before he finally spoke.
"I see..."
"So you're someone protecting your family, huh?"
He drew a deep breath.
His voice cracked.
"What do you think..."
"...family really means?"
The arena suddenly fell silent.
A warm breeze swept across the marble floor, gently stirring Asterion's beard and long hair.
The centaur closed his eyes.
He inhaled deeply.
Then smiled faintly despite the pain carved into his battered body.
"Family..."
he said softly.
"...is the place where someone is always waiting for you to come home."
Those words fell into Tiago's heart like the first rain after a merciless drought.
He saw his mother again.
Her aging hands folded together in prayer during the endless nights of Rio.
Then Lucia—
his little sister—
running through the narrow alleyways.
Perhaps stopping by the sea...
wondering when her brother would finally return.
Now...
amid the cheers of thousands of beings...
amid the glow of divine weapons...
Tiago realized how empty he truly was.
He had abandoned the home that had never stopped waiting for him.
His body trembled.
Not because of the drug consuming his flesh.
But because guilt was slowly devouring his soul.
"...Then I'll simply cripple you."
"And let you go home to your family."
"If you can't move anymore..."
"That still counts as my victory, doesn't it?"
Tiago slowly stood.
His voice was calm...
almost joking.
Asterion looked at him.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Yes."
"And the same goes for you."
"Perhaps I'll break both your legs..."
"...and let you return to your family."
"My family?"
Tiago let out a dry laugh.
It sounded far more bitter than any mockery.
"I don't think..."
"I have one anymore."
"Is that so?"
Asterion took a step forward.
Then—
without the slightest trace of arrogance—
the centaur spoke words no one in the Colosseum could have imagined.
"If one day you lose the place you call home..."
"...our forest will always welcome anyone who comes without the intent to harm it."
The words struck Tiago speechless.
There was warmth in that voice.
Gentleness.
Not even the slightest hint of hatred toward the man who had nearly torn him apart moments before.
Without realizing it, Tiago's shoulders relaxed.
He shifted into another stance.
"Thank you."
His reply was flat.
Yet a faint tremor lingered within it.
"...Maybe I'll stop by someday."
His posture changed completely.
The aggressive tension left his muscles.
His fists slowly unclenched.
His hands opened.
His feet settled into a stance meant not for striking—
but for deflecting.
"Master! Look!"
a spectator cried out in shock.
"Indeed."
A bald Shaolin monk seated among the audience answered calmly, his voice resonating like a temple bell.
"That..."
"...is a Shaolin stance."
Amid the dust-filled arena, the two warriors faced each other once more.
No longer merely enemies seeking to sacrifice one another—
but two souls,
each searching for a different reason
to keep living.
Moments later—
Tiago charged.
Not like an exploding bullet—
but like a bee striking its target.
Swift.
Precise.
Almost silent.
Asterion braced himself.
His stance rooted firmly.
The muscles in all four legs tightened like steel anchored deep into the earth.
Yet just inches before reaching him—
Tiago pivoted with astonishing grace.
Escaping the fatal position in a single fluid motion.
An instant later,
he appeared beside the centaur's left flank.
His movement was not the brutality of a soldier.
It was as graceful as silk dancing in the wind.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Three gentle finger strikes landed on Asterion's abdomen.
No blood.
No cuts.
Only soft sounds,
like raindrops falling onto stone.
Asterion stumbled back several steps.
Then looked down at his own stomach in confusion.
"...That attack..."
"Did he miss?"
From the human stands, a young Wing Chun practitioner frowned anxiously.
"Master..."
"Did he fail?"
The elderly bald man beside him, dressed in simple gray robes, continued watching the arena peacefully.
"No, Cheng."
"That was no ordinary strike."
"What do you mean?"
"It was the Gentle Fist."
"A breathing technique used to disrupt the flow of qi."
The surrounding disciples exchanged astonished glances.
"Disrupt the flow of qi...?"
"But that's..."
The old master nodded slowly.
"He's attempting to imitate a technique often practiced by monks."
The young martial artist stared at the arena once more.
It wasn't perfect.
Yet he couldn't help but admire it.
"Even if it's incomplete..."
"...he still tried."
Back in the arena—
Asterion shook off his confusion.
He charged once more.
But after only a few steps—
his movement suddenly stopped.
It felt as though something invisible had tripped his legs.
The enormous four-legged body collapsed onto the scorching marble floor—
unable to move.
"What is this...?"
"W-Where did that attack come from?"
Tiago answered between ragged breaths.
"I disrupted the energy flowing through your body."
"I don't even know what to call it."
"But one thing's certain..."
"If I touch you again..."
"...you'll be completely paralyzed."
Asterion looked at him.
There was no anger in his eyes.
Only a faint smile.
"So..."
"You intend to win without killing me."
"By merely paralyzing my nerves."
A restrained groan escaped his lips.
"It seems..."
"...you are not a cruel human."
Tiago lowered his head slightly.
"It's not because I'm kind."
His voice was quiet.
"It's because of the people who created these martial arts."
"They believed..."
"...that true strength..."
"...is the power to stop violence."
"Martial arts..."
Asterion repeated hoarsely.
"...What exactly are they?"
"They are the art of fighting," Tiago answered softly.
"Some people fight to kill."
"But others fight..."
"...to bring peace."
Asterion studied him for a long moment.
Then quietly asked,
"Who are they?"
"The people who learn such things?"
Tiago raised his hand.
Then pointed toward the stands filled with Shaolin monks and their disciples.
Asterion followed his gesture.
There—
dozens of pairs of eyes met his gaze.
Without disgust.
Without fear.
Only with silent respect.
"So..."
Asterion whispered,
his eyes slowly growing moist.
"...not all humans..."
"...are cruel."