Avatar of the Frozen Behemoth: Volume 1

Chapter 8: Striking Back

The arena echoed with the brutal clash of combat, the crowd's cheers and jeers blending into a deafening cacophony. Yukio's words cut through the noise like a desperate lifeline, a solitary beacon of hope amidst the chaos.

Each strike from Mizuki's opponent seemed to land with increasing ferocity, the man's movements a blur of icy power. Yukio's hands clenched the bars tighter, his grip so firm it felt like the metal might bend under the pressure.

With a thunderous impact, Mizuki's ice sword, which had been his last line of defense, cracked under the opponent's assault. The shimmering blade splintered into countless fragments, each piece scattering like shattered dreams. Yukio's breath caught in his throat, his mind screaming in silent agony as Mizuki staggered back, disarmed and vulnerable.

The opponent wasted no time. His fists, now wreathed in a fierce, icy glow, pummeled Mizuki with a brutal combination of punches. The first hit slammed into Mizuki's gut, forcing a painful gasp from his lips. The second strike crashed into his jaw, sending him reeling. The final, devastating uppercut launched Mizuki off his feet, his body hurtling through the air before crashing heavily to the ground.

A stunned silence fell over the arena, the crowd momentarily hushed by the sheer brutality of the final blow. Yukio's heart sank as he watched Mizuki, bloodied and broken, struggle to rise, only to collapse in defeat.

The victor stood over him, unscathed and triumphant, as the crowd erupted in a roaring cheer for the winner. The sound was a cruel mockery of Yukio's despair, a harsh reminder of how outmatched Mizuki had been.

Despair gnawed at Yukio's insides. He had tried to be a voice of support, but it hadn't been enough. As the cheers continued, an older man with a grizzled beard shook his head disapprovingly. "See? Mizuki has potential, but he's too reckless."

Another villager nodded in agreement. "He needs to learn from this. Relying on flashy moves won't get him anywhere."

Yukio's grip on the bars tightened further, his knuckles turning ashen. "Mizuki, get up! You did great!" His voice was a strained plea, raw and desperate against the backdrop of the crowd's jeering.

His internal turmoil was abruptly interrupted by a familiar voice. "Hey, isn't that the guy from yesterday?" Yukio's heart skipped a beat as he turned to see Kota, the skilled fighter from the snowball tournament, approaching with a group of friends. Their attention, once on the fight, was now zeroed in on Yukio.

Kota's eyes narrowed, recognition flashing in his gaze. "Yeah, it's him," he said, his voice carrying a venomous edge. "The cheater."

Yukio's stomach churned. The encounter with Kota was the last thing he needed right now. Memories of their heated snowball fight replayed vividly in his mind, intensifying his anxiety. Kota's voice, dripping with contempt, cut through his thoughts.
"You're a real piece of work, you know that? Using gadgets to cheat is pathetic. You think you can just walk around here after pulling that stunt and not face any consequences?"

The weight of Kota's words pressed heavily on Yukio. His palms were clammy, his pulse a rapid drumbeat in his ears. He had hoped the snowball incident was behind him, but now it seemed his troubles were far from over. "What are you doing here, Kota?" Yukio's voice wavered despite his attempt to sound calm.

Kota's sneer widened. "Just like you did yesterday when you used that stupid gadget to win a snowball fight."

Yukio's fear coiled tightly in his chest. "I was just... trying to win, Kota," he managed to say, his voice trembling.

Kota's anger flared, his face contorted into a mask of rage. "Trying to win? More like trying to look tough. You think you can get away with that crap? You're nothing but a joke. If you think you can just brush this off, you're dead wrong."