For the first time since the match began. A full breath. Deep. Like he had finally decided to begin.
His foot pressed down. The entire crater compressed. Stone sinking. Air crushing. Space tightening.
Then.
He moved. Not fast. Just precise. One step to the side. One hand catching Kuracha's wrist. The other. A simple palm. Placed gently on Kuracha's chest. Almost tender. Like stopping a child from running into fire.
And then, he pushed. Not punched. Not blasted. Pushed.
The world folded. There was no explosion. No thunder. Just sudden displacement. Like reality itself had been shoved aside. The golden comet vanished. Replaced by a straight line carved through the Arena. A trench stretching wall to wall. Perfect, clean, unargued.
At the far end Kuracha lay embedded in stone. Unconscious. Gold extinguished.
