Bully Lord

Part-56

Unlike the back-alley encounters James envisioned, here, martial arts were a way of life. Judo, Boxing, Kickboxing, Karate, Kendo – the school offered a plethora of disciplines, with many students training for and participating in national competitions. Today's "duel" wasn't a fight; it was just another training session, albeit one with a higher profile due to James' unexpected rise to fame (or infamy, depending on the perspective).

Relief washed over James, a tension he hadn't realized he was holding dissipating. This wasn't a street fight he had to win at all costs. It was a test of his newfound skills, a chance to gauge himself against a more experienced opponent within the safety of a controlled environment.

He spotted Sourov in the center of the designated area, warming up with practiced ease. Sourov, a mountain of a boy with a shaved head and a perpetual scowl, looked every bit the formidable opponent.

Sourov cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing in the sudden hush that fell over the crowd. He towered over James, a sneer twisting his features. "Thought you'd chicken out, pipsqueak," he rumbled, his voice dripping with condescension.

James ignored him, focusing on his breath. He knew taunts were part of Sourov's strategy, designed to unnerve him.  Instead, he cast a glance towards the edge of the makeshift arena, where Coach Gin, a wiry man with a weathered face and a keen eye, stood observing.  Gin, the school's Judo coach, was known for his no-nonsense approach and his respect for all martial arts disciplines. Today, he was acting as the referee, a reassuring presence in the midst of the growing tension.

The coach raised his voice, his words cutting through the chatter.  "This match will be different," he announced.  "Since you both practice different fighting styles, there will be no predetermined rules. The only rule is this: the match ends when one of you admits defeat. The one who concedes is the loser, understood?"

A murmur rippled through the crowd.  This wasn't the usual sanctioned match.  This was raw, unpredictable combat, a clash of styles with no safety net.  James felt a jolt of adrenaline course through him. 

Sourov, however, seemed taken aback.  He was used to the controlled environment of Judo throws and grappling techniques.  A fight with no limitations was uncharted territory for him.  But his bravado quickly returned, replaced by a hungry glint in his eyes.  "Fine by me," he growled, cracking his knuckles once more.

The coach stepped back, raising his hand.  "Hajime!" (Begin!) he declared, and the match was on.

Coach Gin's booming "Hajime!" echoed through the arena, officially starting the match. James squared his shoulders, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He stole a glance at Sourov, the towering figure radiating raw confidence. The sneer on Sourov's face widened, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

Just as James prepared to launch into a defensive stance, a new blue notification materialized in the air, pulsating before him. Unlike the previous mission prompts, this one held a sinister edge:

**[Mission 12: Survive against Sourov for 3 minutes without using any skills.]**

**[Reward: Crisis Mode]**

**[Penalty if failed: Same as Mission 11 Penalty]**