Bully Lord

Part-77

James and Mili stopped at a brightly lit space labeled "Judo." Just like the kickboxing floor on the seventh floor, this one was divided into separate training areas for men and women, visible through a transparent glass wall. However, unlike their previous stop, Mili bypassed the female section entirely, making a beeline for the male training area.

James hesitated, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. Why the men's section? He opened his mouth to question her, but the sight that greeted him through the glass stopped the words in his throat. The training area was a whirlwind of activity. Over thirty boys, clad in pristine white judogi, grappled and tossed each other with practiced ease. Unlike the street fights he'd witnessed, this was a ballet of controlled chaos, a testament to years of dedicated training.

A familiar thrill of excitement danced in James' chest, overshadowed by a cold dose of reality. These weren't the clumsy brawls he'd grown accustomed to; this was a different level of combat altogether. Every movement was precise, calculated, fueled by an underlying strength that James could only imagine. He felt a pang of self-doubt, the memory of his meager karate classes a distant echo in the face of this raw athleticism.

Curiosity gnawed at James. He activated his "Know Your Enemy and Ally" skill, a faint blue shimmer emanating from his eyes. Numbers materialized above the heads of the training students, their stats displayed in stark white.

His jaw slackened. Everyone, and he meant everyone, had stats above 100. This was a level of physical prowess that James had never encountered before. Eight of them sported stats ranging from a formidable 300, indicating well-honed athleticism and years of training, to a staggering 500, a level that suggested exceptional talent and the potential for greatness. Three others hovered between 500 and a jaw-dropping 700. These were the elite of the group, possessing not only superior strength and technique but also the strategic mind and competitive spirit necessary to dominate their opponents. And then there was one. One figure stood out amongst the rest, his stats nearing a mind-boggling 900. This anomaly, easily the most powerful presence in the room, moved with a preternatural grace that belied his raw power. He anticipated his opponents' moves with uncanny ease, effortlessly countering their attacks and transitioning into throws of  his own with a ruthless efficiency that sent shivers down James' spine.

A cold sweat prickled James' skin.  These weren't just students; they were walking powerhouses, athletes honed to physical perfection.  In comparison, his own total stats of 66.5 felt utterly pathetic.

He deactivated the skill, a wave of discouragement washing over him.  Defeat tasted bitter on his tongue.  Here he was, all hyped up about his newfound karate skills, only to be confronted with the vast chasm that separated him from these prodigies.  It was like comparing a tricycle to a race car.  Shame burned in his throat.  He felt like a child trying to play with adults, a complete novice blundering into a world of professionals.  Questions swirled in his mind.  What was Mili even thinking, bringing him here?  This wasn't a place for beginners; it was a training ground for champions, a place where excellence was the minimum requirement.  Doubt gnawed at him, whispering insidious insecurities.  Maybe before the system he would be no body in this battleground.