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  Part- 326:

  "Alright, alright!" Coach Gin cpped his hands to reel them ba. "Enough messing around. If we keep this up, the only thing you lot will win today is the prize for most talkative team."

  Ryan couldn’t resist o jab. "Hey, it’s not just about winning, Coach. It’s about making memories."

  Coach Gin rolled his eyes but smiled fondly. "Memories are great, kid. But a trophy wouldn’t hurt either."

  The team burst into o round of ughter before refog, stretg, aing ready for their warm-ups.

  Coach Gin cpped his hands, immediately anding their attention. "Alright, listen up!" His voied, and the team instantly quieted down, their expressions turning serious. "Here’s the lineup for today: James, Ryan, Abbas—Middleweight. Sourov—Heavyweight. Zia—Lightweight. Nabi and Keya—Lightweight. Tisha—Middleweight. Dipa, you're the backup for Heavyweight po, so stay sharp."

  The team nodded in unison, their lightheartedness repced by focus as the gravity of the petitio in. James could feel the tension thiing in the air. Each of them was silently processing their roles, aware of the challenges ahead.

  Coach Gin’s sharp gaze finally nded on James, his expression hard but supportive. "I hope you’ve got your head on straight, kid. I’m ting on you today."

  James met his coach’s eyes, his resolve solidifying. "I won’t let you down."

  Coach Gin’s face softened slightly into a rare smile. "Good. That’s what I like to hear." He gnced around at the rest of the team. "Now, let’s get to work. Warm-up time. We’ve got a lot to do before those matches start, so no sg."

  As the team dispersed, James took a deep breath, standing still for a moment longer. His teammates were ting on him. His coach was ting on him. And somewhere deep within, the system's mission—the promise of an Ultimate Skill—still burned like a fire in his chest. Failure was not an option.

  Ryan and Abbas were soon sparring nearby, their banter breaking the silence more. Ryan, always the joker, couldn’t resist poking fun at his oppo mid-fight. "You call that a grip, Abbas? My little sister could do better!"

  Abbas ughed, tossing Ryan to the ground with a swift motion. "Your sister’s got nothing on this!" He gri over Ryan with pyful arrogance.

  Ryan groaned, lying ft on his back. "Okay, okay! You win this round. But mark my words—ime, I’m ing back stronger, you know I am just pying with you." He wobbled to his feet dramatically, like a soap opera actor rec from a tragic fall, making Abbas and a few others burst into ughter.

  James couldn’t help but shake his head at the antics. It was moments like these that kept the team grounded, even with all the pressure they were under. James knew Ryan was sed stro of team with 242 biats, where James is the first with 321 biats.

  Sourov, the heavyweight of the group, was standing off to the side, arms crossed, watg the otion with a small smile. At over six feet tall and built like a tank, Sourov didn’t o talk much—his sheer presence was enough. He had an unshakable calm that was almost unnerving, but when he did speak, it was usually to offer some deadpan humor that caught everyone off guard.