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  Part- 321:

  Judo had a way of teag humility. No matter how good you were, there was always someoer, someone faster. And if there wasn’t, life had a way of humbling you in other ways—through injuries, through losses, through those moments when you thought you had everything figured out, only to realize how much more there was to learn. That was the beauty of it, though. The endless pursuit of mastery. The knowledge that no matter how far you’d e, there was always another level waiting to be reached.

  And that’s what made this mission so alluring. **An Ultimate Skill.** Something beyond ordinary, something that could elevate him from a talented fighter to a legend. A skill so powerful it defied logiething only the best of the best ever unlocked. What would it be? Would it enhance his speed, making him move faster than the eye could follow? Or would it be a throw so devastating it ended matches in a blink? The possibilities were endless, and that only fed his excitement. This wasn’t just aour—it portunity to transd.

  He tightehe s around his wrists, testing the tension with a few experimental grips. He had trained for this. Every grueling practice, every ounce of soured into ditioning, every frustrati—eae had led him here. All the small victories, the te-night drills, the matches that pushed him to his breaking point—they were all bricks in the foundation he had built for this very moment. And now, it was time to see if that foundation could withstand the storm.

  He khat victory wouldn't e easy. His oppos weren’t just petitors—they were friends, teammates, people who shared the same jourhey had sparred together, enced one ahrough the lows, and celebrated each other’s triumphs. But o, all that would vanish. There would be no room for camaraderie, only strategy. He would have to push himself harder than ever before, walk the thin liween aggression and patience, and fight with everything he had while keeping a clear head.

  James took a deep breath, grounding himself. Judo wasn’t just about brute strength. It was about feeling the rhythm of the match, sensing when to push and when to pull, knowing the exaent to strike. He thought of the tless times Carlos had drilled him on this—the importance of rhythm, of uanding that a good throw wasn’t forced but flowed naturally. "Wait for the right moment," Carlos had told him. "The best moves are the ones your oppo doesn't even see ing."

  This match, though, wasn’t just about perfect teique or clever tactics. It was about **trusting himself**. Trusting that everything he had learned, everything he had sacrificed, would be enough. Trusting that when the moment came, he wouldn’t hesitate. He couldn’t afford to. Not with the stakes this high.

  He bent his knees and executed a seoi-hrow, imagining an oppo flipping helplessly over his shoulder. He could almost hear the dull thud of their body hitting the mat, followed by the referee’s sharp call for ippon. The crowd would roar, his teammates would cheer, and for a brief moment, the entire world would narrow to the sense of aplishment that only victory could bring.