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  Part- 335:

  With each step toward the arena, his determination solidified. The pressure didn’t weigh him down—it fueled him. Every fight was a step closer to the final match, a step closer to unlog the ultimate skill that awaited him.

  As they stood at the edge of the mat, James allowed himself o g the crowd. His sister’s nod, his teammates’ cheers, and the roar of the spectators—all of it gave him strength. But the real battle was yet to e.

  James tightened his grip on his belt and took a deep breath. *This is it. No holding back.*

  The referee called for the first match of the semifinals to begin, and James stepped forward. His oppo—a seasoned fighter from anh school—bowed politely before squaring up with him. The boy’s posture and fident stance made it clear that this would be a much harder fight than the first.

  James grio himself, the system’s mission still fresh in his mind. *Oep at a time... Let’s do this.*

  The whistle blew, and the fight began.

  The semi-final match at the National Judo petition carried a differe for Banani High. Each victory so far had fueled their fidence, but this was no ordinary oppo. Badda High, st year’s runners-up, stood in their way—disciplined, calcuted, and with a quiet air of superiority.

  In the heart of the tour arena, two teams stood on opposite sides, silently appraising each other. Banani High's athletes buzzed with energy, their earlier victories still fresh in their minds, fueling their fidence. James felt the undercurrent of excitement among his teammates—every step seemed lighter, every smile a little wider. They had momentum on their side, and it showed in their rexed demeanor.

  However, across the court stood their opposition—Badda High. While Banani's pyers were radiant with enthusiasm, Badda's lineup gave off an air of cold, calcuted precision. At the forefront of the opposing team stood Jiko, their captain. With his arms loosely crossed and a ral expression, Jiko’s presence exuded an uling ess, like the eye of a storm. There were no signs of nervousness, no visible excitement—just stillness. His eyes sed Banani’s pyers, calg odds and weaknesses with surgical precision.

  Behind Jiko stood his coach, a man whose presence was equally unyielding. The coach’s gaze was locked onto Banani’s squad, as if trying to uh hidden fws. "What do you make of them?" the coach asked, his voice low but filled with expectation.

  Jiko tilted his head slightly, the ers of his lips lifting into a subtle, thoughtful smile. "They’re powerful, yes. But they have cracks." His voice was steady, betrayiher excitement nor doubt.

  The coach raised a brow, intrigued. “Cracks?”

  Jiko’s eyes flickered toward the lineup of Banani’s fighters, mentally disseg their strengths and shortings. "On the men’s side, only three are solid—James, Ryan, and Sourov. And on the women’s side, Nabi is the only real threat."

  The coach gave a slight nod, rubbing his as he absorbed Jiko’s analysis. "So, you're saying if we eliminate just one of their key pyers, they won’t be able to keep their footing?"

  Jiko nodded, unscrewing a bottle of lemon juid taking a measured sip. "It’s not about brute strength—it’s about endurance. Winning isn’t about defeating all their fighters. We just o make them falter once. Push them into a positioheir rhythm breaks, and the rest will colpse like dominoes."