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  Part- 340:

  The stadium buzzed with anticipation, the sound of hundreds of spectators filling the air with excitement. This was the quarter-final match of the National Judo Tour, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Banani High needed James to secure an early victory in this 7 vs. 7 lineup. As the first fighter, James knew all too well the pressure on his shoulders—his win would set the tone for his teammates, boosting their morale or plunging them into doubt.

  He adjusted his belt with a sharp tug and smoothed out the creases in his sleeves. His heart beat steadily, not out of fear, but from the thrill of petition. Across the mat stood a man of average build with a -shaven head, his demeanor so calm it seemed almost uling.

  The man stepped forward with a small, courteous smile aended his hand. “Good luck,” he said warmly. There was nan his voice, just respect.

  Caught slightly off guard, James shook his hand firmly. “Same to you.”

  This wasn't the type of oppo James expected. Most fighters tried to intimidate their oppos before a match, relying on mind games to gain an advantage. But Greez radiated a quiet fidehe kind that only came from years of experience. James reized the siy behind the gesture and responded in kind.

  The referee raised his hand, signaling the start of the match. “Hajime!”

  The two fighters bowed, then immediately sank into their stances. Greez’s eyes were calm, but there was an iy behind them, like a predator lying in wait. James circled him cautiously, muscles taut, ready to explode into a at any moment.

  Greez was the first to attack. In a fsh, he closed the distaween them and seized James’s colr and sleeve, moving with an effortless grace that belied his pact frame. James felt the grip tighten, and in that moment, he khis man wasn’t relying on brute force. His every movement was effit, and deliberate, like a dancer perf a carefully rehearsed routine.

  Greez pulled sharply, shifting his weight and attempting a *seoi-nage* (shoulder throw). James tered by pnting his feet, refusing to let his oppo dictate the flow. But Greez didn’t falter. In an instant, he switched his grip and swept his leg forward, f James to stumble backward to avoid a *de-ashi-barai* (advanced foot sweep).

  The audience gasped as the two fighters danced around the mat, both narrowly evading each other’s attacks. James could feel the weight of Greez’s mastery—this was someone who didn’t rength. He had experience, precision, and trol on his side.

  Sweat trickled down James’s brow, but he maintained his posure. It was clear brute strength alone wouldn’t be enough to win. Greez’s footwork was too smooth, and his baoo perfect. James adjusted his strategy, shifting his stance lower, making his movements more fluid to match his oppo's tempreez smiled faintly, notig the shift. “Smart move,” he murmured, more to himself than to James.

  The veteran fighter lunged again, aiming for a double grip on James’s belt. This time, James was ready. He twisted his torso with incredible speed, freeing himself just befreez could tighten the hold. Without missing a beat, James grabbed Greez’s arm and pivoted his hips, initiating a powerful *harai-goshi* (sweeping hip throw).