Chapter 358: Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee
Squelch!
In the blink of an eye, a horizontal gash had opened across Adam Dudley's face. It looked as though he had been slashed by a razor, blood erupting from the wound. The crimson spray stained the lower half of his face before dripping onto the arena sand.
"—Damn it... FUCK!"
Adam felt the sharp sting and cursed out of habit. He wasn't an amateur; he could tell that Alai Jr.'s first punch hadn't even been serious—it was a mere probe, a flashy feint.
But the visual impact was undeniable, and the crowd erupted in a roar of disbelief.
"He cut him! He actually cut him!"
"Is that even boxing?! He opened his face up with a single jab!!"
[Waiting Room]
Ren Shiroki stared at the screen, analyzing the wound on Adam's face. His mind instinctively went to Sikorsky's [KNUCKLE CUT].
Sikorsky, one of the five convicts, possessed superhuman finger strength. When he punched, he would slightly protrude his middle knuckle to create a "shearing" effect on human skin.
But Alai Jr. was different. This wasn't about grip or knuckle placement. This was pure [SPEED].
His hand speed was so astronomical that his fist acted like a blade. Whether it was a sandbag or human tissue, the friction alone was enough to lacerate the surface before the opponent could even register the movement.
Of course, a veteran could see that this wasn't the core of Alai Jr.'s style. He had only thrown that particular punch as a probe—and perhaps to show off a little.
"His movements look soft, almost elegant," Rama XIII mused, rubbing his chin. "But that is a genuine, lethal martial art."
[The Arena]
Alai Jr. continued his rhythmic skip, his body weightless. His arms swayed naturally with his momentum as he arched an eyebrow at his opponent.
Adam stood his ground. The wound on his face looked grizzly, but it was just a surface laceration.
Spit!
Adam spat out the blood that had leaked into his mouth and wiped his chin.
"Sharp... very sharp! Is this what they call 'Heavyweight Boxing' now?"
Adam's eyes turned cold as he clenched his fists. "Listen here, you celebrity brat. I'm not some pretty boy you can scare off. You're gonna need more than a 'pocket knife' to make me scream!"
Adam lowered his center of gravity. His movements were crude and savage, but the pressure he projected spiked instantly.
"There's more than one way to win a fight besides 'Boxing.' Allow me to give you a Texas-sized lesson!"
Whoosh!
Adam pushed off the sand, lunging forward like a heavy tank. He closed the distance in a heartbeat. The two men were similar in height, but Adam held the advantage in raw mass and muscular volume—an advantage he intended to exploit fully.
Whish! Whish-shish!
Adam unleashed a barrage of heavy haymakers. Alai Jr. simply tilted his head and swayed his torso, his movements as light as a leaf in the wind. Not a single blow landed.
The aggressor advanced; the boxer retreated.
Soon, Adam had Alai Jr. backed against the edge of the arena. Behind the youth was the waist-high wooden railing—there was no more room to run.
"Aha!" Adam gave a predatory grin. "I heard your old man once leaned against the ropes and dodged twenty-odd punches in ten seconds?"
Alai Jr.'s expression remained serene, almost as if he were inviting Adam to try and replicate the feat.
"OKAY!"
Adam bared his "FUCK" teeth, the gold now flecked with blood. He let out a guttural roar and swung a massive right hook.
But it was a feint!
Mid-swing, Adam used the torque of the hook to pivot, snapping his right leg upward in a thunderous high sweep. A kick had a much larger effective area than a punch—it was the perfect tool to catch an opponent trapped in a corner!
Zip!
The kick blazed through the air.
In that micro-second, Alai Jr. leaned his upper body back by the smallest possible margin. The kick grazed his chest, missing by a hair. Before Adam could recover, Alai Jr. drove a right uppercut upward.
THUD!
The lightning-fast fist, aided by Alai's incredible reach, found the gap in Adam's defense and buried itself directly into his groin.
"—!!"
Adam's breath hitched. He let out a muffled groan, clutching his vitals as he collapsed to the sand. He rolled over in agony, his face contorting into a mask of pure pain.
"He's down! The Emperor is down!" the announcer shrieked. "A direct hit to the vitals! Is it over?!"
"Fast. Incredibly fast."
Gaolang's dead-fish eyes remained glued to the monitor. As a reigning Heavyweight King and a master of the jab, he had studied the "God of Boxing" extensively. Despite the different styles, Gaolang saw the essence.
"Mohammad Alai Sr. was a Heavyweight, but his speed was said to be comparable to a Lightweight or a Featherweight."
"But this boy... Alai Jr... the speed of his dodge and his counter just now? That was the speed of a Flyweight. Maybe even a Strawweight."
"In other words... he is significantly faster than his father."
[The Arena]
Alai Jr. didn't follow up. He stood back, allowing Adam to writhe in the sand.
The announcer leaned over the rail. "Is Dudley finished?! That had to hurt! That had to hurt like hell!!"
The next second—Whoosh!
Adam suddenly lunged upward with a desperate headbutt. It nearly caught Alai Jr. by surprise, but the youth snapped his head back, the forehead missing him by inches.
"Hah... hah...!"
Adam stayed on one knee, one hand still guarding his groin. He gasped for air, veins pulsing in his forehead as his body trembled with the effort to stay conscious.
"Adam is back up! He wants more! The Texan brawler refuses to quit!"
"FUCK... YOU!!"
Cold sweat dripped from Adam's brow. The agony in his lower body was so intense it was making his vision swim. He knew he couldn't sustain a technical exchange right now. He needed recovery time.
Now!
Adam gritted his teeth and charged. He began to swing wildly, throwing high-volume, low-accuracy punches, trying to force Alai Jr. into a defensive shell to buy himself a few seconds of breathing room.
Whish! Whish! Whish!
A storm of heavy fists rained down, but Alai Jr. simply danced through the raindrops. Every punch was met with a graceful sway or a light back-step. Alai Jr. wasn't just avoiding the blows; he was weightless, his feet barely touching the sand as he orbited around Adam.
It was a repeat of the opening—the aggressor chasing, the boxer evading.
But this time, Alai Jr. didn't just back up in a straight line. He began to circle.
Zip-zap-shik!
Alai Jr.'s feet crossed and uncrossed in a blur of high-speed shuffles. No matter what angle Adam attacked from—punches, kicks, lunges—Alai Jr. evaded them all with the effortless grace of a butterfly.
"The legend returns! That is the move that made Mohammad Alai a household name!"
The announcer's voice cracked with excitement. "What a privilege! To see the [BUTTERFLY STEP] in the Pit!"
"How will Adam Dudley respond?!"
"FUCK!"
Adam lunged forward with both arms open, trying to bear-hug the youth, but Alai Jr. performed a light hop, resetting the distance instantly. The move left Adam completely overextended—a massive opening that even a novice could exploit.
But strangely, Alai Jr. didn't counter. He simply kept dodging.
In that moment, several people—including Adam—realized the truth. Alai Jr. wasn't looking for an opening. He was waiting for Adam to fully recover.
"Tsk... looking down on me, you prick!"
Furious, Adam increased his aggression, but it was useless.
"Is Dudley out of options?!" the announcer cried.
—No.
The laymen in the crowd couldn't see it, but the masters in the waiting room could feel the shift. Adam Dudley was enraged, yes, but he hadn't lost his head. He was maintaining his "Assault," but he was using low-energy feints. While his body recovered from the groin-strike, he was using the time to carefully track Alai Jr.'s footwork.
Mitarai watched the screen. "Adam is a fine warrior. His mental fortitude and stamina are top-notch, and he has real underground experience."
The old gentleman looked curious. "Faced with that beautiful Butterfly Step... how will he break it?"
Ren Shiroki smiled. "People always forget... there are two parts to the Alai legend."
"Oh?" Mitarai blinked.
Gaolang answered for him, his voice heavy. "The Sting."
"'Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.' That is the only way to describe the Mohammad Alai Style."
As they spoke, Adam had finally regained his composure. His aura surged, his presence becoming heavier. He had finally "timed" the rhythm of the Butterfly Step.
Adam executed a subtle stutter-step, closing the gap just enough to put Alai Jr. within his reach.
Now!
Whoosh!
With a mask of sheer fury, Adam unleashed a massive haymaker, his arm cutting a violent arc aimed at Alai's ribs.
Alai Jr.'s expression didn't flicker. He dug his toe into the sand and arched his back. Adam's heavy fist hissed past his face, missing by a fraction of a millimeter.
In the same frame, Alai Jr. snapped a right straight forward.
WHISH!
The punch blurred past Adam's shoulder, a straight line of kinetic energy that buried itself into the side of the brawler's jaw.
Blood sprayed from Adam's mouth.
Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. This was the completion of the art.
☆☆☆
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