John lay on the ground.

Crocodile didn't take the chance to attack.

He's a professional boxer, knows how to inflict maximum damage to John within the rules.

But Crocodile didn't.

He only left a curse, venting his dissatisfaction with mercenaries toying with the ring.

He didn't even care how John got back up.

During the referee's count of John's downed time, Crocodile's attention was on the audience.

Cameras around the ring focused on Reagan Patrick, and in the high-definition footage, Isaac Military Industry's Messiah's Eye gleamed in the dim environment.

Crocodile hardly blinked.

His European-featured face, paired with a monstrous muscular build, constantly exuded an oppressive presence.

Time was passing.

John was recovering.

Crocodile stood by the ring, slowly moving, his gaze sweeping over the faces of gamblers in the front row.

Bang.

At regular intervals, he would throw a punch, slamming hard against the alloy fence.

The audience would gasp.

The host would introduce Crocodile's signature ritual.

The entire venue fell into a frenzy, with only Crocodile maintaining a cruel expression.

John lay on the ground, the ring beneath him trembling from the tidal wave of noise.

When he lifted his head and looked across the ring at Reagan Patrick, he felt completely different.

The haze of the atmosphere isolated the ring from the audience.

Crocodile stood inside the alloy barrier, swinging his fists with force; terrifying electricity danced across his skin.

He ignored the physiological pain, his cruel and cold eyes scanned the audience as if, without the barrier, he would break loose and tear into the spectators.

The figures in the stands overlapped under the flickering lights.

The front row spectators leaned back, gasping and panting, reveling in Crocodile's brutality, sucking in his animalistic nature.

[He really is a monster.]

Sora murmured in his mind.

If this were in the Cyber Era, facing such a strong and charismatic opponent, it would be excited, even exclaiming at Crocodile's "coolness," and then clamoring to charge in and take him on.

But now, it was the central ring.

Kenichi Sora's voice was always mixed with a dissipating electrical noise, as if something was awakening within the personality model pieced together from data.

It was in a weak phase of self-evolution.

John said nothing, pressing his nose tight, spewing blood foam from his nostrils.

Crocodile ended his pacing.

Full of disdain, he turned and walked over, starting to attack fiercely with muscles as hard as steel and as elastic as rubber, throwing punches and kicking legs coldly under the scorching spotlight...

John's act of mustering courage didn't change the battle.

He only lasted a little longer than last time.

The gap in close-combat accumulation was too large.

Black Light could integrate the action chips John had used, but those few chips were not comparable to the training load of a professional boxer, not to mention Crocodile was a monster heavily invested in by Isaac Military Industry.

John deeply understood the gap of being "professional."

Back in Tiebang Logistics' training center, the driving chips he used and learned from were in quantities unimaginable to normal people.

Bam.

Another swung punch smashed heavily into the side of John's arm just as he raised it, breaking through his defense, followed by a hard knee hitting his chest...

Thud.

John fell to the ground, just feeling difficulty breathing, vomiting out loud after a long five seconds of suffocation.

"Ugh..."

[You can't win, John, if not for that alloy skeleton of yours, your chest would've caved in already and killed you!]

Sora was fussing in his mind.

John's vision blurred.

The referee's countdown became distant.

But he knew better than anyone — Crocodile was holding back, and not willingly.

Someone locked the beast in a cage, but tied him down with a chain, making him increasingly irritable and resentful, so Crocodile was taking it out on him, not daring to kill him.

Thinking of this, John suddenly laughed.

"Ha, cough cough, ugh..."

Taking a breath tugged at his wound, triggering another bout of vomiting.

[Hang in there, time's running out, brother, I can see it too that he's not daring to go all out, don't go head-to-head, circle around, stretch the distance, just dragging through this round would count as mission accomplished!]

Sora shouted in his mind.

Its voice became much clearer, the noise still there, but the data transmission was becoming stable.

The referee's countdown was nearing.

John hoisted himself up from the ground into a sitting position.

According to the rules, Crocodile could launch an attack, but he only stood opposite the ring, staring at John with contemptuous eyes.

The power of his recent knee strike wasn't small, needing time to digest and relieve, rushing over now, it would be easy to knock John out.

Seeing Crocodile's reaction, John let out a knowing chuckle, provoking a constant twitch in Crocodile's eyelid muscles.

[Don't provoke him! Brother, your task is just to survive this round!]

John ignored Crocodile's intimidating gaze.

"Phew~ This round, I'll get through... and then?"

[Then, I'll come...]

Buzz.

The latter half of Sora's sentence turned into electrical noise.

It's an AI, not like humans hesitating when about to speak.

Its emotional logic feared, too scared even to load bold words.

John shook his head disparagingly.

"If you were really useful, you'd fight for me now, won't have to wait till next round."

He spat out blood foam.

"Kenichi Sora, you're not only timid, you're a dumb-ass!"

[...]

Sora had no response.

John muttered, staring at Crocodile.

"He doesn't dare to kill me, so he's got to fight freely, huh! I'd better try while still in good shape, otherwise I won't rest easy! If I waste the chance... next round... if you malfunction in the ring, I get beaten to death alive... that'd be way too suffocating!"

In the midst of speaking.

Crocodile came up in front.

But a cascade of damage reports obscured his vision, and the Messiah's Eye showed mosaics due to nerve pressure.

John waved his hand to hide the pop-up.

Fear was also an emotion.

Every time his emotions soared to the extreme, an inexplicable calm washed over, and under this eerie tranquility, he frankly stared at the champion seed.

Crocodile glanced at the countdown, not rushing to act, but spoke to John for the second time.

[Male: My agent forbids me from killing you in the first round. (Russian)]

This was the reason Crocodile held back.

The odds between John and Reagan Patrick were too outrageous.

Everyone wanted to rig it a bit.

Bone Shards made John hold out to reduce the bookmaker's losses.

And Isaac Military Industry behind Reagan wasn't foolish.

They let Crocodile hold back in the first round, creating an unexpected scenario, buying a small condition of one round, to earn more profit from Black Gold Gang and mindless gamblers.

John could tell:

Crocodile wasn't explaining to him but was condescending and patronizing, like a sated beast toying with its dying prey.

"Ha, why bother telling me this?"

John laughed, relaxed. "Do you think I have a dog collar on my neck too? Try killing me this round, or you'll regret it!"

Crocodile's breathing grew rough.

He tilted his head to check the countdown, swung his joints, his domineering muscles pressing over again.

John watched the opponent's moves intently.

Data floated at the edge of his vision.

[Power output axis deviating 2%, center of gravity shifting forward...]

Sora's data core still computing the deviation.

John couldn't understand, nor had time to learn, only leveraging Black Light to combine action chips to the maximum.

He turned his head, dodging the heaviest blow from the punch.