Max's Fighting Level

Many wondered about Max's fighting level—just how skilled was he, and was there anyone his age who could still defeat him?

The answer was simple: no one within five years of his age could rival him, and even adults would struggle significantly to beat him in a fight.

The reason? Max was a complete fighter. He had learned everything necessary to become the best—and he had achieved it.

In the search for a fighter comparable to Max, there was only one: Yuri Boyka, who was far too old and experienced for Max to challenge.

However, Max had witnessed some of Yuri's fights, which weren't too different from his own, considering the age brackets they each competed in.

Now, Max was back to training, recovering from his time away from the arena.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

In the middle of his room, Max immersed himself in fluid, precise movements. Sliding his feet across the sandy floor, he unleashed a series of rapid strikes at steady intervals.

"I've been working on my speed for a long time, but I think I've gotten even better now." The sudden surge of velocity in his strikes made Max feel in sync with his body.

"The seven points of pain—those are the best techniques of the style I'm mastering," Max muttered as he transitioned into practicing punches.

He observed his complete movements in a large mirror, adjusting his stance to refine the technique he had developed over time.

Standing in the center of the specialized room, where the floor was made of yellow sand, Max practiced numerous movements silently, his expression serious.

He then turned to the training dummy he kept exclusively in his room, approached it, and began striking faster and harder until his hands started to go numb.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

When he finally reached a consistent speed, the reddened knuckles on his hands were proof of the force behind every impact.

"Even though my recovery to peak form may be slow, the progress is undeniable. There's no doubt I can fight the best," Max murmured as he delivered his punches.

One of Max's standout strengths was his skill in kicking, with Taekwondo synonymous with kicks in the martial arts world.

Max was an exceptional Taekwondo practitioner, mastering the nearly infinite variations of single kicks and combinations that Taekwondo masters are known for.

Additionally, he had trained in Wushu for several months. This complemented his more grounded martial arts experience, allowing him to transform standard kicks into intricate variations like 540 or 720-degree spins.

As the world's most promising all-around fighter, Max refused to let gravity limit what he could achieve. His Wushu training enabled him to soar when necessary.

Karate, on the other hand, focused primarily on punches and kicks from rooted, stable stances. Karate practitioners often delivered linear, direct strikes, and Max excelled at incorporating these techniques.

He also boasted experience in Muay Thai, Sambo, and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

Combining all these martial arts into a single fighting style once puzzled Max, as it created a completely new approach. Over time, however, he had refined it to suit his needs while prioritizing safety.

"Should I wrap my hands?" Max muttered as he noticed his knuckles worsening. But he saw this pain as progress—a step toward greater rewards later.

Swallowing the discomfort, Max began striking with open palms. The sharp sounds echoed more clearly throughout the room.

Just as he was about to continue, he abruptly stopped and headed to the shower to wash off the sweat before going to school.

As he removed his shirt, he revealed several tattoos he had secretly gotten while in Japan.

Some of the symbols expressed his emotions, while others were purely aesthetic.

Physically, Max was in perfect shape.

"My muscles are still here..." Max admired his body, surprised that it hadn't diminished despite his reduced training intensity.

Descending the stairs, he found the house empty except for the staff. He climbed into the car that would take him to school.

This routine had been repeating for some time, and he now considered it normal.

With everything he'd been doing lately, he had ignored the idea of checking out good dojos in the area to visit with Devon later. He also hadn't researched recent karate tournaments in the valley.

"I wonder if coming back was the right decision..." Max murmured, staring at his reflection in the car window.

When he got out of the car, he ignored the stares from other students and walked straight to his classroom without paying attention to anyone.

"Max!"

Turning toward the voice, Max saw Devon waving at him from afar. He approached her, smiling in return.

"Is the party tonight? I was wondering what I should wear. I think I'll go casual, but I wanted to hear your opinion," Devon said, visibly excited about witnessing a live tournament—something rarely shown on TV.

She had watched many movies and imagined this tournament would be just as thrilling, if not better.

Devon had also been imagining how many girls she could beat if she trained, determined to dominate competitions with some effort despite the initial months of struggle and learning.

Walking toward the classroom, Max handed Devon a protein bar and said, "You can dress comfortably. Remember, it'll be cold, so bring a jacket."

"By the way, are you inviting Sensei Johnny's other disciple besides us?" Devon asked curiously, wondering if Max would bring someone else he had mentioned before.

"I'll invite him. It might be a good idea," Max replied as he entered the classroom and sat next to Devon.

As a classmate in several activities, Devon had few friends, but Max discovered that life at school was starting to become enjoyable.