Brother, I’ve Got Your Back

"Damn, this is exhilarating!"

"Ryan!"

"Did someone record that?" Drinks were spilled, and many in the crowd stood up, hands on their heads, unable to believe how quickly things had escalated.

Sure, these kinds of outbursts weren't uncommon in tournaments like this, but for it to happen to someone as composed as Max, who moments ago had shown mercy, was shocking.

Max wasn't the type to stir conflict, yet when Silva tried to attack him from behind, the crowd immediately roared with anger, ready to storm the arena and teach the attacker a lesson.

But seeing Ryan, Max's friend, take matters into his own hands by pummeling Silva, no one else stepped in.

"Get me everything on that kid. I want to know why he did it before I decide to unleash my anger on the world," said Ryan's father. He sat calmly, his eyes steady, as he observed his son stepping in to protect his friend.

Witnessing the brawl, many in the audience felt a mixture of alarm and fascination.

No one had expected such a blatant breach of the rules. And the most surprising part? Silva, who had attempted to strike Max from behind, had been utterly laid out by someone not even competing.

The sound of Ryan's punches connecting with Silva echoed throughout the arena, each strike amplifying the crowd's disbelief. Even as blood poured from Silva's head, Ryan didn't stop.

"That kid fits my style... Someday, I might need to seek out real fighters like him. I should consider reaching out," mused Robert, excitement flickering in his eyes as an idea began to take shape.

"He has friends here. Why go to such extremes?" murmured Alex, seated next to Robert, as he watched Max retreat to Ryan's side.

"To see if he can still fight while injured. I want to know how far he can push himself when his desire to win outweighs his fear of pain," Robert replied, his thoughts focused on Max and what this competition might reveal about his character.

...

"I've got your back, brother," said Ryan, a bit tipsy, as he bumped his bloodied fist against Max's glove.

Both of them bore fresh injuries, but that only strengthened their bond, a camaraderie that surpassed mere friendship.

"I'm so drunk. If I weren't, I'd have ripped that bastard's eyes out," Ryan joked, slumping onto a long couch where his friends helped him sit. He started laughing, the tension fading.

Devon, clearly worried about Max, asked, "Are you okay, Max?"

"I'm fine," Max replied with a faint smile, spitting out water mixed with blood.

Miguel, standing nearby, didn't say a word, but his gaze darted around nervously. He clearly wasn't accustomed to such chaotic environments. Still, there was something thrilling about witnessing the raw intensity of the moment. However, now that he had seen more blood than in any movie, some of that excitement began to wear off.

"Max, you're bleeding," Devon exclaimed, noticing blood running down his forehead.

Max, perplexed, replied, "I'm pretty sure I didn't take a hit to the head."

"It's probably not yours," Devon suggested.

"I held your head earlier. It must be that bastard's blood," Ryan chimed in, cracking open a fresh can of beer.

Everyone turned to Ryan, who, completely unfazed, was already munching on a burger.