From Bullets To Billions

There was a reason for Max's late arrival, and it wasn't because he wanted to make some grand entrance, like some movie star arriving fashionably late. No, that wasn't it at all.

The real reason was far more mundane, but also more telling: he had completely lost track of time. Not out of carelessness, but because his mind had been swimming in thought, obsessing over his newest ability, the strange and unpredictable power of the Vow.

To someone like Max, someone who had survived and thrived as the head of the White Tiger group, understanding the rules was only the first step. The next was breaking them, or at least bending them until they almost snapped. He had made a career, a life, out of finding loopholes and back doors, of thinking five steps ahead and sidestepping disaster. Now, he was trying to do the same thing with his ability.

What if, he wondered, the Vow could be activated just through a simple bet? A spoken agreement, a mental commitment, a private challenge, did the power respond to belief alone?

If he told someone he would win, and they doubted him, would that be enough to ignite the flame? Would his determination override the normal rules of engagement?

Even if the person he made the bet with couldn't pay up, would his mind, believing it had already won, unlock temporary power?

He'd hoped so.

But it didn't work.

Max realized, as much as it frustrated him, that the Vow couldn't be tricked, not even by him. It was linked too closely to truth. It had to be real. He had to believe, without doubt, that the conditions were solid. Otherwise, there would be no reward.

That led him to a new theory. What if he made a bet with someone who could actually afford to pay? Someone like Wolf.

After all, he had already been giving Wolf hundreds of thousands of dollars every time he needed a job done. So if he made a legitimate bet, won, and delayed payment, wasn't that technically valid?

Maybe.

But the more he thought about it, the more complications arose. If Wolf knew about the plan, it wouldn't work. The Vow demanded authenticity. No games. No manipulation. If it wasn't a real wager, then it wouldn't trigger. That meant he couldn't explain what he was doing, couldn't script it or stage it.

And Wolf wasn't the type to play along without knowing every detail. He wouldn't be easily fooled, and even if he was, a bet like that would only pay off after Max won the fight. Which would make it useless during.

Still, Max wasn't discouraged. He didn't find a way to break the Vow, but he had found something else, a contingency plan. A backup move he could use in a crisis.

It required setup. Careful placement. And most importantly, it needed Aron's help.

Luckily, Aron already knew about the Vow. He didn't understand how it worked, no one really did, but he trusted Max enough not to question it. That trust was crucial. Max needed him to follow instructions blindly.

Now, with everything set, Max stood in the cage, shoulders relaxed, eyes calm. He was ready.

Across from him, Rick entered the ring.

The sound of his footsteps was heavy, deliberate. Rick was known for his hands, not just their size, but their sheer destructive power. Over time, his fists had been fractured so many times, the bones had calcified in strange ways. They were calloused, thickened, compact. A pair of sledgehammers in human form.

He had turned damage into weaponry. And today, he planned to use that weapon.

Up in the stands, the murmurs began.

"Even though the Bloodline group already won the overall challenge," Print said, leaning into the mic, "do you really think Max can beat him? Rick's a whole different level."

"That's a good question," Erik replied. "There was so much hype around Rick's fists, until that first fight. And yeah, Max was impressive... but maybe that was just because his opponent underestimated him."

Erik's tone lowered. "He landed some clean hits, no question. But was that skill? Or luck?"

Print nodded. "Guess we're gonna find out if Max is the real deal, right here, right now."

In the center of the cage, Max and Rick were barely two meters apart, yet the air between them felt charged.

Rick's stare was sharp. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Trying to impress the street gangs? Trying to become another Dipter, build your own empire of punks and dropouts?"

Max smiled, calm and casual. "Funny, I could ask you the same. You didn't have to fight me. You could've joined. Could've stood by our side. But no, you wanted to prove something."

He took a slow step forward. "Let me guess, you've got power, so you don't think you should follow anyone, right?"

His voice hardened.

"All this schoolyard chaos, the little wars and alliances? It's nothing compared to what's really out there. I'm not aiming for high school turf. I'm not interested in ruling over kids. I'm reaching for something much bigger."

Max pointed toward the stands. "You can either ride this wave… or get swallowed by it."

It wasn't a threat. It was a truth. One that echoed far beyond the cage.

There were thousands of delinquents, thousands of kids with anger and muscle and fists. But most of them would fade. They'd vanish into prisons, graveyards, or the kind of obscurity that came with growing old and bitter.

Only a few ever rose.

Rick scowled. "So I'm just a frog in a well, huh? Can't see the world for what it really is?"

He clenched his fists, and the leather of his gloves groaned.

"Well, I'm a big damn frog. And that well I crawled out of? It goes deeper than anything you've seen."

With a shout, Rick reached for his right wrist, his signature move, and stabilized his arm before launching the punch.

He was fast. Faster than expected. His fist shot forward like a bullet.

But Max was ready.

He raised both arms, guarding his head. He didn't even flinch. Rick took the opening and slammed his fist into Max's stomach, full force.

The sound of the impact echoed through the arena. A sickening, dense crack.

The audience winced.

Max didn't move.

His body stayed rooted, firm. His head rose, and he was smiling.

'That's definitely an A-class punch,' Max thought. 'Maybe even A+, if we're just talking raw strength.'

If he hadn't taken the Vow… maybe that blow would've folded him in half.

"I've heard people call you Hercules," Max said, voice calm as ever.

Rick narrowed his eyes.

Max stepped forward, eyes locked on his opponent.

"Well, I've met the real one."

He smirked.

"And trust me, you're nothing like him."