The sun hung high in the sky, bright but not blinding, its glow wrapping Malo in a gentle, golden warmth. It wasn’t the kind of heat that made you sweat, but the kind that sank into your skin, coaxing you into drowsiness. Malo squinted up at it, his eyelids heavy, and for a moment, he was debating on really falling asleep.

  Above him, big, puffy clouds drifted lazily across the blue, as soft-looking as the pillows he’d sink his head into after a long day. The way they floated made him think of lying down, closing his eyes, and just letting the world drift away.

  But was the sun always this bright?

  Malo’s brow furrowed.

  It probably was, but he felt like something was off, even though nothing strange had happened. There were no storm clouds forming, no second sun appearing out of nowhere, and the sky didn’t suddenly become blood red. Everything looked normal. And yet, it didn’t feel normal. It was familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place, like a memory hiding just out of reach.

  Which made him wonder, why was he even looking at the sky in the first place?

  The last clear thing he remembered was trading blows with Beric. Well, trying to trade blows. Calling it “trading” was generous. Malo’s fists had swung through nothing but air, except for that one headbutt-

  Oh.

  He lost.

  Malo continued to look up.

  This had been the longest fight he’d ever been in. He hadn’t even known fights could last that long. He was also filled with shock at how he had actually..........lost.

  Still, the question nagged at him: How did I lose?

  He racked his mind to come up with an answer.

  Maybe he had over-trained earlier in the day. Or maybe he’d gone to bed too late last night. He did stay up later than usual. Or maybe it was that roasted goblin leg he’d eaten. The vendor had said it was a rare delicacy, and he’d seemed like a cool guy, so Malo had given it a try. But then he remembered the long, miserable trip to the outhouse afterward.

  No, that wasn’t it.

  Malo knew the truth.

  Beric was just that strong.

  “Agh-”

  Malo was disappointed in himself, for not only losing, but not listening to Jain. He had already been warned that Beric could be the one to take him down.

  Malo thought he’d taken the fight seriously. But when the match began, he’d slipped back into his usual way of doing things—dragging it out, letting the blows come and go, saving the real finish for later. Not for his sake, but for the people watching. A fight was supposed to be entertaining before it was over.

  But Beric wasn’t the kind of fighter you could toy with.

  Malo lost because he underestimated him.

  And Beric hadn’t just gone beyond his expectations, but he had crushed them. He had broken every defense, read every move, and finally knocked Malo flat on his back.

  This was on him.

  For a moment, he just lay there..........until he felt it.

  Anger.

  It startled him. Was he angry at Beric? This was the first time he’d ever lost, so it made sense to feel strange about it. Or was he mad because Beric had ended his streak?

  No. That didn’t feel right.

  The truth was, he didn’t even care about his record, let alone fighting that much anymore. Winning had always been easy for him, so easy that fights felt like boring chores.

  Then was it jealousy?

  Beric was just a kid, yet he handled weapons like someone twice his age. He could take Malo’s serious hits and still stand........No. That wasn't it.

  So why was he so angry?

  Malo could feel his heart pounding fast. Faster than it ever had in any other fight. It didn’t beat like this with anyone else. The only times he’d felt it before were........back then.

  Why did he remember that? Was losing really that sad?

  ..........Of course it was.

  It would explain why so many fighters he’d beaten had that look. The look of despair and depression at losing so quickly, with their wet eyes, tight jaws, faces twisted between pain and shame.

  Then it clicked.

  The sky above him looked familiar because he had seen it before. He had seen it through the eyes of his opponents. After he won, they’d end up on their backs, seething in rage and embarrassment as they could do nothing else but stare back up rebelliously as the sky.

  And now he understood why.

  He was sad that he’d lost. He regretted that his fight with Beric had ended. He hated that just when things were getting good, when his heartbeat was climbing higher and higher, he had fallen.

  He was disappointed that their fight was over.

  Then, very slowly, he willed his body to get back up.

  Back then, he’d never understood why they bothered. Why fight to stand again, just to lose again? Just to get hurt even more?

  There was no point.

  But lying here now, with the grass beneath him and the clouds drifting overhead, Malo thought that he understood a little.

  Just a little.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  What’s up?

  I fell onto my butt as I exhaled. “That was tiring as hell.”

  Sys grinned and playfully hit me.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Our little Beric has grown a lot, huh?

  “Don’t call me little ever again.”

  “That’s what you get!”

  The hell?

  Sys and I both turned toward the noise.

  Down in the stands, a man with a wide, crooked grin stood up, his voice cutting through the hum of the crowd. “Finally! That stupidly overpowered monster’s lost!” he shouted, the words laced with spite.

  Who’s that?

  I glanced at Jain. His expression was flat, but there was a flicker of annoyance as he fixed his gaze on the heckler.

  Most of the audience seemed taken aback, their faces twisting in offense at the sudden jeer. But like a stone tossed into still water, the ripple spread. The man’s words stirred something ugly in the air, and more voices began to join in.

  “Battle Devil, my ass! Do you know how much money I put on you, just for you to lose to some brat?!” one man yelled, shaking his fist as if he wanted to fight Malo himself.

  “What a huge disappointment! How do you lose to a kid?” another barked.

  “They let anyone into the Zenith Generation now!” came a sneer from a lanky youth who looked to be about Malo's age.

  The noise grew. Some booed because Malo had lost to a younger fighter. Others because their bets had gone up in smoke. But the loudest, most vicious voices came from those around his own age, teenagers leaning over the railing, smirking and shouting insults about him being cocky and overconfident.

  I studied their faces.

  The satisfaction in their eyes stood out. Envy. Maybe even history. Could they have been old opponents, fighters who had once been humiliated by him in the ring?

  Gabno stepped in, trying to hush the crowd, but the floodgates had opened. Anyone who had ever resented Malo, whether from jealousy, fear, or just wanting to pile on, was now shouting their piece. Their voices overlapped into a messy chorus of glee and bitterness.

  Through it all, Malo didn’t move.

  I did the same.

  This wasn’t my problem.

  It was Malo’s, and everyone else like him.

  This was the burden of the talented.

  He had been born with gifts most could only dream of, strength and endurance that dwarfed ordinary fighters and a body built for greatness. From the very start, he carried the title of the strongest, and he had worn it well. People looked at him and saw promise. They had no doubt he would win again, just as he always had.

  He had to. That was what it meant to be the strongest.

  And yet, he lost to me.

  To some random nobody.

  Now he lay there, forced to endure the voices of disappointment from those who had believed in him, and envy from those who had wished to be him, only to watch him fall to a child.

  I continued to watch.

  From what I’d seen, Malo wasn’t a bad person.

  But he had wasted it.

  All those days I spent pushing myself to the limit: core exercises until my muscles burned, running laps while hoisting heavy logs, sit-ups with that devil pressing down on my stomach, planks with Shade lounging on my back, hollow holds that seemed to last hours.

  I memorized every pattern of every style Liora taught me: the footwork, the timing, the subtle shifts in stance. Then I had to memorize every single counter and every weakness in each move. And after that, I spent even more time applying it to every weapon I could wield, no matter the weight and no matter the distance.

  Sprite and I spent months learning to move as one. She had to adjust to my mana storage and summon timing, while I had to adjust to her abilities and her mana consumption. And still, I hadn’t shown it all, not yet, since Walden insisted that I should only use magic if my opponent did as well.

  I had done all of that to be here.

  But maybe that’s the problem.

  You and I, we both needed to prove something. And the only way we could measure it was in front of others. We needed the crowd, the eyes that would witness, the cheers or gasps that would confirm we were as strong as we believed.

  You needed to prove your strength. I needed to prove my effort.

  So why?

  Why did you fall so easily?

  And why am I so unsatisfied with this?

  See? You’re a very fickle person.

  You were scared, nervous, trembling at the start, all because of some dumb rumors spread by kids, and the idea that you were too weak to even compete.

  And yet, when you actually stepped into the fight, when you finally showed what you could do, you felt anger.

  Anger that you were only here to entertain, that you were forced to fight just to prove your strength, and that you couldn’t even believe you’d grown stronger unless someone else told you so.

  And now, you’re angry at Malo.

  A person who had everything you ever wanted, whose strength and talent made you feel invisible, had now fallen so easily to you. To someone who had to sacrifice everything he had to be here.

  You’ve always hated talented people for the way they make you feel irrelevant.

  And you also hate that you let yourself be affected by them. For being stirred by what should have been easy.

  But here’s the thing. Who do you think you are?

  You’re not some inspirational underdog, rising from weakness to achieve greatness. You’re not someone who deserves sympathy for challenging Malo. You’re not a dark horse, a miracle, or even a clever underdog worthy of praise for a simple victory.

  You’re talented just like him. You have abilities and cheats that have allowed you to get to where you are now. You didn’t get here with only hard work.

  And you hate that, even with all of this-

  You're still the same.

  “Malo!”

  Jain’s voice cut through the daze I’d been drifting in. I blinked, and for a moment, the world felt fuzzy.

  Malo stirred slightly.

  It was then that a small screen flickered to life before me.

  Defeat Malo Dione.

  A quest. It was the one that I had accepted before the fight. I was used to quests appearing out of nowhere, so I had started accepting every single one. It wasn’t too smart to do that, but I had ended up clearing every single one, even if I sometimes forgot about them. But this one.

  It hadn’t cleared yet.

  “Was I right?” Jain asked with an amused look.

  He was standing now.

  Gabno looked confused, while Adam shifted at the edge, unsure if he should announce the end of the match.

  But Jain didn’t let him. He raised a hand, stopping Adam mid-step.

  “Is Beric strong?”

  The words were simple, but they hung in the air like a challenge.

  Then, a low voice answered.

  “He is.”

  I shivered.

  No way.

  Like a giant awakening from a long slumber, Malo slowly got up and stood. “Do you hear them, Beric?”

  My heart froze.

  He looked downwards. “They all came here thinking I would win. They trusted me for it. They believed in me because that’s who I am. I am Malo Dione, a genius of fighting. And yet, here they are, laughing at me for losing to you." He looked up at me. “It's been a while since they treated me like this.”

  He slightly moved his head to the side. “It’s the first time I’ve lost too.”

  Then he stared up at the sky. “Defeat is an interesting feeling. I had never experienced it, yet I’ve been connected to it for so long, so long that fighting me guarantees that one would experience it himself."

  A quiet sigh escaped him.

  “And now I get it. Losing, it hurts. I keep thinking about the fight, what I did wrong, what I could have done differently."

  He chuckled lightly. “And now I have to deal with the repercussions of being the strongest. People are angry at me for betraying their faith, people I beat are scornful over such a pitiful way to go out, and I’m mad at myself for losing.”

  ...........Isn’t that obvious? You’re the one that decided to keep on winning.

  I stayed quiet for a moment, then asked the question pressing on my mind. “Then, why do you fight?”

  He looked at me. “Why?”

  “You could’ve avoided all of this, all of their animosity and your own disappointment, if you hadn’t fought at all. So, why do you fight?”

  Malo didn’t answer.

  Because Malo himself didn’t know well.