The sand hit Gunwoo in the face as he made his way through the thick storm. He didn't want to shield his eyes, as that would reduce his view even further.
His ears perked up as he swore that he heard a soft footstep just now, but when he looked over, he didn't see anything except the sand being blown by the wind.
Gunwoo jumped into a handstand and kicked like a whirlwind, but he didn't hit anything except the flying sand.
He stood back on his two feet with a frown on his face.
At that moment, a fist came through the sand, but Gunwoo was ready for it and slapped the punch away.
Arturo jumped through the sand and thrust his fists towards Gunwoo's face, but Gunwoo was faster and slapped Arturo's fists away as well.
He punched, but then Gunwoo grabbed his arm and tried twisting it, but Arturo was able to break free and punched Gunwoo in the stomach.
With a grunt of pain, Gunwoo circled around Arturo and attacked his back, but he quickly turned around and blocked the incoming blow.
This time around, Gunwoo went on the offensive.
With his arms working like a well-oiled machine, he repeatedly punched forward, aiming for Arturo's chest and face.
Arturo lowered his stance and put his guard up to protect himself from the barrage of punches, and protect he did.
Those punches, despite being fast, lacked the necessary strength to punch through his rock-solid guard.
The sand cloud started to clear up, and the crowd finally had a proper look at the match.
"You can't keep guarding forever!"
Arturo lowered his guard, tanked a few of the punches with his chest, then grabbed Gunwoo from his shorts and threw him high in the air.
Gunwoo turned around in the air and saw Arturo jump up high after him, his fist raised and ready to strike.
"Try to use your speed in the air!"
Arturo screamed, and he punched—a blur of fists and fury. Left jab, right hook, elbow—hoping that they would land.
Left, right, left again. Fists flew. He breathed hard, knuckles cracked against bone. A grunt. Another swing. Blood sprayed.
Gunwoo reeled, trying to hide behind his arms, but there was no escape in the air. He was stuck, like a marionette whose strings were wrapped tightly around his limbs.
He fell back down onto the hot, grainy sand as the pain pulsed through his body and had one short moment to catch his breath.
Arturo landed on Gunwoo's chest, knee-first, and forced the air to leave his body as he screamed in agony.
A crack sounded. Something broke. It was most likely a rib as Gunwoo cried out in pain and struggled to breathe.
"Well… What are you going to do now? How is your speed going to help you escape this little peril you're in?"
Arturo mounted on Gunwoo's chest and smacked his fist into his face, making the blood mix with the golden sand.
Gunwoo coughed out blood, quickly turned on his back, and hid his head between his arms, but Arturo's fists were relentless.
They kept hitting the back of his neck, which was quite a delicate area.
Arturo smacked his fist at his ribs multiple times—knuckles against bone—until he heard a loud crack and scream.
The loud crack came from Gunwoo's ribs, and the scream came from his mouth.
"Come on, Gunwoo. What the fuck are you doing!"
"A series of bad choices. Gunwoo can't use his speed for long durations, so him using his speed so many times early in the match was a bad choice.
"If the match lasted a while, he'll just get weaker and weaker until… this happens. If I were in his shoes, I would use the speed more sparingly throughout the match."
'It's crazy to say, but I think Ryan used his speed better than Gunwoo. I guess it is because he was more aware of his limitations, while Gunwoo has much greater confidence in himself.'
Master Arakawa nodded at Kiernan's analysis of the match and agreed with everything he said.
They've told Gunwoo to be more careful with his speed, but while he was very confident in himself, he also had low self-esteem.
He didn't think that he was worthy of participating in the martial arts festival without his speed, and not wanting to look weak, he used his speed.
It greatly backfired.
Gunwoo cowered under his arms, gritted his teeth so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth.
His body, if it could speak, would be screaming at him to do something, as Arturo had complete free rein to do as he pleased.
Smack—the ribs stung with pain, a sharp, searing pain that made it hard to breathe—and it made almost impossible for him to move.
Gunwoo started shaking right and left—he was trying to shake Arturo off his back—it was almost like he was on a rodeo, desperately trying to stay on the bucking bronco.
Arturo wrapped his legs around Gunwoo's torso, not planning to get thrown off so easily, and maintained a tight grip on his shoulders.
Gunwoo suddenly kicked himself off the ground, threw his head back, and slammed the back of his head against Arturo's face.
Arturo's nose got crushed, and he fell off his back.
Gunwoo jumped back to his feet, and the crowd cried out in surprise as they all thought that he was completely done.
With bruised ribs, Gunwoo lunged at Arturo, swinging his fists around, but Arturo weaved through them with ease and countered with a heel kick to his bruised ribs.
Gunwoo screamed and clutched his ribs.
A big window of opportunity appeared in front of Arturo, and he saw the doors of victory opening before him.
He rotated his shoulder and punched like a piston—it was the punch that he thought would win him the match—but at that moment, Gunwoo ran backwards.
It was so fast that one would think that he was running forward, but no, it was in a reverse direction.
A distance grew between them.
Dante's eyes brightened as he realized that this was the perfect opportunity for Gunwoo to use the secret technique he had been training!
Gunwoo wiped the blood off his mouth.