Part-77

  James and Mili stopped at a brightly lit space beled "Judo." Just like the kickboxing floor on the seventh floor, this one was divided into separate training areas for men and women, visible through a transparent gss wall. However, uheir previous stop, Mili bypassed the female se entirely, making a beeline for the male training area.

  James hesitated, a flicker of fusion crossing his features. Why the men's se? He opened his mouth to question her, but the sight that greeted him through the gss stopped the words in his throat. The training area was a whirlwind of activity. Over thirty boys, pristine white judogi, grappled and tossed each other with practiced ease. Uhe street fights he'd withis was a ballet of trolled chaos, a testament to years of dedicated training.

  A familiar thrill of excitement danced in James' chest, overshadowed by a cold dose of reality. These weren't the clumsy brawls he'd grown aced to; this was a different level of bat altogether. Every movement recise, calcuted, fueled by an underlying strength that James could only imagine. He felt a pang of self-doubt, the memory of his meager karate csses a distant echo in the face of this raw athleticism.

  Curiosity g James. He activated his "Know Your Enemy and Ally" skill, a faint blue shimmer emanating from his eyes. Numbers materialized above the heads of the training students, their stats dispyed in stark white.

  His jaw sed. Everyone, and he meant everyone, had stats above 100. This was a level of physical prowess that James had never entered before. Eight of them sported stats ranging from a formidable 300, indig well-hohleticism and years of training, to a staggering 500, a level that suggested exceptional talent and the potential freatness. Three others hovered between 500 and a jaw-dropping 700. These were the elite of the group, possessing not only superior strength and teique but also the strategid and petitive spirit necessary to domiheir oppos. And then there was one. One figure stood out amongst the rest, his stats nearing a mind-boggling 900. This anomaly, easily the most powerful presen the room, moved with a preternatural grace that belied his raw power. He anticipated his oppos' moves with uny ease, effortlessly tering their attacks and transitioning into throws of his own with a ruthless efficy that sent shivers down James' spine.

  A cold srickled James' skin. These weren't just students; they were walking powerhouses, athletes hoo physical perfe. In parison, his own total stats of 66.5 felt utterly pathetic.

  He deactivated the skill, a wave of discement washing over him. Defeat tasted bitter on his tongue. Here he was, all hyped up about his newfound karate skills, only to be fronted with the vast chasm that separated him from these prodigies. It was like paring a tricycle to a race car. Shame burned in his throat. He felt like a child trying to py with adults, a plete novice blundering into a world of professionals. Questions swirled in his mind. What was Mili even thinking, bringing him here? This wasn't a pce finners; it was a training ground for champions, a pce where excellence was the minimum requirement. Doubt g him, whispering insidious insecurities. Maybe before the system he would be no body in this battleground.