You Are Really No Match For Me [Fighting] - Chapter 21

“Beep——”

A booming voice, deep and resonant, echoed across the venue. It was Boss Mo, his words carrying like a thunderclap:

“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the very first match of our month-long public arena tournament! The final champion will walk away with a Maserati—sponsored by Signal Processing Corporation—worth two million!”

The moment Jin Mu heard “a Maserati worth two million,” his expression shifted. He squinted—and sure enough, it was his Maserati! No wonder Xiao Bai had snuck backstage into the broadcast booth today. He shot a glare straight into the nearest camera, his eyes clearly spelling out:

We’ll settle this later.

Boss Mo drew out his next words, savoring the anticipation:

“And now—it’s time for a three-round challenger bout! First, let’s welcome our attacking fighter—‘The Demolitionist,’ Song Jing!”

The giant screen zoomed in on Song Jing—his fluorescent green dreadlocks tied back, his bare arms covered in snarling lion tattoos. He shot the camera a contemptuous glare, then raised his metal-knuckled fist and snapped out a middle finger. The joints clicked open with a metallic clack, revealing the gleam of micro-hydraulic tubing.

“And our defending fighter—Jin Yu! Worth noting—she is the very first fighter in this arena’s history to compete without any prosthetics, relying solely on pure flesh and bl00d!”

The camera cut to Jin Yu. She tilted her head slightly, sharp eyes radiating calm and confidence, like a predator sizing up its prey.

Referee Yang Su’s low, steady voice resounded:

“Fighters, take your positions.”

The two approached the center of the cage. Yang Su raised both hands between them.

“The rules have been explained. Fight fair.” He stepped back. “Touch gloves and return to your corners—fight!”

Gloves tapped. Song Jing’s fists were the size of sandbags, metallic and menacing, while Jin Yu wore nothing more than standard boxing gloves. They stepped back to their corners, their gazes locking in midair. Song Jing’s mechanical joints whirred with a pressure boost. Beneath Jin Yu’s wraps, her knuckles cracked audibly.

Both circled warily at the center.

Song Jing struck first—a straight punch aimed at Jin Yu’s face. She blocked cleanly. He followed with a hook; she tilted her head, letting it sail past, and countered with a precise jab that forced him back.

On the commentary desk, Xiao Bai’s voice rang out:
“Song Jing opens with a straight punch—beautifully defended by Jin Yu! As we all know, Song Jing is a famed heavy hitter—his punches pack insane power and frightening speed…”

Before he could finish, Jin Yu swept low. Song Jing staggered—and her follow-up right hand smashed into his temple.

Liang Yu’s voice leapt with excitement:
“Clean hit! That sweep disrupted Song Jing’s balance, and that counterpunch landed flush on the head!”

Song Jing shook off the blow, fury igniting in his eyes. He swung wildly, both fists arcing in brutal hooks, the air howling with the force, afterimages blurring.

The crowd roared their approval. Grinning, Song Jing hammered his mechanical fists faster and faster.

But Jin Yu’s gaze sharpened. She had found her rhythm.

Xiao Bai shouted:
“Here it comes! Song Jing’s signature barrage! Let’s see how Jin Yu responds!”

Liang Yu cut in quickly:
“They’re trading now! But Jin Yu’s punch rhythm is so precise it’s forcing Song Jing onto the defensive—his output is slowing!”

Suddenly Song Jing ducked, shooting forward for a takedown.

Jin Yu sank her hips and blasted three uppercuts in rapid succession—smashing his chin and temple, one after another. Staggered, Song Jing abandoned the attempt and stumbled back.

Xiao Bai gasped:
“Excellent ground defense! Jin Yu’s storm of counters completely broke his takedown attempt!”

Liang Yu’s voice spiked:
“She’s countering! Forcing Song Jing back against the cage!”

Xiao Bai analyzed breathlessly:
“Looks like Song Jing still hasn’t recovered from that exchange—his retreat looks desperate, like he’s trapped!”

Jin Yu seized the moment. Her rear hand swung wide—four heavy hooks, each detonating against Song Jing’s jaw.

“One! Two! Three! Four!” Liang Yu counted aloud as Song Jing crumpled.

Groaning, Song Jing tried to rise—only to be launched airborne by Jin Yu’s picture-perfect side kick. He slammed into the cage wall with a bone-rattling bang before collapsing to the mat.

“Incredible timing!” Xiao Bai marveled. “That side kick was textbook perfect, measured to the millimeter!”

Liang Yu announced:
“The referee is counting! Song Jing’s down against the cage, it looks like—”

“He’s done! Round one over! Jin Yu wins!” Xiao Bai shouted, practically leaping from his chair.

The crowd erupted, cheering and whistling.

Jin Yu raised her fists and vaulted out of the octagon, hugging Su Xi, then Jin Mu, and finally Boss Mo.

Jin Mu pulled out her mouthguard.
“Rest up. Round two starts in one minute.”

She nodded, touching the scratches on her face—just a few shallow cuts.

Ding ding ding! Round two began.

Jin Yu’s eyes were steady as she pressed forward.

Xiao Bai’s voice was feverish:
“Confidence is written all over her now! But can Song Jing find his rhythm under this relentless pressure?”

Song Jing, consumed by anger, lunged with a feint and punched. But Jin Yu pivoted, clamped his shoulder, and executed a clean throw, slamming him to the mat.

The arena exploded in cheers.

His fans, however, shouted frantically, desperate:
“Get up, Song Jing! Get up!”

On the ground, he pounded at Jin Yu’s head with his metal fists, legs kicking to buck her off. But she trapped one arm, pinning him down, and hammered his temple with merciless blows.

Though he struck at her shoulders, his power had already drained away.

His fans fell silent, eyes wide with despair.

Liang Yu counted:
“1…2…3…4…5…6…7… The referee’s stepping in—he waves it off! TKO!”

Xiao Bai jumped out of his chair, fists pumping:
“She did it! Forty-eight-second TKO! Who could’ve imagined we’d see such a miracle in our arena?!”

He bolted from the booth, rushing to Jin Yu, slapping her shoulder in exhilaration.
“Amazing, Xiaoyu! Absolutely amazing! I knew you could do it!”

He was soon swallowed by the crowd—fans clamoring for handshakes, filming on their phones. Across the way, Su Xi snapped photos, tossing him a look that said, Wasn’t it obvious?

Ding Shu raised his voice gently:
“Everyone, please—photos later. Let’s treat her injuries first.”

But his words vanished in the uproar.

Jin Mu stepped forward, blocking the path, speaking firmly to the audience:
“Our fighter needs rest. There are matches tomorrow. We’ll arrange photos then!”

Without waiting, he pulled Jin Yu away and led her toward Ding Shu’s medical room.

Truth be told, she wasn’t badly hurt. But Jin Mu was the coach—what he said, went. And putting aside their personal grudges—and his damned curiosity—his professionalism was beyond reproach.

No wonder he made me strengthen my legs before today, even without saying who I’d face.

Inside the medical room, Jin Yu began biting at her wraps to loosen them. Jin Mu frowned, reaching to stop her.
“Dirty. Let me.”

She swatted his hand away, holding out her fists.
“Then you do it.”

He quickly unwrapped her gloves. No bl00d. He exhaled in relief, peeling away the bandages—her knuckles reddened but intact. He crouched lower, checking her waist and shoulders. Just minor bruises.

Her abs were taut, lines sharp, shoulders firm and springy with muscle—no wonder her punches were so fast and heavy.

He straightened.
“Ding Shu will put medicine on you later.” A pause. “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.”

At that moment, Ding Shu stumbled in, breathless, clothes rumpled from the crowd.
“I’ll handle it! I’ll handle it!”

He carefully dabbed ointment, while Jin Mu stood nearby, watching every movement without blinking.

Ding Shu sighed.
“Relax. It’s nothing serious.”

Jin Mu stiffened, then muttered:
“I am relaxed.”

Ding Shu: “…”

Then why are you glaring at me like that?

Jin Yu cleared her throat, breaking the silence.
“So… the first opponent you picked was a good choice.”

One reason she fought Song Jing was his arrogance—Jin Mu simply couldn’t stand him. Of course, he wouldn’t admit that. Not his style.

Still, Song Jing had real ability. Wild, aggressive, with a bit of a reputation. The first fight couldn’t be too easy, or people would cry “fixed match.” Nor could it drag on too long—though with Jin Yu, that seemed unlikely. Above all, the debut had to be decisive—and dazzling.

Jin Mu smirked.
“No need to thank me. You fought well.”

Jin Yu sniffed proudly.
“Of course.”

When it came time to treat the scratches on her face, Ding Shu said gently:
“Close your eyes. I’ll clean this up.”

From Jin Mu’s angle, Ding Shu completely blocked his view. Casually, he shifted toward the wall, pretending to adjust a chair—until from that corner, he could see her profile: smooth forehead, straight nose, flushed cheeks from exertion. Below her shorts, her legs—long, lean, muscles sculpted just enough for power.

If he’d seen them before today, he might have thought them simply beautiful. But now, he saw strength—legs that could deliver that breathtaking side kick, the one that had lit the arena on fire.

Meanwhile, Xiao Bai was already hard at work on promotion.

The match hadn’t just been held in the arena—it had streamed live across NebulaNet. Clips were spreading like wildfire through Jiangbei’s fight scene, along with ticket links, venue address, sign-ups, and more.

At Yuanwang Gym, Zheng Ru was working pads when whispers behind her drew a frown. She turned, ready to scold—only to see Liang Chunyuan.

Despite his prosthetic right leg, he stood straight, the ingrained habit of a soldier.

Her gaze softened.

He had once been special forces, until an accident took his leg. The prosthetic sent him into a slump—until they met. With her help, he opened a gym, and now he was a known fighter in Jiangbei. Their gyms often sparred together.

“Zheng Ru, did you see the video?”

She frowned. “What video?”

The others scrambled to answer.

Finally, her younger brother triumphed through sheer stubbornness.

“Here, sis—I’ll show you!”

On his tablet appeared Jin Yu’s face. Strikingly pretty, yet those eyes brimmed with ambition and cunning.

“Her name’s Jin Yu—Boss Mo’s fighter. She’s good. Just the other day she beat Li Yang and Shu Xia Shanjun. And today, in the public arena match, she TKO’d Song Jing in only 48 seconds!”

Zheng Ru arched a brow, smirking.
“That blond brat?”

Liang Chunyuan stepped forward, shaking his head.
“He may have started late, but he wasn’t all show. Watch the fight—Jin Yu completely outclassed him. A whole different league.”

When Zheng Ru saw that flawless side kick, battle lust flickered in her eyes.
“Little brother—get us tickets for tomorrow.”

Her brother Zheng Li grinned, tossing out a wad of tickets from his pocket.
“Already did!”

She frowned.
“Why so many?”

He smirked.
“To resell, of course. Make a little profit.”

She snatched two, kicking him lightly.
“Useless brat. Always scheming like a scalper.”

“Scram!”