THE SOUTHPAW 'S ARENA II
The echo of that punch still lingered in the air. The crowd was on its feet, half of them screaming in shock, the rest too stunned to even move. Frank—the Southpaw, the man no one had ever hit clean—was standing there with disbelief written all over his face.
He blinked, his fingers brushing his cheek, his jaw tight. Then his eyes went back to Jaden.
And what he saw made his blood boil.
Jaden was standing just like him—same stance, same angle, same calm look. Left shoulder turned, right hand low, left leg forward. It was like watching his own reflection, only younger, fiercer, and hungrier.
For a second, Frank thought it was a trick. But then Jaden shifted his weight, and even that movement mirrored his own.
“What the hell are you doing?” Frank hissed.
Jaden
