THE FINAL BOUT
The source of my opponent's sudden surge of energy was no mystery—an open secret whispered in the sweat-soaked air of the wrestling ring. Just moments ago, at the shrill blast of the referee’s whistle, I had sensed his strength faltering. His reflexes had dulled, his breaths came in ragged gasps, and his movements grew sluggish under the weight of exhaustion. But now, mere minutes later, he was a whirlwind of motion, leaping into high jacks with the relentless vigor of a Duracell Bunny. My mind raced, calculating. This burst of energy had to be his last reserve, a final adrenaline-fueled rush before his body gave out. All I needed to do was stay calm, bide my time, and keep out of his reach. Let him burn himself out, and victory would be mine. I kept my distance, circling the mat, my eyes locked on his every move. His chest heaved, sweat glistened on his brow, and yet his gaze burned with fierce determination. I was so focused on anticipating his collapse that I let my guard slip ...