John felt a sharp kick to his abdomen, the breath driven from his lungs as he stumbled backward. But the system’s power surged within him, revitalising him, pushing him beyond his limits. Grace shouted, "Handsome..."

[Ding! The Host martial arts technique striking speed integrated to match the opponent’s.] 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

The call from Grace snapped John back to the moment. His mind was clear now, the system’s power coursing through his veins like liquid fire. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Mr. Black was a formidable opponent, his every move precise and deadly. John had to stay focused, for Grace’s sake.

As Mr. Black closed in, John recalled a technique he had watched in awe during a replay at the Apex Special Hotel. It was a move from the legendary Titanic martial arts form, renowned for its speed and agility.

John visualised the sequence in his mind: a series of rapid, fluid wrestling that was designed to overwhelm an opponent with sheer velocity.

"Focus, John," he whispered to himself, channelling the power within.

Mr. Black lunged again, his fists a blur. But this time, John was ready. He sidestepped, his body twisting gracefully as he dodged the attack. With a swift pivot, he launched into the Titanic technique, his fists and feet moving in a flurry of strikes that left Mr. Black momentarily stunned.

"Is that all you got?" Mr. Black taunted, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

John smirked, feeling the rhythm of the fight. "Just warming up," he retorted, his confidence surging.

For a moment, John was in control, his movements synchronised with the system’s enhancements. Every punch and kick landed with precision, forcing Mr. Black to retreat. But the seasoned gangster wasn’t about to be outdone. He adjusted his stance, countering with a series of swift, powerful blows that caught John off guard.

"John, watch out!" Grace cried, her voice tinged with fear.

John barely had time to react as Mr. Black’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling. He tasted blood, his vision blurring for a second. Mr. Black pressed his advantage, delivering a punishing combination of strikes that drove John back.

"Come on, John!" Grace urged, her voice a lifeline amidst the chaos.

Gritting his teeth, John shook off the daze. He couldn’t let Mr. Black win. Not with Grace so close, so vulnerable. He had to protect her, no matter the cost.

The two men circled each other, the air between them crackling with tension. John knew he needed a new strategy. Mr. Black was a master, his skills honed over years of ruthless fighting. John had to dig deep, find an edge that could tip the balance in his favour.

He thought back to the techniques he had seen in the Apex Special Hotel replays. The speed, the agility—the way the fighters seemed to flow like water, adapting to every move. It was about finesse, not brute strength.

Mr. Black struck again, a ferocious kick aimed at John’s midsection. But this time, John was ready. He shifted his weight, letting the blow glance off harmlessly, then countered with a lightning-fast jab that caught Mr. Black off guard.

The gangster grunted, staggering back. "You’ve got some fight in you, I’ll give you that," he admitted, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip and temples.

"More than you can handle," John shot back, determination blazing in his eyes, sweat trickling down his temples.

But Mr. Black was relentless, his attacks unyielding. He landed a vicious punch to John’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. John doubled over, gasping for breath, pain radiating through his body.

"Sweetheart!" Grace screamed, her voice filled with panic.

John pushed himself up, ignoring the agony. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, not now. He had to fight for his future.

Mr. Black smirked, sensing victory. "You should’ve walked away when you had the chance," he taunted, moving in for the kill.

"John, you can do it!" Grace cheered, her voice a beacon of hope.

John felt the tide turning, the momentum shifting in his favour. Each strike landed with precision, forcing Mr. Black to retreat. It was a battle of endurance now, a test of who would falter first.

And then, in a moment of clarity, John realised what he needed to do. He focused on Mr. Black’s movements, waiting for the perfect opportunity. When it came, he seized it, delivering a devastating uppercut that sent Mr. Black sprawling to the ground.

But the fight wasn’t over. Mr. Black struggled to his feet, determination etched on his face. John prepared to finish it, but a sudden cry from Grace made him pause.

"John, look out!"

In that instant, John saw it: Mr. Black reaching for a concealed weapon, a glint of metal catching the light. John reacted instinctively, surging forward to disarm him.

The two men grappled, each vying for control. It was a desperate struggle, the outcome hanging in the balance. John’s fingers closed around the weapon, wrenching it free from Mr. Black’s grasp.

But before he could act, a deafening roar filled the air. Grace, her face pale but resolute, stood by the car, pulling the trigger on the Thompson M1A1 submachine gun she had picked up earlier.

"Don’t shoot!" John yelled, panic lacing his voice.

He couldn’t risk Grace firing wildly, her inexperience turning the gun into a liability. But her presence was a powerful deterrent, forcing Mr. Black to hesitate.

The gangster glanced between John and Grace, realising he was outmatched. But he refused to back down, a snarl of defiance on his lips.

"John, let me help!" Grace pleaded, her index finger trembling on the trigger.

John shook his head, his voice firm. "I got this, Grace. Just stay safe." Before John could react, Grace relaxed hee knackles on the trigger that left Mr. Black double shot directly on the right shoulder.

Breathless and battered, John stood over Mr. Black, his victory hard-won. But he couldn’t celebrate yet. Grace was still in danger, still vulnerable.

"John," Grace called softly, her voice filled with relief and admiration.

He turned to her, his expression softening. "It’s over," he assured her, taking a step toward the car.

But as he did, Mr. Black moved again, his desperation driving him to act. He lunged at John, a last-ditch attempt to regain control.

John reacted instantly, his reflexes honed by the martial arts technique and special speed from the system. He sidestepped the attack, his fist connecting with Mr. Black’s jaw in a bone-crunching punch that sent the gangster sprawling.

Finally, Mr. Black lay motionless, defeated at last. John turned to Grace, his heart pounding in his chest.

She stood by the car, her eyes wide with awe and relief. "You did it, John," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

John approached her, his expression softening as he took her hand. "I couldn’t have done it without you," he admitted, his voice filled with gratitude.

Grace’s smile was radiant, her grip on the submachine gun relaxing as she set it aside. "I’m just glad you’re okay," she replied, leaning into him.

John wrapped his arms around her, the warmth of their connection grounding him. Despite the chaos, despite the danger, they had made it through together.

But their moment of peace was short-lived. Grace winced, a pained expression crossing her face as she clutched her side.

"Grace, what’s wrong?" John asked, his concern immediate.

She shook her head, trying to downplay her discomfort. "It’s nothing," she insisted, but her voice was strained.

John’s eyes narrowed, his worry deepening. "You need medical attention," he said firmly, his protective instincts kicking in.

Grace hesitated, but the pain was undeniable. "Okay," she relented, her voice soft.

They climbed into the Rolls-Royce, John starting the engine as he navigated away from the scene. Grace leaned back in her seat, her expression weary but relieved.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, her eyes closing as exhaustion took hold.

John reached over, taking her hand in his. "Don’t apologise," he said gently. "You were incredible."

She smiled weakly, her grip on his hand tightening. "I couldn’t let you face him alone," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

John’s heart swelled with admiration and love. "We’re a team," he reminded her, his voice steady and reassuring.

As they drove toward safety, John kept his focus on the road, his mind racing with thoughts of what might happen next. Grace needed medical care, and he would make sure she got it. But more than that, he would protect her, no matter the cost.

Although he had won the gang, the adrenaline of the fight was still coursing through his veins. He glanced over at Grace, her breathing steady now as she rested.

But his senses remained alert, aware that danger could lurk around any corner. He wouldn’t let his guard down, not until they were truly safe.

Grace stirred, her eyes fluttering open as she turned to him. "Dear?," she said softly, her voice filled with trust.

"I’m here," he replied, squeezing her hand gently.