There is an even more desired goal

The entire Taekwondo club was seething with indignation; several members had already rolled up their sleeves, and if the setting hadn't been inappropriate, they probably would have charged forward right then and there.

Ding Xi stared at Jiang Cuo, flexing his wrists.

"Since that's the case, you, the president of the Boxing Club, dare to have a match with me, the president of the Taekwondo Club?"

The words were slick.

Basically, it was a kind of coercion, but in the context of a friendly exchange competition, this kind of provocation was most effective.

If you didn't accept, you were a coward.

A club exchange match, where the president refuses to fight? If word got out, how could the Boxing Club continue to hold its head up?

Sure enough, as soon as the audience heard this, the atmosphere ignited instantly.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

The rhythm was as neat as if it had been rehearsed.

Ding Xi was very satisfied with the effect.

He had practiced Taekwondo for six years and had placed in the top three at city-level competitions. In terms of pure fighting ability, he ranked first in the entire club.

A G1 freshman, no matter how talented, could have at most how much actual combat experience?

As long as Jiang Cuo agreed to step onto the stage, the outcome was already sealed.

However, to his surprise, Jiang Cuo didn't hesitate, not even for a second of thought.

Jiang Cuo glanced at him with a very subtle expression. How to describe it? That subtlety wasn't nervousness or feigned calm—it was more like...

an adult watching a child play.

"So the president of Taekwondo wants to go a few rounds with me. Of course, I won't refuse." Jiang Cuo smiled. "Bring it on."

He agreed so readily that Ding Xi was momentarily stunned.

He had imagined many reactions—evasion, hesitation, putting on airs—but never thought the other party would agree so quickly.

Not that it mattered; agreement was all that was needed.

Ding Xi started moving again, adjusting the straps of his gear and stamping on the mat beneath him.

The atmosphere in the stands had reached its peak. A match between the presidents of two clubs—who wouldn't love that kind of drama?

An Yuexin clapped Lin Mo on the shoulder excitedly. "Who do you think will win?"

Lin Mo didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the platform.

Jiang Cuo stood on the other side, relaxing his shoulders and shaking out his arms.

His movements were casual, so casual that they didn't seem like preparation for a match, but more like someone just waking up and stretching.

"Let's begin," Jiang Cuo said.

Ding Xi snorted coldly.

Fine. Since you're so eager to get hit, don't blame me.

A smirk curled at the corner of Ding Xi's mouth. He was confident in his skills; even Lin Mo didn't faze him.

Let alone this G1 freshman.

The supervising teacher looked at both sides, waved his hand, and the match began.

Ding Xi started fast, covering the distance in three quick strides. His fighting style was always aggressive—first test with a front leg kick, then follow up with consecutive strikes.

He had practiced this combination thousands of times; muscle memory was etched into his bones.

A flying side kick.

That was one of his finishing moves.

With his jumping ability and leg strength, the impact of a flying side kick could send a full-grown man staggering back two meters.

He wanted to give Jiang Cuo a warning shot from the start, deciding the match with one kick.

"Loser."

On the bleachers, Lin Mu blurted out two words.

An Yuexin turned his head. "Huh? Who loses?"

"The Taekwondo president."

"They haven't even fought yet, and you're already..."

Bang!

A muffled thud.

All voices vanished in that instant.

The airborne Ding Xi was sent flying backward by a single punch.

Not a block, not a dodge—a punch that hit him square in the chest guard at the peak of his jump, sending him sprawling.

Ding Xi crashed onto the mat, sliding for a distance before stopping.

The entire venue went silent for about two seconds.

Then erupted.

Jiang Cuo pulled back his fist, rotated his wrist, and looked down at Ding Xi on the ground.

"In my opinion, your Taekwondo has too many flaws. Why jump so high? The moment both feet leave the ground, you have no way to dodge."

An Yuexin and the others, trusting in Lin Mo's judgment, couldn't help but ask, "Why is it like this? That Jiang Cuo guy doesn't seem all that impressive."

His tone was flat, without mockery, but the words stung more than any insult.

Because what he said was the truth.

Ding Xi clenched his teeth and climbed to his feet. One punch wasn't enough to decide the match.

He adjusted his breathing, changed his strategy, abandoning the wide, sweeping kicks in favor of close-range side kicks.

And Taekwondo wasn't just about kicking.

He charged forward, using three consecutive front kicks to compress space, then switched to elbow strikes as he closed in.

WHAM!

But before his elbow could land, Jiang Cuo's fist was already there.

Incredibly fast.

The fist met the elbow, pushing it back.

Then struck the center of his chest guard again, sending him staggering.

Before he could steady himself, a second punch came from a tricky angle, bypassing his guard and hitting the rib guard.

Ding Xi grunted, instinctively raising his hands to block.

Useless.

A third punch, a fourth punch, a fifth punch.

Jiang Cuo didn't bother with flashy techniques; every punch took the shortest straight-line path. Though each blow landed on the chest guard, they forced Ding Xi to retreat step by step.

Overwhelming speed and power left Ding Xi no room to counter.

An Yuexin's mouth hung open, unable to close for a long time.

"This... this is way too fierce."

Lin Mu said nothing, but a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

On the platform, Ding Xi had been backed into a corner. He tried to sidestep to create distance, but Jiang Cuo's footwork was too tight, every step cutting off his escape routes, as if predicted in advance.

No, that kind of anticipation wasn't calculated—it was earned through experience.

This was the instinct of someone who had truly fought in matches.

Ding Xi finally realized the truth: this G1 freshman, who had become president of the Boxing Club, was indeed someone out of the ordinary in more ways than one.

By the second round, Ding Xi was knocked completely off the platform, landing outside the ring.

If it hadn't been for the cushioning mats laid there, he'd have taken a much harder fall.

Ding Xi lay on his back, gasping for breath.

Despite being on the defensive the whole time, he felt utterly exhausted.

"How is this possible! How!"

He couldn't win. Even if the third round hadn't started yet, he knew he couldn't win.

The supervising teacher saw at once that his student's mentality had collapsed.

He walked straight over to Jiang Cuo, grabbed his hand, and raised it high.

"Let's declare the Boxing Club the winner of this exchange match!"

Best of three matches had already been generous.

Jiang Cuo bore no injuries at all, and even though he had taken some of Ding Xi's attacks earlier, his resilience was clearly top-notch.

Just then, unexpectedly, Jiang Cuo took the microphone from the supervising teacher.

"I'm glad to have had this exchange with the Taekwondo club today. But actually, I have an even bigger target I'd like to spar with."

Upon hearing this, the students from Class Eight, for some reason, all turned their gazes toward Lin Mo with a foreboding feeling.

Clearly, something dirty was headed straight for him.