The General's Daughter: The Mission

Rocky lay flat on his back, staring up at the blinding lights above the cage.

For several seconds, he couldn’t comprehend what had happened.

He had been so close. One more punch, and he would have sent Nemesis crashing to the floor.

Instead, he was the one lying helplessly on the canvas.

How the hell did this happen?

The punch Nemesis had taken wasn’t a mistake. It was a trap.

Nemesis had deliberately allowed the blow to connect, using the brief opening to launch a devastating counterattack. The kick struck Rocky with such brutal force that he felt something crack beneath the impact.

His ribs.

They had to be broken.

Every attempt to draw a breath sent a sharp, stabbing pain through his chest. His body refused to obey him, no matter how desperately he tried to move.

Then a shadow fell across his face.

Nemesis crouched beside him and their gazes met.

The black mask concealed most of the fighter’s face, but those eyes—

Rocky’s pupils constricted.

He knew those eyes.

He had seen them before, long ago, and had never imagined he would see them again under these circumstances.

No... It can’t be.

But there was no mistaking them.

Lara Fuegerro! The name thundered through his mind.

He hadn’t seen her in months. The girl he remembered had changed beyond recognition. Whatever softness she might once have possessed had been buried beneath an icy composure and an almost frightening ruthlessness.

Even crouching beside him in a fighter’s attire, she exuded an air of absolute authority.

Her gaze swept over him with cold indifference, as though he were no more than a disobedient subject awaiting judgment before an empress.

Rocky wanted to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

His breathing grew increasingly shallow. The roar of the audience faded into a distant murmur, as though someone were gradually shutting a door between him and the world.

The overhead lights blurred.

The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him was Nemesis looking down at him.

And beneath the black mask, he could have sworn he saw the faintest curve of a victorious smile.

Then everything went black.

...

Earlier

Rocky secretly took a performance-enhancing drug, hoping to dull his pain and give himself an edge in speed and agility.

He entered the final round believing he could turn the tables on Nemesis.

And for a brief moment, it seemed he might be right.

Within the first few seconds, Rocky launched a sudden attack. His fist connected with Nemesis’s face, grazing the exposed skin near the mask.

The impact was enough to send the crowd into an uproar.

Ares shot to his feet.

His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His eyes remained fixed on Nemesis, and a suffocating pressure gripped his chest.

For one terrifying instant, all he could think about was the possibility of her being seriously injured.

He knew she was skilled. He had witnessed and remembered enough to understand that she was no ordinary woman.

But watching her stand in the middle of a cage, exchanging blows with a heavyweight fighter before thousands of spectators, was an entirely different matter.

”He’s fine!” Liam shouted over the deafening noise.

He caught Ares by the sleeve and gave it a firm tug.

”That punch barely grazed him. Look at him!”

Ares barely seemed to hear him.

His gaze searched Nemesis from head to toe, looking for any sign of injury. Only when he saw her steady stance and the complete absence of hesitation in her movements did some of the tension leave his shoulders.

Then Nemesis struck back.

The counterattack was so sudden that even the spectators nearest the cage struggled to follow it.

A vicious kick slammed into Rocky, sending his massive frame hurtling backward. He crashed onto the canvas with a heavy thud that seemed to shake the entire cage.

For a heartbeat, the arena fell silent.

Then the crowd erupted.

”ROCKY!”

”GET UP!”

”COME ON, ROCKY! FIGHT BACK!”

”FINISH HIM!”

The spectators who had been waiting impatiently for Rocky to unleash his full strength were now screaming themselves hoarse. Some pounded on the barriers, while others jumped to their feet, desperate to witness a comeback.

After all, Rocky was no ordinary fighter. He was a heavyweight powerhouse with a reputation for overwhelming his opponents through sheer strength and relentless aggression.

They had come expecting a brutal showdown.

They hadn’t paid good money to watch their favorite fighter get dismantled.

Rocky gritted his teeth and forced himself upright.

Pain tore through his chest, but the drug coursing through his system dulled its sharpest edges. He mistook that temporary relief for proof that he could still fight.

He shook off the dizziness and fixed his eyes on Nemesis.

You’re not beating me.

The crowd’s deafening cheers fueled his determination. He surged forward, throwing a succession of heavy punches, each one intended to crush Nemesis’s defenses.

But Nemesis moved with unnerving precision.

She slipped past one punch, evaded another, and retreated just far enough to make Rocky believe he was finally cornering her.

Then it happened.

Rocky saw an opening.

A fraction of a second was all he needed.

He planted his feet, twisted his torso, and drove his fist forward with everything he had left.

The punch never landed as he intended.

Nemesis had been waiting for it.

She shifted her weight at the last possible instant, allowing Rocky’s momentum to carry him forward. Before he could recover his balance, her leg whipped upward in a brutal counterattack.

The kick struck with explosive force.

Rocky’s massive body left the ground.

He flew backward several feet before slamming onto his back, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.

A collective gasp swept through the arena.

He tried to rise.

His arm trembled as he pushed against the canvas, but his body collapsed before he could lift himself even halfway. Agony ripped through his chest, and his vision swam.

No matter how desperately he struggled, he couldn’t get up.

Nemesis had taken everything from him in that single exchange.

The arena went eerily quiet.

Thousands of spectators stared at the slender fighter standing over the fallen heavyweight. The contrast was almost absurd.

Rocky possessed the size and muscular build of a human tank, while Nemesis looked lean enough to be blown away by a strong gust of wind.

Yet it was Rocky who lay motionless on the floor.

How could someone so slender possess such terrifying power?

The stunned silence lasted only a few seconds before the crowd snapped out of its daze.

”Rocky! Get up!”

”Come on! Get your ass off the floor!”

”Damn it! My millions are riding on you!”

”Don’t you dare lose now!”

The shouts grew louder, more frantic, but Rocky could no longer respond.

Nemesis didn’t celebrate. She simply stood beside him, her breathing controlled and her posture composed, as though the fight had cost her nothing.

She waited.

One second passed. Then another.

Finally, the referee rushed in, crouched beside Rocky, and checked his condition. When it became clear that the heavyweight couldn’t continue, the referee straightened and raised Nemesis’s arm.

”The winner by knockout—NEMESIS!”