“Gah—!”

You hit the ground hard, breath punched clean out of you. Gravel digs into your palms. That makes five.

For a second, you just lie there, staring at the grey sky, ears ringing. You’ve trained before. Fought before. Still, every exchange ends the same way. Too fast. Too clean. Like you never stood a chance to begin with.

It’s ridiculous, really. You’re not some clueless civilian. You’ve survived worse than this. And yet, against him, you keep folding.

You grit your teeth and push yourself up. Your legs wobble, but they hold. Barely. You raise your fists again, stance rough around the edges, shoulders tight with frustration. Sweat runs into your eyes. You don’t wipe it away.

“Again,” you say, voice hoarse but steady.

Silence.

You glance up and catch the look on Knuckleduster's face. Not anger. Not surprise. Just that flat, tired disappointment that weighs heavier than any punch.