"Winner By Knockout, NANA SHIMURA!"

Nana saw the moment—felt it in her bones. Mirko was barely standing, her body swaying like a felled tree, her jaw slack, her arms heavy and useless at her sides. It was over. But it wouldn’t just end—it would detonate. With every ounce of power left in her body, Nana launched a final, jaw-shattering punch. Her right glove blasted into Mirko’s chin with a brutal crack, the impact so devastating it sent shockwaves through the arena. Mirko’s entire body jerked, her head snapping back violently, her legs locking up in a grotesque display of unconsciousness before she fell. Not crumpling, not folding—she collapsed like a dropped statue, her stiffened form smacking against the mat, motionless, completely gone. The arena erupted. Some fans were losing their minds, screaming in euphoric triumph, worshipping the sheer brutality they had just witnessed. Others were furious, slamming the barricades, shouting for Mirko to get up, to not let it end this way—but it was done. The ref didn’t even bother counting. There was no need. Mirko lay stiff, her chest barely rising and falling, her face battered and bloodied, mouth hanging open where her mouthpiece had been knocked loose. Her body refused to move. And Nana? She bathed in it. Her chest heaved, her fists still clenched, her knuckles tingling from the last, devastating blow. She barely felt like herself, the rush of the fight consuming every fiber of her being. There were no words, no thoughts—just raw, unfiltered dominance. With a smirk pulling at her lips, Nana lifted one gloved fist high into the air, basking in the sheer chaos around her. Then, in a final, show-off display, she stepped forward and planted her foot firmly on Mirko’s thigh, standing over her fallen opponent like a conqueror claiming victory over the battlefield. The crowd went wild. Pandemonium. Pure, unfiltered madness. The queen had been crowned.