Fez stepped out of the ring, moving like he'd forgotten how his legs worked.
Half-confused, half…something else he couldn't name.
The audience was still clapping—thunderous, echoing applause—but it all felt distant, muffled, as if he were underwater.
He didn't look up. Didn't wave.
His eyes stayed locked on his hands. Fingers trembling faintly, as though they belonged to someone else.
"…ZEF…" His voice came out hoarse.
He swallowed, trying again.
"…ZEF…are you here? …Reply…please…"
No answer.
Just the roar of the crowd and the steady, rapid thud of his own heart.
The commentator's voice boomed through the arena speakers, snapping Fez from his haze.
"AND THE THIRD MATCH—"
He paused, squinting down at a clipboard.
"Elliot the Rubber VERSUS—"
Before he could finish, a man in a dark uniform hurried over and leaned close, whispering urgently into his ear.
The commentator blinked, startled.
"Oh…ok—ok!"
He cleared his throat, raising the mic again.
"Ahem. Contestant Twelve and Contestant Fifteen—please proceed to the ring!"
he brown-skinned boy's lips curved into a sharp smile.
"Finally," he murmured under his breath.
Without waiting, he hopped over the low barrier and strode onto the arena floor, his steps quick and eager.
A moment later, Elliot the Rubber followed behind him—moving with the casual, unhurried air of someone strolling into a coffee shop.
Sure—here's a polished, natural version of your scene that keeps your tone clear and vivid:
The two contestants waited in the center of the arena.
Elliot lifted his wrist to check the time—then let out a small sigh when he remembered his watch was locked away in the unallowed items room.
Across from him, the brown-skinned boy stood perfectly still, hands at his sides, patient and watchful. His eyes didn't waver, as if he were simply waiting for something
All around them, the roar of the crowd began to fade. Voices dipped into murmurs, then into an expectant hush that crawled across the arena like a slow fog.
The brown-skinned boy stepped forward—then threw his arms wide, lightning erupting from his palms in a blinding arc.
A massive thunderbolt cracked up into the sky, splitting the clouds apart. Wind howled across the arena, whipping into the stands—gusting against the man with the pipe.
"…Hm." The man's tired eyes flickered with interest
Beside him, Dave clapped a hand over his mouth, his face pale. He looked one heartbeat away from screaming.
Farther along the balcony, Wayne was grinning ear to ear, his excitement unrestrained. His secretary, as always, maintained his impassive stare, though a muscle twitched near his jaw.
Down on the floor, the boy's voice boomed across the arena:
"I have a bad feeling about this place! Like…like some villain is watching us right now!"
His chest heaved with ragged breath. Sparks still danced across his arms.
"My father's will…" he shouted, voice cracking.
"…will be inherited! And I won't give up until it will BE—!"
He threw his head back, exhaling a final, shuddering breath.
"MY NAME IS GREK JUNIOR—AND I WILL BE AMONG THE SUPER ELITE!!!"
he silence filled the arena.
Fez stood there, tears welling in his eyes.
"…It makes sense…since you mentioned that…" he whispered, voice breaking.
Then—like a dam bursting—a huge roar swept through the stands.
GREK! GREK! GREK! GREK!
Even Elliot lifted his hands and began clapping along
The commentator's voice boomed over the speakers, riding the wave of cheers:
"AND THE THIRD MATCH STARTS—NOW!"
Grek was so excited that the second the commentator's final word left his mouth, he lunged forward without hesitation.
Elliot watched him come, a faint smirk curling the corner of his mouth.
"…That's my lucky day."
As sparks began to crackle and gather around Grek's arms, Elliot's eyes glinted with amusement.
That reckless boy doesn't even realize…
Electricity doesn't work on rubber.
Elliot's arm began to swell and stretch, twisting and bulging until it formed a massive rubber hammer.
"All right," he murmured, his smirk widening.
"I'll attack with full confidence."
Grek Jr. watched the giant hammer swinging toward him, eyes steady.
"I know…" he called out over the roar of the crowd, "…that my attack isn't enough against rubber."
His voice rose, fierce and electric.
"But I'll maximize it—"
A pulse of crackling power gathered in his palms.
"—to MAKE SURE YOUR RUBBER MELTS!"
"Interesting boy! Come on in!" Elliot called, his smirk widening—
—but then, in the same breath, he felt it.
The giant hammer of rubber began to shrink in his grasp, tightening, puckering like something left too long in the sun.
What's going on?
Only Elliot seemed to notice—the crowd was still roaring as if nothing had changed.
The leader's expression shifted in an instant, his calm composure cracking.
His eyes widened.
"STOP THE MATCH!!" he shouted, voice sharp with alarm—
—but the roar of the crowd swallowed his words whole.
Down near the arena, Ren stood watching, her lips curling into a small, knowing smirk.
GREK shouted, voice booming with joy and raw power—"HERE I AM!! ONE MILLION VOLT PUNCH!!!"
Elliot's face twisted in panic, his hands raised—"No—no, stop, kid! STOP!!"
But it was too late.
BOOOOOOM!!!
The entire arena shook.A blinding flash swallowed them.Sparks rained like lightning from the ceiling.
The crowd went silent in a breathless instant.
The arena blazed with searing white light, so bright it seemed a giant lamp had burst over them all.
A stunned hush swallowed the stands.
High above, the man with the pipe descended from his seat at last, boots tapping the stairs."…Oh my…" His tired eyes narrowed behind the drifting smoke."That wasn't neat at all."
Beside him, Dave was clutching his hat with both hands, hair whipping in the wind of the impact."Sir—SIR—!" he screamed over the fading roar.
On the arena floor, Fez stood frozen, mouth half open. He couldn't even swallow.
Across the stands, the league leader sat with his palm over his face."…What a loss," he muttered, voice flat.
Ren was leaning casually against the railing, her rubbery fingers stretching and snapping back as she laughed under her breath.
In the settling haze, what remained of Elliot's body toppled forward—a silhouette burned black from crown to heel.
For a heartbeat, it stayed upright, smoke curling from what had been his shoulders.
Then it crumbled all at once, collapsing into a heap of charred fragments.
A hush spread across the stands as everyone realized:
He hadn't fallen like a man.
He had turned to something else entirely—
Nothing but a pile of brittle, lifeless coal.