He didn't punch. He remembered .

They fought. Not with fists, but with will . Jin parried a laser that had no heat, sidestepped a hellfire that left no ash. The ghost moved like his own shadow, always a half-second behind but always knowing his next strike.

Jin’s eyes flashed gold. “No.”

The ghost laughed—a horrible, skipping sound. “You can't delete what you are . Every time you load this memory, you feed me. Every rematch, every rage quit, every 'continue?' — I grow stronger.”

The Ghost of BLUS30359