A few minutes later, Ethan emerged completely unbothered.
Steam still clung faintly to his skin as he stepped out, towel slung lazily over his shoulder, already fishing a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He lit it mid-step, the small flame briefly illuminating his face before he took a slow drag, exhaling as he climbed the stairs like this was just another ordinary morning.
Then, he stopped, seeing a dozen black suits standing in Mark's closed bar.
"…Huh."
He took another drag, slower this time, his eyes moving across them with mild curiosity rather than concern.
'I guess I'm fucked.'
The thought came naturally, without panic or denial.
It was just a simple conclusion.
'I mean… I did decapitate someone in front of thousands of people.'
Sure, the underground arena didn't exactly follow rules. If anything, it thrived on the absence of them. And sure, the man running it, the Cyclops, hadn't shown any hostility toward him yet.
