In the blink of an eye, seven days had passed.
Around eight-thirty that evening, Ornn and Yamato walked into the tailor shop they had visited a week prior.
The shopkeeper remembered the striking pair instantly. The moment they crossed the threshold, he retrieved a sleek, velvet-lined box from beneath the counter, sliding it across the wood with a proud grin. "Take a look."
Ornn opened the latch. Resting inside was a pair of snowy-white silk gloves, faintly scented with lavender.
The design was minimalist and clean, devoid of unnecessary ornamentation. He reached down and ran his calloused fingers across the weave; the fabric was dense, exceptionally smooth, yet surprisingly durable. Along the palms and digits, subtle non-slip grips had been integrated into the lining, ensuring a firm hold on a weapon even in the heat of battle.
A faint blue interface flickered in Ornn's vision:
[Gorgeous Silk Gloves]
A pair of lightweight, resilient, and ultra-smooth silk gloves. Serves as an ideal inner lining for high-tier protective handgear.
Satisfied that the item met every criterion for legendary crafting, Ornn closed the box and handed it to Yamato. "Try them on."
Yamato pulled the gloves over her hands, flexing her fingers to test the fit. She tapped her knuckles against Ornn's forearm, her eyes lighting up. "They're weightless! Perfect fit, too."
Ornn promptly counted out the remaining Berries from his pack, handed the payment to the shopkeeper, and turned toward the door. "Let's go. Now that the gloves are secured, it's time to handle Rhea's situation."
A few days earlier, Ornn had bought front-row VIP passes for tonight's event. As they wove through the bustling streets toward the arena, Yamato's ears twitched, her eyes subtly scanning the rooftops.
"Ornn," she murmured, leaning closer. "We're being shadowed. At least three pairs of eyes."
"Expected," Ornn replied, his tone as unruffled as still water. "I told you tonight wouldn't be a quiet affair."
If his memory served him right, tonight would mark their first encounter with the future Supernova—Capone "Gang" Bege.
Ornn's instincts were spot on.
While the crowd streamed through the ticket gates below, Bege stood in a private luxury box overlooking the arena, listening to a report from Vito.
"How are things progressing with Boca?" Bege asked, his cigar tip glowing in the dim light.
Vito flicked his long tongue, a greasy smirk on his face. "Smoothly, Godfather. Boca quietly dispatched the original challenger, took his attire, and slipped into the locker room. None of Hammy's idiots noticed a thing. Boca promised to put on a grand show for you..."
Vito paused, glancing toward the balcony. "Also, the two travelers who put Garner in the ground just passed the outer security checkpoints. They're heading for the front-row VIP section."
"Excellent," Bege chuckled, a savage glint in his eye. "Have our boys keep a tight leash on them. Once I take care of Hammy, I'll execute those three publicly right in the ring. Tonight, this entire audience will sing the name of the Fire Tank Syndicate."
"Understood," Vito bowed, stepping backward out of the room.
Before the door could close, "Junkrat" Hammy barged into the private suite, flanked by three heavily armed bodyguards.
Seeing Bege sitting comfortably in his box, Hammy's face twitched with sudden anxiety. But noticing Bege was apparently alone, he forced a strained, welcoming smile. "Bege, my friend! You didn't tell me you were attending tonight's match!"
Bege didn't even turn his head, gazing down at the ring below. "Your star fighter, 'Nightmare,' has quite the reputation. Naturally, I wanted to see if she lives up to the hype. As for why I kept my arrival quiet—I didn't want to spook our friends in the Gambino Family."
At the mention of the Gambino Family, Hammy's posture relaxed slightly.
Both the Junkrat Gang and the Fire Tank Syndicate were currently outmatched by the Gambino Family. A premature war between their two crews would only leave them vulnerable to an easy takeover. As long as the Gambino threat loomed, Bege had no strategic reason to turn on his allies.
Or so Hammy convinced himself.
"Haha! Right you are, brother!" Hammy laughed boisterously. "If those paranoid old fools at Gambino HQ heard we were sharing a box in Keya Town, they wouldn't sleep for a week! Once we join forces, their turf will be ours! But since you're here as my guest, I can't be a poor host. Guards! Fetch the finest wine and roast meat. Brother Bege and I will enjoy the show together!"
Below, the arena clock struck precisely nine.
The announcer stepped into the center of the ring, bellowing into his Den Den Mushi megaphone to whip the crowd into a frenzy. Moments later, the fighters made their grand entrances.
From the left tunnel emerged a towering, masked behemoth whose sheer physical frame rivaled Jesus Burgess of the Blackbeard Pirates. From the right tunnel stepped the reigning champion, Ripley Rhea—Nightmare.
"Will the ruthless challenger, 'Death Knell,' shatter the streak?!" the announcer roared over the thunderous cheers. "Or will 'Nightmare' secure her place in history with her ONE-HUNDREDTH CONSECUTIVE VICTORY?! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LET THE MATCH BEGIN!"
Ding! Ding! Ding!
The brass bell chimed three times.
Intent on gauging her opponent's strength early so she could script a believable "loss" later in the match, Rhea abandoned her usual evasive posture and surged forward with an aggressive flying shoulder tackle.
Facing her charge, the masked imposter—Boca—showed zero intent to dodge. He braced his legs, crossing his massive arms to absorb the blow head-on.
BOOM!
The force of the impact rattled the ring's corner posts, but Boca didn't so much as flinch. With a grunt, he shoved Rhea backward, then slammed his thick fists against his own chest like a silverback gorilla, taunting her to come again.
Rhea steadied her stance, her eyes flashing with sudden, genuine thrill.
The man in front of her was far stronger than the average underground chump. Good, she thought. At least I can enjoy a real brawl before throwing the match.
Without hesitation, she lunged again. Boca met her head-on, throwing a heavy right hook.
SNAP!
Their wrists collided in mid-air, echoing like a gunshot through the front rows.
What followed was a blinding exchange of blows—grapples, parries, and bone-crunching counters executed at a speed that left ordinary spectators breathless.
Finding an opening in Boca's defense, Rhea ducked under a wild haymaker, locked her arms around his midsection with textbook precision, and slammed him shoulder-first into the turnbuckle with terrifying force...
---
Advance chapters on- p@treon . com/ Snooze_01
use 'a' instead of @
Starts at minimum of 5$.
Enjoy.
---