The end of Round One came not with relief, but with louder noise.
⠀
By the time the last of the opening matches wrapped up, the underground arena had reached a fever pitch. The floor was littered with snapped mouthguards, smeared blood, tossed betting slips, and the kind of excitement that only grew meaner the more money and pain got involved. Medics moved in and out of rings with stretchers and cold efficiency. Some fighters limped off under their own power, bruised and furious. Others had to be half-carried, too dazed to understand whether they had lost or simply been removed from the equation.
⠀
Above it all, the giant screens rotated through the results of the completed matches, each new bracket update drawing fresh roars from the audience.
⠀
Seo Yura stood at the center platform again, spotlighted and radiant in black, one hand on her hip and the other wrapped around her mic like she planned to strangle the night into submission.
⠀
"And just like that, ladies and gentlemen, Round One is officially in the grave!" she announced, her voice sweeping through the arena. "Some of your favorites survived, some of your bets exploded, and a few poor bastards are gonna be eating dinner through tubes for the next month!"
⠀
The crowd loved that.
⠀
Cheers answered her from every direction. A group near the rail chanted for refunds anyway. Someone else yelled that the tournament was rigged. Two men were already shoving each other over an outcome on Ring Eleven.
⠀
Seo grinned wickedly and kept going.
⠀
"Let's show some love to the winners advancing to Round Two! Gorefang crushed his opponent's ribs so hard I'm pretty sure the X-ray machine just sighed in advance. Night Ruin choked out his challenger in under forty seconds. Midas Scar is still undefeated after splitting a man's face open so cleanly it looked expensive."
⠀
The screens shifted, flashing quick recaps.
⠀
A hulking fighter in jagged shoulder wraps stood over a fallen opponent with blood running down one temple. Another replay showed a lean woman snapping into a triangle choke while her opponent clawed uselessly at her thigh before going limp. Then the footage changed again.
⠀
A girl stepped into frame.
⠀
Slightly tan. Toned to a degree that made it obvious every line of muscle on her body had been earned the hard way. Her dark green hair flowed in loose, wavy strands down her back, wild and heavy like a crown made of living vines. There was nothing soft in the way she moved. Not clumsy rage, either. Just savage certainty. The replay showed her taking a punch square on the shoulder, smiling through it, then crashing into her opponent with a flurry of elbows and knees that looked less like a combo and more like a landslide deciding to get personal.
⠀
Seo's voice sharpened with delight.
⠀
"And of course, how could we not mention one of the arena's favorite monsters? She tore through her bracket opener like breakfast, and somehow she still looks offended she didn't get a tougher meal. Give it up for Parsilla the Berserker Queen!"
⠀
The crowd erupted again, though this time with a different flavor. There was real energy behind her name, the kind that came from fear and admiration mixing in the same cup.
⠀
"MOSSHEAD! MOSSHEAD! MOSSHEAD!" a chunk of the lower rows started chanting.
⠀
Seo laughed. "Yes, yes, your little pet name for her lives on. Call her Mosshead if you want, but I'd suggest you don't do it to her face unless your skull's already cracked."
⠀
The replay slowed on Parsilla's finishing sequence. Her opponent had tried to retreat. She chased him down, caught his wrist, spun through, and drove a knee so viciously into his sternum that even Xander winced.
⠀
"Yeah," Xander muttered under his breath, watching the screen. "I'm good on fighting her for as long as possible."
⠀
TJ barked a laugh beside him. "You say that like you've got a choice if the bracket hates you enough."
⠀
Jerry folded his arms and shook his head. "Nah, Parsilla's a damn problem. She don't fight like she wants to win. She fights like she wants to prove a point..
⠀
Xander snorted softly.
⠀
He turned away from the screen and handed the now-empty milkshake cup back to the stall counter. His stomach had settled enough that he no longer felt like he was one cough away from reliving the noodle challenge in reverse.
⠀
Jerry and TJ were still there, pockets a little fatter from the side bet and in far better moods now that Kari had folded Viktor like a bad lawn chair.
⠀
Xander adjusted the strap of his bag over one shoulder and nodded toward them.
⠀
"I'm gonna head back to the contestants' hall," he said. "See you guys later."
⠀
Jerry gave him a casual salute. "If you survive."
⠀
TJ grinned. "Big if."
⠀
Xander smirked. "Hey, thanks for the money. And for rooting for me."
⠀
Jerry shrugged like it was nothing. "You made it profitable. We're sentimental like that."
⠀
TJ nudged him with an elbow. "Yeah, don't die before the payout, alright? Makes it awkward."
⠀
Xander let out a small laugh and started backing away.
⠀
"If I somehow win any of these big prizes," he said, pointing at them, "dinner's on me."
⠀
Jerry raised a brow. "At a place better than Grubby's Den, I hope."
⠀
"Way better," Xander said.
⠀
TJ called after him, "And no damn noodle challenge this time! I ain't watching you cry into soup again!"
⠀
Xander lifted a hand without turning. "No promises."
⠀
He drifted away from the food stalls and back toward the contestants' side of the arena, passing beneath giant screens that were already reorganizing the bracket tree for the next round. The lights overhead shifted in color, cycling from blood-red to electric blue before settling back into a colder tone.
⠀
That was when he saw Sol.
⠀
Or rather, when his eyes were dragged toward him.
⠀
The man stood on the upper VIP level, balanced atop one of the inner railings with the kind of casual disregard that made it feel like gravity had signed a private agreement with him. He wasn't leaning. Wasn't braced. He simply stood there above the chaos, one foot slightly ahead of the other, hands in the pockets of his jacket, as if the entire tournament beneath him were just background noise.
⠀
Even from this distance, there was something unnervingly quiet about him.
⠀
Xander slowed.
⠀
So that's the king of the ring...
⠀
He had heard the way people talked about Sol earlier, but seeing him now made the title feel heavier. He didn't have Kari's mountain-like mass or Parsilla's berserker ferocity. Sol looked leaner. Sharper. A man carved down until only efficient violence remained.
⠀
A voice broke into Xander's thoughts.
⠀
"You are staring."
⠀
Xander looked to the side and found Kari approaching from the corridor, towel slung over one shoulder, expression as calm as ever. The crowd's thunder from his last match didn't seem to cling to him at all. He looked like a man who had completed a minor errand, not shattered another fighter's leg on national-drama levels of public display.
⠀
Xander glanced back toward the VIP rail. "Can you blame me?"
⠀
Kari followed his gaze.
⠀
"Hmm."
⠀
They stood beside the contestants' entrance while another ring erupted into cheers in the distance. Sol remained above, still as a blade left on a table.
⠀
"He is not fighting yet?" Xander asked.
⠀
Kari shook his head once. "No. Sol is immune until the quarterfinals."
⠀
Xander blinked. "Seriously?"
⠀
"He is the king of the ring," Kari said, as if that explained everything.
⠀
Seeing Xander's expression, he added, "The reigning title holder is granted an automatic pass deeper into the bracket. It keeps the crowd interested. It also keeps the betting pools healthy."
⠀
Xander let out a dry breath through his nose. "Right. Of course. This place would give special treatment to the scariest guy in the building."
⠀
Kari's mouth twitched faintly. It might have been amusement.
⠀
"You should be grateful," he said. "If he fought in the early rounds, many of the others would not bother showing up."
⠀
Xander laughed under his breath. "That bad?"
⠀
Kari looked at him sidelong. "Yes."
⠀
That answer landed with enough weight to kill the joke before it formed.
⠀
For a few seconds they just watched the arena. A woman in one of the lower rings landed a spinning backfist that sent her opponent collapsing over the ropes. Another match on the far side of the floor looked more like a clinch war than a brawl, both men grinding for position with short brutal knees and shoulder smashes.
⠀
Xander finally looked at Kari properly.
⠀
"That fight was insane, by the way."
⠀
Kari gave him a neutral glance. "Which part?"
⠀
"The part where you snapped his leg like it was made of dry pasta."
⠀
"Ah."
⠀
Xander shook his head. "I thought he had you for a second when he used that orange aura."
⠀
Kari did not answer immediately. He seemed to consider the wording.
⠀
"His ability is strong," he said at last. "But it is also proud. Proud abilities become predictable. Predictable things break."
⠀
Xander let that sit for a second.
⠀
Predictable things break.
⠀
Yeah. That sounded right...
⠀
"You smiled at him on purpose," Xander said.
⠀
"I did."
⠀
"To bait the stronger attack."
⠀
"Yes."
⠀
Xander exhaled. "That's cold."
⠀
Kari looked back to the arena floor. "No. It is efficient."
⠀
Another beat passed.
⠀
Then Kari's eyes moved to Xander's face.
⠀
"You are recovering well," Kari said.
⠀
"Regeneration helps."
⠀
"So does not being dead."
⠀
Xander gave him a flat look. "That's a bold assumption."
⠀
For the first time, Kari actually huffed something close to a laugh.
⠀
Then his expression leveled again.
⠀
"I need to check on the situation from earlier," he said. "There may still be complications."
⠀
Locker room complications.
⠀
Red Ogre complications.
⠀
Possibly what exactly did you do to Thomas Larsen complications.
⠀
Xander nodded. "Yeah. Makes sense."
⠀
Kari adjusted the towel over his shoulder and started to turn away, then stopped.
⠀
"Do not let small opponents annoy you into wasting energy," he said without looking back.
⠀
Xander frowned. "That sounds weirdly specific."
⠀
Kari walked off.
⠀
That was, unfortunately, all the confirmation Xander needed that the bracket had probably prepared something unpleasant for him.
⠀
He made his way into the contestants' hall while the next set of fighters assembled. The atmosphere there was different from the arena floor. Colder. Tighter. Fighters were stretching, wrapping wrists, shadowboxing, muttering to themselves, or staring at the screens with expressions that ranged from focused to homicidal.
⠀
Near the refreshment area, stacked coolers, trays of fruit and protein drinks sat under harsh lights. Some contestants grabbed them like professionals topping off a machine. Others ignored it entirely, too locked in or too angry to eat.
⠀
Xander stopped near one of the tables and looked around.
⠀
A woman with gold tattoos running down one arm was bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, eyes shut as if hearing music no one else could. A broad-necked man with cauliflower ears was drinking something purple out of a shaker bottle while glaring at his reflection in the metal cooler. Across from them, a narrow fighter with dead-black eyes sat perfectly still, one hand resting on his knee, his other palm open as tiny sparks flickered and died above it.
⠀
Xander folded his arms.
⠀
Wonder where I should put those stats I got from leveling up...
⠀
Strength had been useful. Dexterity had saved his life. Constitution was suddenly starting to look less optional than before. The system had given him room to shape himself, but not enough room to waste anything.
⠀
He was just about to pull up his status window when something slammed into him from the side.
⠀
Hard.
⠀
Not an accident. Not really.
⠀
Just enough force to send him stumbling two steps sideways and nearly into the refreshments table.
⠀
Xander caught himself before he fell, one hand bracing against the edge of the counter.
⠀
"Watch where you're standing, poser," a voice barked.
⠀
He turned.
⠀
The guy was tall. Very tall. Not bulky in Kari's way, but stretched out in a way that made him feel all wrong. Long limbs. Long reach. Broad shoulders with a body built more for leverage than mass. His blond hair fell just over his eyebrows in uneven strands, and there was something ugly in the smirk he wore, like he had been waiting all night to bump into someone smaller and make it their problem.
⠀
Muscular, too. Not naturally pretty muscle like Viktor. This was rangy, mean-looking power, the kind that made a man resemble a predatory insect that had learned how to weightlift.
⠀
Xander straightened slowly.
⠀
"How about you watch where you're going?" he shot back. His eyes flicked over the man once more, and the insult arrived on its own. "Hard to miss with all those limbs, though. You built like a ladder."
⠀
A few nearby fighters snorted.
⠀
One of them laughed outright.
⠀
The blond man's face darkened immediately.
⠀
He spat on the ground near Xander's feet, then jabbed a finger toward one of the overhead bracket screens.
⠀
"See you in the ring, little bitch," he snarled. "Then we'll see if you're still talking when I pound you to a pulp."
⠀
Xander followed the line of his finger.
⠀
The screen updated with a soft mechanical flicker.
⠀
[RING 7]
⠀
A split image appeared beneath it.
⠀
On one side: Scarlet Phantom.
⠀
On the other: Golden Reaper Vance, his ring name stamped below his photo in sharp metallic font.
⠀
Between them, a crimson VS.
⠀
Xander stared at it for exactly one second.
⠀
Then the system chimed.
⠀
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
⠀
You have started a new quest... [Learn Some Respect, Part 2] Objective: Teach the target respect by beating it into him inside the ring. Quest Rewards: 100 EXP, +3 Dexterity, +??? Failure Penalty: Humiliation, +???
⠀
Xander closed his eyes.
⠀
Then opened them again and looked at the retreating back of the blond asshole as he walked off through the hall with exaggerated confidence.
⠀
He sighed.
⠀
Here we fucking go again…
⠀
....
⠀
.....
⠀
Xander stood near the refreshments table with a cold bottle of water pressed against the side of his neck, watching a team of workers move in and out of the rings like battlefield scavengers. They worked fast. Blood was mopped. Towels were swapped. Broken mouthguards and dented buckets were cleared away. A cracked stool from one of the outer rings was dragged off by two irritated attendants while another pair sprayed something industrial over a dark stain on the canvas.
⠀
The arena never really paused. It only reset.
⠀
Well... at least this time the system isn't forcing me into something completely unreasonable, Xander thought as he twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long drink. But now I've gotta figure out how to beat that guy. What kind of build does he have? I can't really tell just by looking at him. And I was too busy watching Kari to pay attention to his fight in the first round.
⠀
That annoyed him more than he wanted to admit.
⠀
He hated going into a fight blind. The tall blond bastard had reach, size, and enough confidence to bump someone like he was already collecting the win. That usually meant one of two things. Either he was all bark and no bite, or he was dangerous enough to have gotten lazy about showing it.
⠀
Xander lowered the bottle and let his gaze drift up to the giant screens.
⠀
One of them had already shifted to his bracket lane, displaying the next pairing beneath the glowing label for Ring Seven. A countdown timer blinked into existence beside it.
⠀
15:00
⠀
Fifteen minutes.
⠀
He took another long pull from the water, draining half the bottle.
⠀
I should wait until I'm in the ring to distribute the six stat points, he decided. Can't make any hasty judgments yet.
⠀
That was the smart move. Spend too early, and he might boost the wrong thing. Strength would help if the guy liked to clinch or pressure. Dexterity would matter if he had to slip and counter. Constitution would matter if the blond giant hit like a truck. The answer depended on the first thirty seconds of the fight.
⠀
Another sip.
⠀
Fifteen minutes, huh... I better drink a few protein shakes. I have to be ready for this one.
⠀
His mouth tightened slightly.
⠀
"Humiliation" is the quest failure penalty... I don't like that. I can already imagine them clowning me. Especially after the first default win..
⠀
He had survived a monster in a locker room, nearly died, leveled up, and still the crowd mostly knew him as the guy with the cringe ring name who won because the real headliner got removed from the bracket in a body bag-shaped technicality. If he got folded now, they'd tear him apart.
⠀
And worse, the system knew that.
⠀
Xander tossed the empty bottle into a nearby bin and grabbed two complimentary protein shakes from the cooler. Vanilla. Then chocolate. He drank the first one quickly, letting the cold thickness settle into his stomach. Then the second, a little slower. His body welcomed both with alarming eagerness.
⠀
The shakes didn't just sit there. He could feel them doing something.
⠀
Fuel. Immediate, efficient, almost mechanical.
⠀
It was still a strange feeling. Like his digestion had become less about hunger and more about conversion. Intake. Process. Output. Energy.
⠀
After finishing both, he headed to the nearby bathroom, splashed some water on his face, and relieved himself while silently thanking whatever twisted grace had allowed the noodles not to immediately retaliate from below.
⠀
When he came back out, the burning ache in his stomach was gone entirely.
⠀
He rolled his shoulders once, then twice. Loosened his neck. Rotated his wrists. Dropped into a shallow crouch and pushed back up again.
⠀
I think my body feels pretty good right now, he thought. Not hungry, and full of energy from the protein and the noodles earlier. Sometimes it feels like I'm directly converting these calories into fuel.
⠀
That thought should have felt ridiculous.
⠀
Instead, it felt true.
⠀
The cleanup crews cleared the last ring, and Round Two fully came alive.
⠀
On Ring Three, Parsilla the Berserker Queen was already back in action, her dark green hair whipping behind her like a storm-torn banner. She stalked her opponent with that same predatory certainty Xander remembered from earlier. The poor bastard facing her was built like a wrestler, thick through the chest and neck, but every time he tried to plant himself and meet her head-on, she hit him with something uglier and sharper than expected. A knee to the liver. A forearm across the jaw. A low kick with enough torque to buckle his planted leg. She didn't fight elegantly. She fought like she hated the concept of resistance.
⠀
The crowd was eating it up.
⠀
"Mosshead's chewing him alive!"
⠀
"Break him, Queen!"
⠀
"Somebody save that man's ribs!"
⠀
On Ring Eleven, Gorefang was still doing what men named Gorefang were apparently born to do. He had cornered a slimmer opponent against the ropes and was digging short hooks into the man's body with the enthusiasm of a butcher tenderizing meat. The other fighter kept trying to pivot out, but Gorefang's pressure was monstrous, all shoulder and chest and compact violence.
⠀
Elsewhere, one of the more technical fights was already nearing its end. A woman with silver-threaded braids and narrow eyes kept circling a heavy-handed kickboxer, picking him apart with quick jabs and calf kicks encased in a lightning aura until his base began to fail.
⠀
The arena speakers crackled again as Seo Yura tore into another running commentary.
⠀
"Ring Three continues to be a problem for anyone unlucky enough to share oxygen with Parsilla tonight! And over on five, Gorefang appears to be tenderizing his dinner before the bell! We love a man with patience!"
⠀
The crowd howled.
⠀
By the time the timer above Xander's matchup dropped to 7:43, a familiar presence returned to his side.
⠀
Kari.
⠀
He moved with the same calm he always had, though his eyes carried that distant, reflective focus of someone who had already put violence behind him and filed it away for later thought.
⠀
He took one look at Xander's face and nodded faintly.
⠀
"Seems you're ready for your next fight."
⠀
Xander didn't look away from the screens.
⠀
"Ready as I'll be," he said. "I can't let that guy humiliate me."
⠀
Kari followed his line of sight, glancing toward the bracket screen where Xander's next matchup still pulsed in red.
⠀
"Good," he said simply.
⠀
They stood together in silence for a few moments, watching the fights unfold.
⠀
On Ring Six, the silver-braided woman finished her opponent with a sharp pivot and a right hook that snapped his head sideways before he hit the canvas on stiff legs. On Ring Two, a stocky fighter with reinforced forearms absorbed two spinning kicks just to close distance and launch his opponent out of the ring entirely.
⠀
The timer dropped to 5:00.
⠀
Kari placed a hand on Xander's shoulder.
⠀
The gesture was steady, grounding, almost older-brother in its weight.
⠀
"Good luck, Xander," he said. "Remember... being shorter gives you an advantage in your center of gravity compared to him. Use that. He has reach, but you have an advantage on body shots."
⠀
Xander turned that over in his head immediately.
⠀
Center of gravity. Body shots. Long limbs meant more surface area, more travel time, more places to intercept. If the blond guy fought tall and proud, then his core would be vulnerable when he reached or overcommitted.
⠀
He gave Kari a small, confident smile.
⠀
"Thanks," he said. "I'll make good use of your advice."
⠀
Then, after a beat, "Good luck in your next fight too... though I doubt you'll have much trouble."
⠀
That earned the faintest shift in Kari's expression. Not quite a smile. More like his face had briefly considered it.
⠀
Xander lifted a fist.
⠀
Kari looked at it, then bumped it gently with his own.
⠀
"Do not die," Kari said.
⠀
"I'll try to pencil that in."
⠀
The timer dropped to 2:00.
⠀
Kari moved away, disappearing back into the contestant lanes while Xander stayed near the refreshment table, attention narrowing as the arena seemed to sharpen around him.
⠀
Everything felt louder now.
⠀
The crowd.
⠀
The screens.
⠀
The ring announcer.
⠀
His own heartbeat.
⠀
On Ring Four, two fighters were near the end of a desperate exchange, one of them bleeding from the nose while the other limped badly after a chewed-up knee. On Ring One, a fighter with shimmering stone-veined shoulders had just pinned a lighter opponent against the ropes and was crushing him with brutal hooks to the body. Another match ended with a clean head kick that sent a spray of sweat into the lights before the loser toppled in a heap.
⠀
Round Two was meaner already.
⠀
People were adjusting. Calming. Hurting. Getting smarter.
⠀
The countdown vanished.
⠀
A mechanical tone rolled through the arena.
⠀
Then the lights over Ring Seven brightened, and Seo Yura's voice swept across the stadium with renewed relish.
⠀
"Ladies and gentlemen, direct your attention back to Ring Seven!"
⠀
The crowd responded immediately, some because they cared, some because they wanted blood, and some because they remembered the bizarre little scandal surrounding the ring's previous default winner.
⠀
Seo's voice sharpened into theatrical delight.
⠀
"Stepping into the spotlight once again, we have the mysterious wild card whose name still sounds like it was chosen during a caffeine overdose and an identity crisis... the one, the only... Scarlet Phantom!"
⠀
The audience laughed, jeered, and cheered in equal measure.
⠀
Xander closed his eyes for exactly one second.
⠀
Then Seo continued, voice rising.
⠀
"And facing him this round, a long-limbed wrecking machine with a mouth almost as dangerous as his reach... the brutal tower of bad decisions... Golden Reaper Vance!"
⠀
There was a wave of reaction from the lower rows.
⠀
Some boos. Some cheers. Some gamblers immediately started shouting odds.
⠀
The screen flashed both fighters' images side by side. Scarlet Phantom VS Golden Reaper Vance
⠀
Xander took a deep breath.
⠀
Then another.
⠀
The air entering his lungs felt cooler now. Cleaner. Every noise around him seemed to blur just enough that the path ahead became simple.
⠀
Ring.
⠀
Opponent.
⠀
Read.
⠀
Adapt.
⠀
Win.
⠀
He stepped forward toward the arena…