When they blinked at the same time, the fight truly began. The first clash between them was felt only by the air—at the last second, they both dodged the blows that would have landed.
Fitty didn't retreat after Troll avoided her punch. On the contrary, she seized the moment and aimed her next strike between his ribs and stomach. But as she threw the follow-up punch with her other arm, Troll grabbed the arm that was still close to his face and yanked it downward, gripping it between her elbow and shoulder. The move forced her slightly off balance. In the same instant, still holding her arm, he kicked both her legs in the opposite direction of the pull. For a brief second she was lifted off the ground—and with that same foot, he delivered a sharp kick that sent her flying, not before her body felt the rough taste of the arena floor.
Where do I kick…? Where will it hurt her less? Damn it, this is a real fight. There's no such thing as hurting less. I'm sorry, Fitty.
When she finished rolling, her hand pressed against the spot of impact, between her stomach and hip.
"You okay, Fitty?" Troll asked.
"You've got time to worry about me? Our future's on the line here," she shot back.
She's right. So then…
"Come on. This might be the last time we see each other—or fight together. I just want to make sure I make the most of it," Troll said.
"Idiot…" Fitty replied with a faint smile that contrasted with his. "Bring it."
From the stands, the rest of Group Twelve watched without even blinking. Neale narrowed his eyes, analyzing every movement below. He tried to predict their next attacks by paying attention to the signals their bodies gave before each strike—just like Kilay always said during training. Even so, it was incredibly difficult to grasp, especially in practice. It seemed to have more to do with raw combat intuition than simple observation.
Troll was attacking with everything he had—very different from training, when the two of them argued more with words than fists. Fitty, on the other hand, seemed to be conserving energy, avoiding unnecessary movement and focusing more on defense, blocking as many strikes as she could. It was as if she were waiting for something while reading his rhythm—but from the stands, no one could say for sure.
"They're really fighting seriously…" Richard whispered beside Neale—his future opponent. "I never imagined seeing those two have a final fight like this. I didn't want it to end this way. And they're not even hesitating."
"We don't have a choice," Neale replied, clenching his fist as if forcing himself to accept his own words. "Each of us suffered something to get here. On this path we believe will make us stronger, we can't just quit now—or show weakness. Not out of respect for our own ideals and the things we left behind."
Down in the arena, Fitty shifted from defense to offense. Now, for every hit she took, she delivered one back with all the strength she could pour into her fists. Even feeling the pain of each impact, she didn't have time to complain. When Troll launched a kick aimed more with his knee than his foot, she caught the knee and tried to bring him down. But the moment he realized her intention, he grabbed her head and slammed his forehead into hers. Their foreheads collided hard. Both fell to the arena floor, groaning in pain and rolling away from each other to create distance.
"Argh… what was that? A request? If it was, don't worry—I got the message. I'll focus all my attention on that pretty face of yours since you want it so bad," Fitty said with a strange smile, a mix of pain and exhilaration, one hand pressed to her forehead as she rose.
"Relax, sweetheart. That was just to wake you up. You were hitting me softer than in training. I started thinking you weren't giving me enough attention," Troll replied.
"Really? From here, the only one I see bleeding with a split lip is you. And didn't I tell you I hate it when you call me that?" Fitty shot back.
"Are you sure? From this distance, it really looks like you're smiling at me," Troll teased.
Suddenly, mid-conversation, they lunged at each other again. As soon as Troll got close enough, he aimed a kick straight at Fitty's face. She dodged and countered with the cleanest punch she had ever landed—even better than any she'd thrown at Neale in training—striking him hard under the chin. The moment he staggered from the blow, she leaped to drive a knee toward his ear. But he blocked by punching her thigh midair.
"Haha, that's it? I thought you were going to give me more attention. I've been dizzier from snake venom before. You'll have to try harder, sweetheart," Troll taunted.
"You really want to provoke me, don't you, you clown?" Fitty snapped.
Without pause, they launched into a rapid exchange of punches, each landing blow after blow.
Up in the stands—
"They look like they're having fun," Vitel remarked.
"Sometimes I can't tell if they hate each other or like each other," Kilay said calmly.
Back in the arena, they both landed crushing punches to each other's faces at the same time, knocking each other to the ground. Blood ran from their mouths—and they were still laughing.
"Why… why don't you just quit? You're bleeding from how much I've hit you," Fitty asked, lying on her back and staring at the sky.
"Look at you saying that… You're bleeding just as much as I am. So why don't you quit?" Troll replied, laughing before his tone softened. "Your turn to answer."
"I asked first, idiot."
"Because if I quit… I'll go back to the hole… where I was nothing but a rat running while humans, heaven, and hell fought and stepped on me… I just want to live a good life. At least once," Troll said, wiping blood from his mouth as he struggled to his feet. "I'm just a nobody hoping for a little luck. Now it's your turn."
"It's… for my three little brothers. I can't just stand by and watch them in danger out there. And you know… whoever loses here can't live in this city anymore. So I decided I'll win here and gather my family somewhere safe so they can live in peace," Fitty answered.
"Even if you end up dying on the front lines of the war?" Troll asked.
"As long as they can have a good life, I don't care," she replied firmly.
"I get it. Not completely—but I admire you even more now. Out of respect for that… I'm going all out now. No holding back."
They both took deep breaths, staring at each other seriously. Their fighting stances tightened, leaving almost no openings. It was like witnessing evolution in real time.
Fitty charged in with everything she had—and more. Driven by the will burning in her soul and flowing into her fists, she was evolving right there, delivering strikes that seemed aimed in one direction only to shift mid-motion.
Troll could barely defend against all of them.
She's faster. If this is her fighting seriously, then I have to go even further. I have to evolve with every blow.
As he thought, he took two consecutive hits that sent him flying. When he hit the ground, his boots scraped across the arena floor before he could brace himself again—the force of her strikes was that strong.
That was close. If that had landed clean, I would've been knocked out. I almost saw my whole life flash past with that punch. She got faster again.
Still dizzy but holding his fighting stance, ready to defend, he began to feel chills—but not normal chills. It was as if several snakes were slithering up his body from his feet to his neck, tightening and coiling around him, slowly constricting as they climbed, suffocating him until they reached his throat and stared into his eyes.
It was a memory etched into his skin.
The venomous past of a nameless child.