The moment the referee raised Xander's hand, the medics flooded Ring Seven.
Two went straight for Vance.
The blond giant lay twisted on the canvas, one leg bent awkwardly beneath him, nose broken flat and bleeding heavily into the ring floor. His long limbs, so dangerous a few moments ago, now looked like tangled rope. One medic checked his pulse. Another peeled one of his eyelids open and flashed a small light into it.
"Unresponsive, but breathing!" one shouted. "Bring the stretcher!"
A third medic rushed toward Xander, then immediately slowed when he saw the state of him.
Blood covered nearly everything. His chest, his arms, his legs, his face. Some of it belonged to Vance. Too much of it did not. The cut across his chest was still visible beneath the red smear, healing in tiny, almost insect-like movements that made the medic's eyes widen despite himself.
"He needs a stretcher too!" the medic called over his shoulder.
Xander lifted one hand weakly, waving him off.
"No," he whispered.
His voice came out rough, throat dry from breathing hard and swallowing blood. The arena lights swam faintly overhead, too bright, too loud, too much.
"I just need food."
The medic stared at him.
Xander tried to stand a little straighter and immediately regretted it.
"I'll heal on my own," he added, quieter. "No stretcher. Please."
The medic looked like he wanted to argue, then glanced at the wound slowly closing across Xander's chest. His expression tightened into something between professional concern and reluctant acceptance.
"Sit down before you fall down."
That sounded fair enough.
Xander let the medic guide him toward the edge of the ring and sat on the lower rope while the rest of the cleanup team worked. Behind him, Vance was secured onto a stretcher with his head braced and his broken nose packed. The crowd booed, cheered, argued, and shouted over one another, still drunk off the violence they had just witnessed.
Then Seo Yura moved on.
Because the tournament did not care how close anyone had come to dying.
"And while Ring Seven recovers from whatever beautiful disaster we just witnessed," Seo announced, her voice already blazing across the arena again, "keep your eyes on Ring Three! Parsilla the Berserker Queen is about to show Night Ruin why some people should retire before their bones file a complaint!"
The big screens shifted to Parsilla's ring.
The crowd followed the next source of blood like a hungry school of fish.
A medic crouched in front of Xander and began wiping blood away from his face and chest with a damp cloth. The first swipe stung. The second revealed more of the actual damage. His skin was marked by cuts in several places, though the smaller ones had already closed or were in the middle of closing. The gash across his chest still worked slowly, flesh drawing together beneath streaks of diluted red.
"Regeneration or not," the medic muttered, "you lost a lot of blood."
Xander accepted a protein bar from another medic and tore the wrapper open with stiff fingers.
"Thanks."
He took a bite. Slowly.
His stomach tightened with need the moment the food hit his tongue. Super Metabolism dragged the calories down into the furnace of his body, converting them almost immediately. It didn't make him feel good exactly, but it made him feel less like he was about to fold in half and become floor decoration.
"How long do I have before my next match?" he asked.
The medic dabbed at a cut near his collarbone. "Depends on how long this round lasts. At least thirty to forty-five minutes, assuming the bracket stays clean."
Xander almost laughed.
The bracket had not been clean once since he arrived.
"Great."
He finished most of the protein bar, then pushed himself carefully to his feet. The medic reached out like he expected Xander to collapse, but Xander managed to stay upright. His knees felt weak. His chest hurt. His thigh burned where Vance's Reaper Edge had carved into him. Still, he was standing.
"Thanks," Xander said, giving the medics a tired nod.
"Don't thank us by bleeding out later," one of them said.
"I'll try to be considerate."
With that, Xander stepped off Ring Seven and made his way back toward the contestants' side. Each step felt better than the last, but not by enough to make him comfortable. The crowd still buzzed around him. Some people shouted his ring name now. Others still booed. A few pointed as he passed, eyes sharp with fresh curiosity.
He ignored them as best he could.
That fight was a lot closer than it needed to be…
A small status readout blinked open at his thought.
His HP had climbed, but only to around half.
The number made his jaw tighten.
My mana needs an upgrade too. One minute of active skills isn't enough. If Predator's Instinct runs out before I finish the fight, I'm gambling with my skull.
He reached the refreshment area and lowered himself onto the floor near the table, back resting against the wall. Someone had restocked the cooler. Xander grabbed an ice-cold protein shake, cracked it open, and drank deeply.
The cold hit his stomach with a pleasant heaviness. The sweetness helped. The protein helped more.
His body kept pulling from everything he consumed.
It was disturbing how easy it was becoming to understand himself as a machine.
Food in.
Damage repaired.
Fuel burned.
Fight again.
He leaned his head back against the wall and smiled faintly despite the exhaustion.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's see what I actually got out of that mess."
⠀
The system chimed.
⠀
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
Quest: [Fight Night]
Status: Completed
Objective: Participate in a fight and beat your opponent at the fight club.
Rewards:
+40 EXP
+1 Dexterity
Skill Acquired: [Mental Resilience]
⠀
Xander blinked.
"So that counted too, huh?"
He had almost forgotten about the first fight club quest. Between the locker room brawl, the default win, the noodle challenge, and Vance trying to slice him open like discount meat, the original reason he came here had been shoved to the back of his mind.
The next prompt appeared.
⠀
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
Quest: [Learn Some Respect, Part 2]
Status: Completed
Objective: Teach the target respect by beating it into him inside the ring.
Rewards:
+100 EXP
+3 Dexterity
Unique Title Acquired: [Scarlet Phantom]
⠀
The title window unfolded next, larger than the others.
⠀
[TITLE ACQUIRED]
[Scarlet Phantom]
Rating: Rare
A title born from blood, ridicule, and a victory that overturned the crowd's expectations.
Effects:
Dexterity +2
Perception +1
Conditional Effect: [Bloodied Body]
Activates when HP falls below 50%.
[Bloodied Body]
Strength +2
Dexterity +2
Pain Resistance +20%
Knockback Resistance +20%
Special Effect: [Scarlet Reprisal]
Once per fight, when HP falls below 35%, the user may activate Scarlet Reprisal for 10 seconds.
Strength +4
Endurance +4
Physical Damage +15%
The first heavy attack received during Scarlet Reprisal has its damage reduced by 30%.
After Scarlet Reprisal ends, stamina is heavily consumed and regeneration speed decreases by 25% for 30 seconds.
⠀
Xander stared at the title description.
Then read it again.
His smile spread slowly.
"Holy shit…"
He let out a short laugh, low and breathless.
"That's actually pretty cool."
He thought back to the crowd chanting his name after Vance went down. The same name they had mocked only minutes earlier. Scarlet Phantom. It had sounded like a mistake when he chose it. A bad impulse born from panic at a registration desk.
Now it had stats.
Effects.
A bloodied combat state.
A once-per-fight physical burst.
Maybe the name had grown fangs.
Guess Scarlet Phantom isn't a joke anymore.
He took another drink from the protein shake and opened his full status window.
⠀
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Xander Shayden
Rank: E
Level: 3
EXP: 35 / 300
Stats:
Strength: 12
Dexterity: 27
Constitution: 12
Intelligence: 28
Charisma: 12
Perception: 16
Distributable Stat Points: 6
Sub Stats:
HP: 84
Mana: 56
Speed: 54
HP Mod: 7
Mana Mod: 2
Speed Mod: 2
[ACTIVE SKILLS]
[Iron Will of the Strategist] (Rank E)
Type: Passive / Active
Born from the resolve and ingenuity displayed in the face of overwhelming odds, this skill allows the user to steel the mind, clear mental distractions, and sharpen strategic insight in moments of danger.
Passive Effect: Calm Resolve
Stabilizes mental state during chaotic or life-threatening situations, improving focus and resistance to mind-altering effects. Enhances battle analysis and enemy movement prediction by 10%.
Active Effect: Clarity of Vision
Cooldown: 10 minutes
Mana Cost: 15
Duration: 1 minute
Momentarily reveals an ideal course of action through a precision-based overlay, identifying weak points, positioning options, and environmental advantages.
[Feline's Nimbleness] (Rank D)
Mana Cost: 20 mana per minute
Cooldown: None
Unleashes a burst of agility and clarity, increasing Dexterity and Perception by 30%. Movement becomes fluid and instinctive, allowing sharper footwork, faster repositioning, and smoother evasive motion.
[PASSIVE SKILLS]
[Enhanced Hearing] (Rank F)
Heightens auditory range and clarity. Background noise becomes easier to filter, improving eavesdropping and situational awareness.
[Enhanced Reading] (Rank F)
Slightly increases reading speed and comprehension.
[Cold Resistance] (Rank F)
Provides mild resistance to cold environments.
[Dark Vision] (Rank F)
Allows limited sight in non-magical darkness.
[Enhanced Vision] (Rank E)
Eyesight dynamically adjusts to distance, clarity, and mild visual disturbances, allowing finer detail perception.
[Rapid Cognition] (Rank E)
Increases mental processing speed in dynamic environments. Reduces decision-making delay in battle and improves multi-target awareness.
[Enhanced Endurance] (Rank E)
Raises bodily endurance threshold. HP modifier increased from 5 to 7 per Constitution point.
[Combat Instinct] (Rank E)
After dodging or taking a hit, the user's next attack within 5 seconds deals +15% damage. Landing 2 consecutive hits grants +2 temporary Strength for 10 seconds.
[Enhanced Spice Tolerance] (Rank E)
Reduces physical disruption from extreme capsaicin exposure. Heat still hurts, but it no longer overwhelms the body's ability to function.
[Mental Resilience] (Rank E)
Stabilizes the mind under neurological stress, including shock, fear, and concussion. Improves focus retention under pain, pressure, and disorientation.
[UNIQUE SKILLS]
[Hyper Adaptation] (Growth-Type Evolution) (Rank S)
??????
[Regeneration] (Rank D) (Passive)
Allows regeneration of limbs and exterior body parts over time. Restores 6 HP every 30 seconds.
[Ether Circulation] (Rank D)
Your body has adapted to its former weakness and overcome disease. Mana flows steadily, regenerating 1% of maximum mana every minute.
[Super Metabolism] (Rank B)
Type: Passive
Greatly accelerates metabolic processes, allowing rapid energy conversion, improved recovery after large food intake, and resistance to the negative effects of overeating. Causes extreme hunger during high exertion or energy depletion.
[SYNERGY EFFECTS]
[Predator's Instinct]
Type: Conditional Synergy Buff
Unlocked through the synergy between [Clarity of Vision] and [Feline's Nimbleness].
When both skills are active simultaneously, body and mind temporarily synchronize into a primal combat state, greatly enhancing short-term reflexes, spatial prediction, and motion precision.
Effects:
+30% Reaction Speed and Dodge Timing
+15% Dexterity while active
Near-range enemy movement is perceived in slowed intervals for 1.5 seconds
Mana drain for both active skills is reduced by 25%
[TITLES]
[Scarlet Phantom]
Rating: Rare
A title born from blood, ridicule, and a victory that overturned the crowd's expectations.
⠀
...…
...…
⠀
Xander sat there for a moment, silent.
The arena roared around him, but his attention stayed locked on the numbers.
My Dexterity is through the roof…
Twenty-seven, before active buffs. With Feline's Nimbleness, Predator's Instinct, and the title effects layered properly, his speed could become ridiculous in short bursts. That explained what happened to Vance at the end. For a few seconds, Xander hadn't just moved faster than his opponent.
He had moved faster than his own expectations.
Then his eyes shifted to Mana.
Fifty-six.
The number suddenly looked painfully small.
Six new stat points per level, huh? I definitely need to start fixing my mana problem. If Intelligence affects mana growth like it seems to, then two points there makes sense.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the faint soreness in his joints fade under Regeneration's steady work.
And the rest… two into Strength, two into Constitution. More power, more HP, better survival. I can't keep relying on speed alone.
He took another slow drink from the protein shake, letting the cold settle through him.
Around him, the tournament continued to rage.
But for the first time since stepping into the ring, Xander felt like he had a path.
Not a clean or safe one.
But a path all the same.
Xander didn't spend long staring at the numbers.
He already knew what he needed.
Speed had carried him through Vance. It had saved him, shocked the crowd, and turned his ridiculous ring name into something people were actually chanting. But speed alone had nearly gotten him carved open. His mana had burned out too fast. His body still needed better durability. And the next opponent might not be someone he could simply blitz before the clock ran dry.
He lifted one hand and dragged the stat screen closer with a thought.
"Two into Intelligence," he murmured. "Two into Strength. Two into Constitution."
The system responded immediately.
⠀
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
You have distributed 2 Stat Points into Intelligence.
Intelligence: 28 → 30
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
You have distributed 2 Stat Points into Strength.
Strength: 12 → 14
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
You have distributed 2 Stat Points into Constitution.
Constitution: 12 → 14
⠀
A controlled wave of warmth moved through his body.
It wasn't as sharp as dumping everything into Dexterity had been during the fight. That had felt like someone had cut the leash between thought and motion. This was deeper. Denser. His limbs felt a little more solid. His chest expanded with an easier breath. Beneath his skin, the dull ache from Vance's Reaper Edge softened as if his body had suddenly found more material to work with.
The change in Intelligence was stranger. It didn't make him feel smarter in some cartoonish way. No sudden cosmic insight. No floating equations. Instead, the edges of his thoughts became cleaner. The noise in his head sorted itself faster. The status window felt easier to parse. Even the arena's chaos seemed less muddy, with each sound and movement falling into its own slot.
Xander opened the updated status for a quick glance.
⠀
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Xander Shayden
Rank: E
Level: 3
EXP: 35 / 300
Stats:
Strength: 14
Dexterity: 27
Constitution: 14
Intelligence: 30
Charisma: 12
Perception: 16
Distributable Stat Points: 0
Sub Stats:
HP: 98
Mana: 60
Speed: 54
HP Mod: 7
Mana Mod: 2
Speed Mod: 2
⠀
Xander stared at the HP increase for a second, then let out a small breath.
"Okay," he whispered. "That feels better."
He closed the window and finished the last of the protein shake.
The cold sweetness sat heavy in his stomach, but Super Metabolism was already dragging it down into the furnace. His wounds continued to knit, still slower than he wanted, but steadily enough that he no longer felt like he might start leaking onto the floor again.
By the time he stood, his legs felt more cooperative.
The arena's roar pulled at him.
Xander made his way out of the contestants' corner and toward the lower spectator rail where Jerry and TJ had been hovering like they owned the place. It didn't take long to spot them. Jerry's blond head was easy to pick out, and TJ was currently arguing with a man twice his age over whether Vance's loss counted as "getting cooked" or "getting exorcised."
Jerry noticed Xander first.
His grin split wide.
"There he is!" Jerry shouted, slapping the rail. "The man, the myth, the bloody blur!"
TJ turned and threw both arms up like Xander had just returned from war, which, technically, wasn't far off.
"Scarlet Phantom!" TJ yelled. "Look at you walking upright and everything. We were about to start a charity fund for your medical bills."
Xander stopped beside them, rolling one shoulder with a wince.
"Make it a food fund instead," he said. "Medical bills are useless if I starve first."
Jerry laughed and looked him up and down. "You're really healing, huh? That cut across your chest looked nasty as hell."
"It felt worse than it looked."
TJ gave him a doubtful look. "Kid, it looked like somebody tried to open you like a snack bag."
Xander glanced down at the fading red line across his chest. "Yeah… I didn't expect there to be "Sharp" people here, and I'm starting to dislike them."
"Good thing Vance disliked knees by the end," Jerry said, still grinning. "That finish? Man, I thought the crowd was gonna riot."
"They were booing me ten minutes earlier."
"They still might," TJ said. "But now they're gonna boo you with respect."
Jerry leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing sacred wisdom. "In this arena, respect just means people think you might break something expensive."
"Or someone expensive," TJ added.
Xander shook his head, though a faint smile tugged at his mouth. The two of them were rough, stupidly loud, and probably knew more illegal entrances than legal street names, but somehow standing near them felt easier than standing alone under the crowd's eyes.
⠀
Across the arena, Seo Yura's voice rose again.
"Ring Five is heating up, and Ring Two is making my job way too easy! But if you've got eyes, and I hope most of you do, look toward Ring One. The Turtle Bear is back!"
Jerry perked up. "Oh, Kari's up again."
Xander turned toward the nearest giant screen.
Ring One's camera feed took over one of the central displays.
Kari stood in his corner, calm as ever, shoulders relaxed, hands low. Across from him was a man Xander recognized from the bracket announcements. Midas Scar.
He was leaner than Kari but still powerfully built, with dark bronze skin and a web of golden markings running across his arms, chest, and one side of his jaw. They didn't look like tattoos. They looked raised, metallic, almost like old scars filled with molten gold. His hands flexed as he stepped forward, and the gold along his knuckles brightened.
Seo sounded delighted.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this one is going to be a treat! In one corner, Abouda 'The Turtle Bear' Kari, the man who turned Viktor Sokolov's signature technique into an orthopedic emergency. And in the other corner, Midas Scar, whose reinforced knuckles have retired more jaws than old age!"
The bell rang.
Midas moved first.
He didn't rush carelessly. He closed in with tight, compact steps, shoulders tucked, elbows narrow. His style looked cleaner than Vance's, cleaner than Red Ogre's, and much more deliberate than the wild brawlers scattered across the other rings.
A boxer.
A real one.
His first punch snapped toward Kari's guard, golden knuckles flashing under the lights.
Kari blocked.
The sound rang hard enough for the nearby camera to shake.
Midas followed with a second, then a third, then a fourth. Each strike landed with increasing force, his golden markings pulsing brighter with each impact. Kari absorbed them all behind a tight guard, forearms shifting just enough to redirect power instead of eating it raw.
Seo's commentary sharpened.
"Midas Scar is not wasting time! He's trying to build pressure early, and listen to those hits! Those golden reinforcements aren't just decoration, folks. Every punch is carrying hardened impact!"
Midas slipped to the left and dug a hook toward Kari's ribs.
Kari turned his elbow inward.
The hook struck bone-hard defense and bounced.
Midas didn't flinch. He pivoted, planting his rear foot, and unleashed a short uppercut aimed beneath Kari's guard.
For the first time, Kari moved more than an inch.
He leaned back.
The uppercut missed his chin by a breath.
Midas grinned.
Gold flared down both arms.
"Now we're talking!" Seo cried. "Midas is warming up! That glow means his impact stacking is active! The longer he keeps landing, the heavier those shots get!"
Xander narrowed his eyes.
"Impact stacking?"
Jerry nodded. "Yeah. Midas builds force through repeated contact. If you let him keep touching your guard, eventually it feels like getting punched by a gorilla."
Xander kept his eyes on Kari.
"Then why is Kari letting him hit?"
Jerry's grin widened. "Because Kari's Kari."
In the ring, Midas increased the pace.
His gloves became golden blurs, each punch cracking against Kari's guard like hammer strikes. The crowd rose with each impact, counting them without realizing it.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Kari stepped back once.
Midas drove forward.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
The gold across Midas's arms burned brighter. His next punch came heavier, a straight right that made the air distort around it.
Kari lifted his guard.
The punch landed.
A shockwave burst outward.
Kari's feet slid back half a step.
The crowd roared.
Midas smiled, sweat flashing across his face. He had finally moved him.
Seo leaned into the moment.
"There it is! Midas Scar pushes the Turtle Bear back! That is no small thing, ladies and gentlemen! You can count on one hand the number of people in this arena who can make Kari give ground!"
Xander felt himself tense.
Kari lowered his arms slightly.
Midas saw the opening and took it.
He rushed in with a left hook, right straight, and a vicious golden overhand aimed at Kari's temple. The overhand carried all the force he had stacked, the markings across his arms flaring so bright they painted the canvas yellow.
Kari stepped inside.
Not back.
Inside.
The overhand scraped past the side of his head, close enough to stir his short hair. At the same moment, Kari's left hand caught Midas's punching wrist. His right palm pressed against Midas's chest.
For one heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then Kari drove forward.
It wasn't a punch.
It was a shove.
A simple, brutal palm shove that looked almost lazy until Midas's entire body left the ground and slammed backward into the ropes. The ropes stretched violently, nearly launching him back into the ring.
Before Midas could recover, Kari was there.
His foot hooked behind Midas's lead ankle.
His shoulder struck Midas in the sternum.
Then he turned.
Midas hit the canvas with a sound like a dropped slab of meat.
The whole ring bounced.
Seo's voice exploded.
"KARI SWITCHES FROM WALL TO BEAR! DID YOU SEE THAT?! He let Midas build the force, stepped inside the loaded strike, trapped the wrist, and dumped him like a sack of gold-plated bricks!"
Midas tried to rise.
Kari did not let him.
He planted one knee beside Midas's ribs and pressed a forearm across his chest, not choking him, not crushing him, simply pinning him with so much weight and leverage that Midas's entire body shook trying to move.
The referee hovered.
Midas snarled and drove a golden fist into Kari's side from below.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Kari's expression barely changed.
On the fourth attempt, Kari shifted his weight and pinned the striking arm under his shin.
Midas's eyes widened.
Kari raised one fist.
No flourish.
No anger.
Just decision.
He punched downward into Midas's abdomen.
The impact emptied Midas's lungs in a horrible gasp.
Kari hit him again.
Midas's body curled, but there was nowhere to go.
A third punch landed, deeper than the first two.
The golden glow around Midas's arms flickered.
The referee dropped beside them, watching closely.
Midas tried to tap the canvas. His fingers twitched, then slapped once.
The ref called it immediately.
The bell rang.
Kari stood, calm and quiet, while Midas rolled onto his side clutching his stomach and fighting for air.
The crowd thundered.
Seo Yura laughed through the speakers, breathless with excitement.
"Winner by submission due to mercy, because if Kari hit him there one more time, we'd need a priest, a mop, and maybe an apology letter to his organs! Abouda Kari advances again!"
TJ let out a low whistle. "That man fights like a tax collector. Calm, patient, and suddenly your whole life belongs to him."
Jerry nodded. "I'm telling you, Kari doesn't win fights. He repossesses people."
Xander stared at the screen with something close to admiration.
"He let Midas think the pressure was working."
"Yup," Jerry said.
"Then used the confidence against him."
"Yup."
Xander folded his arms, replaying the moment in his head. The step inside. The wrist catch. The palm shove. The trip. The pin.
Predictable things break.
Kari's earlier words returned to him with new weight.
"Damn," Xander said quietly. "He's terrifying."
TJ grinned. "And you fist-bumped him. That means if he becomes champion, you're basically royalty."
"Pretty sure that's not how it works."
"It is if we lie confidently."
⠀
Before Xander could respond, the screens jumped to Ring Three.
Parsilla's match was reaching its end.
The Berserker Queen was laughing.
Her opponent, Night Ruin, looked anything but amused. He was taller than her, dressed in black compression gear, with dark veins pulsing along his forearms as he moved. His fighting style was quiet and nasty, full of choking grips, trips, and sudden joint locks. Every time he touched Parsilla, he tried to drag her into a slow collapse.
Parsilla refused to collapse.
He caught her wrist and twisted for an arm lock.
She stepped in instead of out.
Her forehead crashed into his nose.
The sound came through the arena speakers with unpleasant clarity.
Night Ruin staggered, blood pouring from his nostrils.
Parsilla seized his collar, dragged him down, and drove a knee into his ribs. Then another. Then a spinning elbow that sent him sideways into the ropes.
Seo's voice turned gleeful.
"Night Ruin wanted a shadow fight! Parsilla said no, darling, we are doing this in broad daylight with blunt trauma!"
Night Ruin tried one final grab.
Parsilla caught his arm, grinned directly into his face, and slammed her shoulder into his chest hard enough to lift him off his feet. He crashed down flat on his back.
She dropped onto him with both knees.
The ref stepped in as Night Ruin wheezed and tapped desperately.
"Winner, Parsilla the Berserker Queen!" Seo announced. "Mosshead moves on, and Night Ruin may have just discovered a new religion called breathing hurts!"
The chant started again.
"MOSSHEAD! MOSSHEAD! MOSSHEAD!"
Xander watched Parsilla rise, dark green hair falling around her face as she tilted her head toward the crowd, smiling like every chant was feeding something feral inside her.
"She's intense," he said.
Jerry snorted. "That's one word."
TJ rubbed his ribs as if feeling Night Ruin's pain through the screen. "If I ever fight her, I'm faking a hamstring injury before the bell."
More matches ended in quick succession.
Gorefang advanced after battering his opponent into the corner until the referee stopped the fight. The silver-braided woman from earlier won again with a cruelly elegant calf kick that took her opponent's base, followed by a clean punch that dropped him without theatrics. The stone-veined fighter lost in a shocking upset when a smaller man repeatedly attacked his joints until one reinforced knee gave out with a visible buckle.
By the time the final few fights of the round of Thirsty Two reached their last minutes, the arena felt different.
The wild opening energy had sharpened into something hungrier. Favorites were emerging. Underdogs were becoming stories. The crowd had begun choosing names to worship and names to hate.
And Xander, whether he liked it or not, had become one of the names they were watching.
He took another protein bar from his pocket and ate half of it while Jerry and TJ argued over who had the best chance of making the semifinals. His HP had recovered fully now.. The wounds across his chest and thigh had faded into angry red lines.
Still, his body felt heavy.
A useful heaviness.
Like a weapon cooling after use.
⠀
Then a hand settled on his shoulder.
Xander stopped chewing.
Jerry's voice died mid-sentence.
TJ's eyes shifted past Xander, and the grin slipped from his face.
Xander turned.
A man in a black suit stood behind him.
Not one of the arena guards. Not a medic. Not a bookie.
The suit was too clean, too fitted, too quiet. His hair was combed back neatly, and a thin silver pin glinted at his lapel, shaped like something Xander didn't recognize at first glance. The man's face held no hostility, no curiosity, no expression worth grabbing onto.
Without a word, he held out a red envelope.
Xander looked at it.
The paper was thick, dark crimson, sealed with black wax. Pressed into the wax was a strange symbol: a circle split by a vertical flame, with a thin crown-like mark hovering above it.
For some reason, the sight of it made the back of Xander's neck prickle.
He took the envelope.
The suited man leaned closer, just enough that only Xander could hear him over the arena noise.
"From the room above."
Then he stepped away.
No explanation. No name. No invitation spoken aloud.
He turned and walked through the crowd with practiced ease, slipping between spectators and staff as if everyone instinctively knew to move.
Halfway across the aisle, he paused.
Then looked up.
Xander followed his gaze.
High above the arena, behind the tinted glass of one of the VIP rooms, a single silhouette stood near the window.
Still.
Watching.
The light behind them was dim, but Xander could feel the attention from there, cold and deliberate, like a finger pressed gently against the center of his forehead.
Jerry swallowed.
"Uh… kid?"
TJ's voice was quieter than usual. "You know someone upstairs?"
Xander didn't answer.
His fingers tightened around the red envelope.
The wax seal caught the arena light and gleamed black against crimson paper.
On the screens, the final fight of the round ended to a roar.
But for Xander, the noise faded.
All he saw was the symbol.
All he felt was the stare from behind the glass.