Chapter 242: Rigged Odds
The final bets had been placed, and the manager had returned to his seat. He seemed completely engrossed in the tablet propped up in front of him, his eyes scanning the screen with intense focus.
Max tried to sneak a peek, curious to see what kind of information was being displayed. He had a good guess, but there was one of those privacy films attached to the screen, the kind that only revealed its contents to the person directly in front of it. Everything else looked like a black void.
If I’m right, there’ll be a signal of some kind, Max thought, keeping his senses sharp, his attention laser-focused. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but before he could figure it out, the tides of the fight had already turned.
Sniper had gone in for a punch, but it was slightly off. Just enough. And that small miscalculation gave Hawk the perfect opportunity.
Like before, Hawk tackled him, but this time it wasn’t just a simple slam into the ropes. With his arms wrapped tightly around Sniper’s waist, Hawk lifted him clean off the ground and drove him into the mat with brutal force.
The impact echoed through the room, but Max didn’t flinch. He knew that the floor of the ring was padded, relatively soft and bouncy. It wouldn’t hit the same way as cold, hard concrete. Still, it looked brutal enough.
"No, no, no! This isn’t good!" Chad jumped to his feet, his nerves unraveling fast.
Hawk was now on top of Sniper. All of Sniper’s strengths, his speed, his reach, his long limbs, meant nothing from this position. Hawk was heavier, stronger, and in full control. Sniper was trapped beneath him like a caged animal.
With a devastating swing, Hawk’s fist connected flush with Sniper’s face. The impact was loud, and Sniper’s reaction sluggish.
"Come on! No! Come on!" Chad was practically screaming now. "You were winning the whole damn fight! You’re called the Sniper, right? Shouldn’t your punches be powerful or something?! And you had more wins under your belt, damn it!"
Even someone as oblivious as Chad, who usually missed every social cue known to man, could see how this was going to end.
Another punch. This one vicious, landing across Sniper’s jaw. His eyes rolled back. His body went limp.
He was out.
Hawk stood, raising his arms in victory, his chest heaving with adrenaline.
There were a few cheers scattered among the crowd, but they were half-hearted. A few groans followed. No one seemed genuinely thrilled, except maybe Hawk himself. But no one in the entire room looked as furious as Chad.
"Damn it! Damn it! DAMN IT!" Chad shouted, flopping back into his seat. He could feel the stares from others in the room and tried to cool down, running a hand over his face.
"Man, I thought you’d have beginner’s luck or something," Chad said, slumping in his chair. "Just like I did when I placed my first few bets. But your luck must suck even worse than mine to lose a fight that was practically a sure win."
Max didn’t respond. His head was tilted downward, eyes fixed on the ground. He wasn’t hiding because he was upset about the money. No, he was hiding his expression for an entirely different reason.
If I had let things go naturally, they probably would’ve let Sniper win. Paid out just enough to keep me baited, maybe lure me into betting again.
But I had to make sure of two things. One: that these fights were rigged. Two: what they were planning to do once they had someone hooked.
So I raised the stakes. I placed a bet so large that the house couldn’t afford to lose. And I’m guessing that tablet in front of the manager? It probably shows all the bets made by the crowd. If too much is riding on one fighter, they rig the fight. It’s simple. I don’t know what the signal was to the fighters, but it’s obvious now... This entire thing is a setup. Every outcome is manipulated. And if that’s the case, I can guess how far they’re willing to go in everything else, too.
"Oh well. You’ve got plenty of cash, Max," Chad said, shaking his head. "Just don’t blow it all. Remember, we still have a debt to pay off."
Even now, it amazed Max how casually Chad could brush off something like this. Either he was truly clueless... or he just refused to care.
Still, Max ordered some food to the table. It gave off the illusion that he was relaxing, that he was settling into the same rhythm Chad had. Chad took it as a win and kept rambling, still complaining and moaning about the match.
After a moment, Max broke the stream of noise.
"Chad... what’s the highest bet you’ve ever made here? On one fight?"
Chad thought for a moment. "Hmm, probably two hundred million? Something like that. Honestly, they never told me there was a limit. But hey, be careful. Don’t get addicted to this stuff. I know you’re still young."
They probably didn’t set a limit for him because they planned to bleed him dry from the beginning, Max thought. But it gives me a baseline. A ceiling, at least.
The next match was about to begin. As the lights dimmed and the air shifted, new information flashed across the desk screens. The profiles of the two fighters appeared.
The first was called The Elephant , a man with massive arms, one of which looked almost robotic. It was hard to tell from the photo whether it was a prosthetic or some kind of tattooed metal enhancement.
That wasn’t what caught Max’s attention.
The other fighter, The Crazed Soldier , stopped him cold.
That name suits him perfectly, Max thought, narrowing his eyes at the photo.
Because the fighter on the screen was unmistakably Dud.
Moments later, the manager returned to their table, wearing a grin so wide it almost looked rehearsed.
"Well, gentlemen," he said cheerfully, "there’s no pressure to bet, especially after that unfortunate loss. But I figured I’d swing by anyway, see if you were feeling lucky. Would either of you care to place a wager?"
"Yeah, I do," Max replied immediately, without a second of hesitation.
The manager raised an eyebrow.
"I want to double my bet," Max continued, his voice calm and certain. "Put two hundred million... on the Crazed Soldier."