Darno had already stepped down from the stage after his bout, though his walk lacked the usual swagger. His hand was clamped over his forearm, gripping it tightly.
The adrenaline from the fight was fading, and in its place, a dull, searing pain began to crawl through his arm. It throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Is it fractured? he wondered, flexing his fingers and immediately regretting it when the pain spiked again. That kick from that guy... he was insanely strong. If the two of us were to fight for real, I’m honestly not sure who would come out on top.
The thought unsettled him.
How have we never even heard of any of these people? Are they just some random hired goons from this so-called VC company?
But when Darno glanced toward Max, standing calmly near the edge of the stage, something about that idea didn’t sit right.
The way Max interacted with them, Wolf, Na, even that boxer kid Joe, it didn’t feel like they were strangers or temporary contractors. It felt personal, like each of them was someone he knew well, someone he trusted enough to bring here.
And then there was the biggest question mark of all:
Why was Max able to fight at all?
Darno couldn’t get the image out of his mind, the whispers about how Max had supposedly beaten up two of the guards days ago. He hadn’t seen it himself, but he had seen the aftermath: two men barely able to stand, their faces a mess.
As he pondered this, Max’s voice carried across the room.
"Alright, alright," Max said casually, "how about for the next assessment... I’ll give it a go."
Darno’s head snapped up.
Wait... he’s going to go up against others? Him? Right now?
Excitement crackled through him like static. He wished his arm wasn’t numb. It was a shame he had injured it earlier, he wanted to be the one to test Max.
Although Max had managed to knock out two of their men before, those weren’t the strongest the Fortis Group had to offer. Not even close. So who really knew how strong this red-haired mystery was?
Still, seeing how everyone here obeyed him without question, how Wolf and Joe had obeyed him, Darno couldn’t shake the feeling that this man might just be the strongest one in the room.
A hush fell over the gathered guards, and then a voice broke through from the back of the crowd.
"Hey, there he goes, the representative trying to show off again."
It was a mutter, but it carried enough that others heard it.
"Right," another chimed in. "He must have gotten confident after watching so many of us fail. Now he thinks he can actually take us on himself."
Darno wanted to turn around and slap them both. Idiots.
They had no idea what they were talking about.
Not too long ago, he had been just like them, sneering, doubting, thinking the same arrogant thoughts. But not anymore. He could see it now.
There was only one clear way for Max to shut them all up. To reveal what he really was.
Last time, Max had refused to fight. He had stood back, silent and watchful, letting Na handle everything. At the time, Darno thought it was cowardice. Now he understood.
There had been no reason for Max to reveal himself. No reason to show what he was capable of.
But after watching Wolf and Darno clash, after feeling the tension in the room rise to a fever pitch, Max was clearly itching for a turn.
He was, after all, a delinquent at heart. A man who had led his own gang once, who lived for the rush of using his fists.
It was right up his alley.
Just as Max was rolling his shoulders and stepping toward the mat, a voice cut through the air like a knife.
"What are you doing?"
Max froze.
His skin prickled. It was rare for someone to make him shiver, but that voice always did. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head. And there he was. The man in the immaculate black suit, glasses glinting coldly in the overhead lights.
Aron.
"I knew you’d be up to something," Aron said, walking forward with crisp, measured steps. "When the situation calls for it, I’ll allow it. But this is unnecessary. There is no need for you to fight yourself. If you want these people tested..."
He adjusted his glasses, his tone like steel.
"...then I will do it for you."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Unlike the others, Aron wasn’t wearing a Bloodline jacket. He was in a tailored suit, and somehow that made him more terrifying.
Max’s eyes narrowed slightly.
I didn’t even call him here today... so why is he here?
He realized something. He hadn’t seen Na all day. Na, who usually followed him like a shadow. Now he knew why. Na hadn’t been on duty today. Because Aron had been the one tailing him instead.
What were the security guards doing to let him in? Or... did Aron just force his way in and track me down?
Already, Aron was stepping toward the stage.
Darno squinted at him from the sidelines.
"Another strange person," he muttered. "Who are they? They look... different from the others. They can’t be strong as well... right?"
Just before Aron could place a foot on the mat, Max grabbed his wrist.
"Don’t," Max said firmly. "There’s no need. And don’t worry, I won’t go up there either. I just got... swept up in the moment."
Aron stared at him silently.
Max turned to Joe, who was still standing near the sidelines with his hands wrapped.
"Joe," Max said, "you good now? Cleared your head a bit? You and Wolf can handle the rest of the assessments."
Joe nodded without hesitation. He wasn’t hurt, just distracted, lost in thought. He’d been replaying his loss to Nonto over and over, trying to figure out what he could’ve done differently.
Losing didn’t bother him. He was used to it. He lost to Stephen all the time. But this was different. This mattered. Aron said nothing, but he stepped back.
He didn’t like it, Max could tell. He never did. But Aron obeyed him, as he always had. And Max knew why he couldn’t let Aron fight. He didn’t want anyone here knowing how strong Aron really was.
The guards might be merging into the Bloodline group, but to them, this was still just a job. They had no loyalty.
If word of Aron’s strength spread to the wrong ears, it could bring trouble.
Wolf’s earlier warning whispered in Max’s mind.
Be careful of Darno.
If there were more like him hidden here, it was even more crucial to keep Aron off the radar.
And so, Aron stayed. Watching, silent, hands folded behind his back like a looming shadow while Joe and Wolf returned to the stage.
They rotated, assessing fighter after fighter. One by one, the would-be guards stepped up, and one by one, half of them fell.
By the end, of the hundred or so who had stood proudly at the start, only half remained. A stronger, leaner, sharper core had been carved out from the mass. The renovations to the building had finished. The uniforms had changed.
And now, Max even had a place here to call his own. That was when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down. The caller ID flashed. Warma. He answered.
"It’s time," Warma said simply. "It’s time to fully open up the Bloodline group. It’s going to be a big start."
Max leaned back, smiling faintly.
"It better be," he said.
And it truly was, because the first guest scheduled to arrive...
Was someone Max remembered very, very well.
****
Author’s Note: Back to two Chapters starting tomorrow. Have been busy moving and had 101 problems.