The schedule for the fights, and who would be going up against who, hadn’t been planned out in advance. Everything about the matchups was intentionally unpredictable. It had been organized in this particular way so that no one, not the spectators, not the fighters, not even the staff, could know what the odds of any fight would be until the faces appeared on the screen.
The randomness built anticipation. It forced fairness, in a strange, chaotic way. And above all, it limited the time people had to think, which was exactly what the event creators wanted. Less thinking meant more emotion. More emotion meant more betting.
This uncertainty didn’t just keep the crowd on edge, it rattled the fighters too. All they could rely on was the single massive screen positioned just above the sunken arena. It was placed high enough that every seat on the rooftop could see it clearly.
Everyone waited. And then, suddenly, two faces flashed onto the screen, photos taken beforehand, side-by-side.
"Me?" Joe whispered, his eyes widening. "I’m the one that has to fight first... but I wanted to watch the other fights. I wanted to see what there is to do and what not to do."
"What do you mean?" Wolf said with a grin, giving Joe a firm slap on the back. "The answer to what to do is easy. You have to win. So go out there and win."
Joe didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His nerves were clear in the way his shoulders tensed and how his fingers fidgeted against each other. His body practically screamed unease.
His opponent, however, was the exact opposite. The man walking toward the edge of the stage carried himself with loud confidence. He was tall and heavily muscular, with a build that looked like it had been carved from hard labor and gym hours. He’d taken off his shirt to show off his muscles, dark brown hair, thick eyebrows, and a mustache completing the picture.
As he reached the edge, he brought both arms forward, flexing his biceps and the middle of his torso as if he were performing for a camera. Then he faced the crowd and swung his hand upward, motioning for them to cheer louder.
And they did.
Joe eventually made his way to the edge as well, stepping forward hesitantly. The moment he came into view, a wave of surprise rippled across the rooftop.
"What the heck, is that a kid?" someone blurted out.
"Yeah, and he looks nervous too. What kind of matchup even is this?"
"Maybe the Black Hounds just want us excited. They want us to make an easy bet, get a little money, give us an appetite to bet more after."
That last person wasn’t wrong. It was, in fact, part of the Black Hounds’ plan.
The odds displayed heavily favored the muscular man, Ryan. They weren’t completely one-sided, mostly because both fighters were new contestants, but Ryan was still the obvious pick.
Every fighter who hadn’t participated in the event before came with uncertainty. And as the tournament went on, the multiplier for each bet increased. The final fights, after people gathered information from the earlier rounds, were the ones that paid out the most.
So this first fight?
It was designed to be an unfair matchup.
The Black Hounds didn’t hide it. They wanted most people to win their first bet, to feel good, to celebrate, to drink more, to get reckless. And if a few people bet on the underdog and lost, well... that was the price of betting on an underdog.
"That Ryan guy looks a lot stronger than Joe," Chad thought nervously. "But I need to do what I can. For the first fight, I shouldn’t bet too much, right?"
He chewed the inside of his cheek, wrestling with what to do.
"Let’s put ten million on him."
If this had been any other match, and if he didn’t personally know Joe, Chad would’ve bet everything on Ryan without hesitation.
The only upside was that if Joe won, Chad would technically have more money to use. But only technically. The account Chad used for betting and the account he handed over for receiving winnings were completely different, everything separated and set up for security. That was the exact reason he didn’t want to bet too much too early.
Besides... he honestly believed Joe would lose. So why risk more?
"All right everyone, there are ten more seconds of betting to go!" the host shouted.
A timer on the screens ticked down.
"And... it’s over!" the host announced. "Will the two participants now enter the ring?"
Ryan didn’t hesitate. He jumped down into the pit and landed solidly on the ground, immediately flexing again as if he needed everyone to know he was confident.
Joe walked toward the edge and stared down at the drop. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small either. He tried to gauge the height, probably longer than his own body.
"What are you waiting for?" one of the guests yelled before giving Joe a shove.
Joe toppled forward, flailing for half a second before landing hard on the ground below.
A loud groan echoed out across the arena, and anyone watching could tell that fall hurt.
But Joe pushed himself up quickly, brushing the dust off his clothes. He barely had a moment to catch his breath before the host’s voice boomed:
"And the fight begins!"
"ARGHH!"
Ryan charged forward instantly, running like a rhinoceros barreling across an open plain. The ground trembled under each stomp. As soon as he got close, he swung his massive hands wildly, each punch aimed straight at Joe’s head.
The crowd roared with excitement.
But Joe dodged every single one, clean, sharp, almost effortless.
’Is it just me... or are his fists incredibly slow?’ Joe thought.
"Look at that! Look at those swings!" the crowd cheered. "If he gets hit by one of those, he’s done for!"
"Yeah, it’s only a matter of time!" another shouted.
But Joe, realizing how easily he could see each punch, felt the anxiety inside him loosen bit by bit. His breathing steadied. His mind sharpened.
He ducked under a swing, stepped in, raised his hands, and released a snapping jab.
It cracked across Ryan’s face, whipping his head back.
"What the, !"
Before Ryan could react, Joe struck again. Another jab. Then another. And another. Each one landing with clean precision, each one snapping Ryan’s head backward.
Ryan staggered, shaking his head as he tried to regain balance.
"I’ll kill you!" he roared, charging again.
He threw his fist forward with full force.
Joe slipped to the side and countered instantly, his own fist reinforced, his knuckles hardened from fight after fight. His punch connected squarely with Ryan’s face.
Ryan’s body froze for a moment. Then he toppled over, collapsing flat on his back.
Completely knocked out.