Vivian sat back in her seat, the glow of the tablet screen reflecting faintly in her eyes. With a few taps of her finger, she pulled up the betting history of her clients. Everything was digital, all of it recorded, and because of that, nothing ever truly disappeared. Every bet, every deposit, every pattern was all neatly stored for someone like her to examine.
She scrolled until she reached Chad Stern’s profile.
’Out of all the events he’s attended... even his first event, when he was more cautious than usual, he has never bet like this before.’
She narrowed her eyes.
’He was the type of person who bet on every single match. That was his flaw, he spread himself thin, hoping luck would save him. Yet now, for the first time ever, he has only placed bets on two matches... and both were on people from the same gang? Is it possible he hired the Pit members himself?’
She rested her chin lightly on her hand, thinking.
’Or maybe it’s not him at all. Maybe it’s someone else. Maybe the person who sponsored him is pulling the strings, and they’re simply using him to place the bets.’
Vivian leaned back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. She looked less bothered than she had earlier, if anything, she looked like someone who welcomed the twist.
’We have good fighters here,’ she mused silently, ’but I don’t know much about those two. There’s a good chance they might even be better than anyone else here tonight.’
She thought of all the trouble it took to organize this venue.
She thought of the whispers she’d heard about what was happening in other cities tonight.
’Most of our strongest fighters were sent to that location instead... but I see you have a lot of confidence in them, Chad Stern. Well, there are plenty of ways to make sure a bet doesn’t pay out. Let’s see what you do when things don’t go according to plan.’
The matches continued, fight after fight, full of brutal tension and raw excitement. Some fighters moved like dancers; others fought like wild beasts. Some relied on dirty tricks, others on overwhelming force. There were fighters who seemed unbreakable, and fighters who seemed made of pure speed.
The rooftop audience cheered, grimaced, yelled, cursed, and kept betting more.
Meanwhile, Wolf kept watching.
Every punch thrown, every stance adopted, every style used, he observed all of it. He saw strengths, yes, but also weaknesses. He watched injuries get ignored, saw habits form, patterns emerge.
Seeing his future opponents beforehand like this... was perhaps his biggest advantage.
"It looks like there will be two more fights for each of us," Wolf finally said, never taking his eyes off the arena. "Based on the number of fighters left. And they won’t put the two of us against each other."
Joe swallowed hard.
"Two more fights..." he repeated under his breath.
"The next one shouldn’t be too hard," Wolf continued bluntly, "but the one after that will be the hardest. Prepare yourself."
Joe gulped.
Even after winning his first match, he knew what Wolf meant. Watching the fights from afar, he could tell, some of these people were on another level. Some were faster. Some were covered in scars. Some just felt dangerous.
Was he really strong enough to beat those people?
"I’m getting a little nervous," Joe admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I might be selected soon. I should... go toilet before my next fight."
Without waiting for a response, Joe hurried off, weaving between tables and spectators.
Wolf didn’t follow.
He just kept watching the fights. His eyes were sharp. Focused. Calculating.
Joe followed the signs on the rooftop for the restroom, but when he reached the small staircase that led to the reserved area, a staff member stepped directly in front of him.
"Sorry," the staff member said firmly. "This is for guests only. Fighters have to use the bathrooms downstairs. Same place you all waited earlier."
Joe opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again.
He didn’t want to cause trouble. Not when everything was going well.
"Okay... fine..." he muttered.
He turned away and headed for the stairs.
At that exact moment, Chad was sitting in his seat, still staring at the tournament screen with utter joy plastered across his face, when someone sat down beside him.
He nearly jumped out of his skin.
Vivian.
Again.
Sweat prickled across his forehead and down both sides of his head.
"I, is there something wrong?" Chad stammered. "If there’s anything I can help with, I can try, "
"There’s no issue," Vivian replied smoothly. "I just found it interesting that you’ve only bet on two fighters tonight. Out of the entire venue."
Chad forced a laugh that sounded like it might break apart in the air.
"You want me to give away my secrets?" he said, turning his head to avoid eye contact. "I just had a good feeling about the two of them. And since they both won, I think I’m going to follow the same feeling."
Vivian didn’t blink.
"Right. Right. Is that really the case?" she said slowly. "You should know, if you’re using tricks, we have many ways to squash them."
The air felt suddenly cold.
Chad nodded quickly and pretended to laugh again, but the sweat dripping down his back betrayed him.
Down below, not on the rooftop, but on the floor beneath it, Joe realized something unsettling.
It was empty.
Completely empty.
All the fighters were above now. This floor was mostly for media equipment and staff, not for guests. There were hallways, storage rooms, camera stations, but no people.
Still, Joe finally spotted the bathroom and rushed toward it. He could finally relax, just for a moment, before his next match.
He stepped inside, stood at the urinal, and let out a long breath as he unzipped.
He really had to go.
’Once I’m done with this, I’ll be ready,’ he told himself. ’Mind clear. Body ready.’
He stared at the wall in front of him, letting himself focus on absolutely nothing.
Footsteps echoed.
Joe stiffened.
’Damn it... I hate when other people come in. I can’t focus when I know they’re there, ’
He finished quickly and reached for his zipper.
And then,
A hand grabbed the back of his head.
Before he could even gasp, his skull was slammed forward, hard,
CRACK
His face smashed into the wall.
Blood burst outward, splattering across the tiles.
Everything went red.
Everything went silent.
And Joe’s body went limp.