Na continued staring at the ground, at the opponent who still wasn’t getting back up. Saliva spilled from the man’s mouth in thin streaks that glistened under the cage lights. Na felt a weight settle in the pit of his stomach, an uncomfortable tightness as he replayed the moment again and again in his mind.
Where had it gone wrong?
His opponent had been performing perfectly. The pattern was clear, the dodges were consistent, and Na had purposely telegraphed every strike so the man could continue selling the fight. And yet, somehow, at the critical moment, the opponent had taken the hit directly instead of dodging. Na clenched his jaw.
He ducked every other time. Why did he step into that one? Why take the punch on purpose?
He was mentally kicking himself, frustrated not only with the situation but with himself for not predicting this strange shift.
And he wasn’t the only one feeling that way.
"Wasn’t Na meant to lose that match?" Sheri asked from her seat, disbelief tightening her voice. She looked at Aron with wide eyes, uncertain and anxious.
"He was," Aron replied with a slow exhale. His expression was controlled, but Sheri could see the tension behind it. "And judging from the look on his face, that win was a complete accident."
The realization hit both of them at once: the bet they had placed, millions, was lost. A large portion of their accumulated profit had just evaporated in a single unexpected punch.
They were still in the green overall, but barely. Half the gains from their carefully planned bets were gone.
"What do we do now?" Sheri whispered, frustration and worry mixing in her tone.
"Well," Aron said, leaning back as he assessed the situation, "the good news is that Na won. That means he’s still an active fighter in the rotation. He’ll likely be put into more matches before the night ends. If that’s the case, then we can still make up the losses. But..." His gaze sharpened slightly. "Since they asked him to take the fall in this one, I’m not sure what they’ll want from him in the next match."
Sheri’s heart tightened. Nothing tonight felt stable. Every fight, every bet, every decision felt like walking on thin ice in the middle of a storm.
Meanwhile, Na finally stepped away from his unconscious opponent and made his way out of the ring. As he exited, he glanced up at the host seated high on the viewing platform. The host’s mask made it impossible to read any expression, but the stiffness in the man’s posture spoke volumes.
"What is going on?" the host muttered under his breath once Na was out of earshot. Sitting stiffly on his throne-like chair, he gripped the edges of the armrests. The fight cage reflected faintly in the lenses of his mask.
"It didn’t matter too much if he won or lost," the host continued irritably. "Not after that damn Curts family member bet so much on the other fighter. If anything, we did a little better because of that. But why did the Soldier ignore my request? Why did he go against my direct orders?"
His voice cracked with mounting anger.
"He was meant to lose that fight. Does everyone take me for a fool? Does everyone think they can run this place better than I can, after all the years I’ve kept this venue alive?" The host’s voice rose, the frustration building in his chest.
"He decided to go against me," he hissed. "Just like Evon. Everyone’s mocking me tonight."
The next set of fights continued, but the host barely paid attention. His mind raced. It was clear Evon had embarrassed him earlier, taking control of the meeting and even mocking him openly. And now Na had disregarded him as well. Whether or not either fighter intended it, to the host it was personal.
He needed to reestablish control, quickly and publicly.
And then, as he watched the crowd, an idea formed. A vindictive, petty spark flickered to life behind the question-mark mask.
Finally, the host stood with sudden intensity, raising both arms wide as the microphone built into his mask amplified his voice through the venue’s speakers.
"Alright, everyone!" he announced loudly.
The venue fell silent.
"It’s time for the final fight of the night! So I suggest all of you prepare the rest of your money, and place your biggest bets! Because we have a special match for you..."
He paused, letting the tension build.
"...the Soldier will face the Unexpected!"
The screens flashed the two fighters’ images: Na on one side, Evon on the other.
A ripple of excitement tore through the crowd. Roars, cheers, and shocked exclamations rose like a wave.
Evon blinked, surprise cracking through his calm demeanor. Of all matches he expected, this was not one of them. He had assumed the host would avoid using him again, at least until the event was winding down, giving Evon the freedom to make his move afterward.
Instead, he was thrown directly into the final spotlight.
Is he doing this on purpose? Evon wondered. Is he trying to get a bit of petty revenge? Because he thinks I humiliated him?
Then he saw Na stepping toward the cage, shoulders squared, expression unreadable.
Reluctantly, Evon began walking toward the cage as well. The cheers were deafening, the energy palpable.
He exhaled through his nose.
I was going to test the full capabilities of the equipment anyway. Maybe this is a good opportunity. And from what I saw, this guy actually has skill. It might even be... interesting.
Part of him debated whether he should even use the exoskeleton. Turning it off would make the fight more fair, but it would also remove the protection he was supposed to be testing, and that went against his objective.
In the crowd:
"This fight’s going to be amazing!" one spectator yelled.
"Right?! Both of them knocked out their opponents easily! There’s definitely going to be a knockout between these two!"
"But who do I bet on?" someone else groaned. "They’re both good!"
The entire room split into two factions, Team Soldier and Team Unexpected.
Sheri leaned closer to Aron, her voice trembling with uncertainty.
"Na didn’t give the signal," she said. "So... who should I bet on?"