In the owners’ box, Darius was still completely relaxed, especially since Jett had decided to personally step into the fighting arena. It was glaringly obvious that the hooded kid taking part in the brackets was operating way beyond the level of the regular fighters they kept on the payroll, but across the entire province, there was next to no one as terrifyingly strong as Jett.
That absolute security was exactly how the Black Hounds had been able to run their illegal business for so long with next to no trouble at all. It also wasn’t the first time a rogue powerhouse had tried to crash the ring since their grand reopening, but now the stakes were different—they were officially backed by the bottomless resources of the Billion Bloodline group.
In the past, no one in the city wanted to risk acting out against the Gilt Rats. So why would any sane street gang want to start a war with the new empire that had completely bested the Rats? Sure, they had just dealt with that random boundary incident with the out-of-towners on the ship, but Darius highly doubted anyone else would dare to push their luck after an example was made of the intruders.
Which was exactly why, just like any normal Wednesday night, the betting lines were immediately thrown wide open for who was going to walk away with a win this round.
"So, who are you actually going to throw your money on this time?" Bobo asked, leaning over the table to look at her brother’s digital slip. "It has to be Donto’s man, right? He’s won you a massive payout every single time he’s stepped onto the mat tonight, so you have to keep riding the wave when you’re on a good streak."
"And that exact mindset is precisely why you’re a complete amateur when it comes to things like this, Bobo," Chad replied, letting out a smug laugh as he tapped his screen. "The man who just stepped onto the canvas—Jett—is one of the two bosses who built this entire establishment from the ground up.
"They can safely run a high-stakes meat grinder like this because they are absolute, hundred-percent confident that they can physically beat anyone who comes their way. Which is why I am officially betting my entire remaining balance on Jett!" Chad claimed, his chest puffed out.
Besides, Chad had calculated a secondary safety net in his head: even if the house somehow lost the fight, if things escalated into a full-blown riot, how would anyone even be able to collect their prize money anyway? With the odds heavily in his favor, Chad was more than happy to lock in the bet.
Down on the mat, Jett walked toward the center of the ring, his boots leaving light scuffs on the canvas. He placed both of his hands out in front of him, curling his fingers into a tight, predatory claw-like shape. In his younger years, he would have approached an unknown opponent with absolute, arrogant confidence, but after getting brutally beaten outside the ring by a high-schooler he had severely underestimated, he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. He dropped into a lethal combat frame immediately.
That was the exact second Hugo decided to slowly pull down his heavy hood, revealing his face to the entire gallery for the first time. The second the fabric fell, a visible gasp rippled through the VIP boxes. Hugo’s entire right ear was completely missing from his skull, along with a massive patch of the skin and hair surrounding it, leaving a jagged, violent crater as if the flesh had been brutally ripped off by a monster’s teeth.
"I see the wealthy people in this room look down at my scars in pure disgust," Hugo said, his voice a low, heavy rumble that echoed through the quiet stadium. "But for me, this missing flesh is the ultimate sign of my victory. Lately, with these bare hands of mine, I’m entirely unsure if I will ever be able to feel the thrill of a real fight anymore... yet you, for some reason, still feel confident that you can match my output."
Without waiting for a bell, Hugo surged forward, his massive frame shifting with an unnatural velocity as he swung a devastating left fist straight at Jett’s face. Under normal circumstances, Jett’s usual tactical blueprint was to intentionally absorb a hit with his conditioned body, utilizing the impact to grab his opponent’s arm and lock them down. But his survival instincts screamed at him, and he instinctively snapped his head to the side, letting the punch graze the air.
It didn’t matter much anyway. Capitalizing on the near-miss, Jett snapped his arms forward, his fingers clamping like iron cuffs around Hugo’s thick forearm with both of his hands.
"You should know that once I get a solid grip on a target, there is almost nothing in this world that can force me to let go," Jett claimed, a fierce grin breaking through his focus.
"Really? Well, that’s going to make this transition exceptionally interesting, that’s for sure," Hugo muttered.
With a sudden, violent pivot of his hips, Hugo spun his entire body and swung his trapped arm upward. The crowd screamed in absolute horror as Jett’s entire heavy body was violently lifted off the concrete floorboards with effortless ease, suspended in mid-air by a single arm.
Right after that, Hugo drove his powerful legs into the canvas and launched himself into the sky. The raw explosive power in his thighs pushed him to a height that looked completely inhuman, dragging Jett along for the ride until both fighters were floating high beneath the arena spotlights.
Swinging his massive arm back down toward the earth like a falling anvil, Hugo driven Jett’s body straight into the center of the ring. Jett impacted the floorboards with a catastrophic boom, completely shattering several of the reinforced wooden panels. A massive wave of gray dust and jagged debris exploded outward into the air, blinding the front rows and causing frantic screams to echo through the stadium.
The tournament regulars no longer felt they were remotely safe with this kind of monster loose on the stage.
"Is there seriously no one left alive in this pathetic world who can actually match up to my strength?" Hugo claimed, standing over the crater as the smoke began to clear.
But when he looked down at his arm, a look of genuine surprise crossed his face. Just as the champion had promised, Jett’s bleeding hands were still locked tightly around his forearm, refusing to let go.
"That... that really hurt, you freak," Jett mumbled, coughing up a thick splatter of crimson onto the ruined floor.
One thing was now statistically certain to Jett: this hooded kid was operating completely out of his league, possessing a brand of strength that didn’t belong in a street ring. But Jett still held his own professional pride to adhere to, and he refused to die on his back.
"Jett!" Darius roared from the owners’ box, his relaxed demeanor completely shattering as he vaulted over the glass barrier.
He was entirely ready to sprint down the steps and save his long-time friend and partner from being liquidated. But as he rushed toward the edge of the stage, another individual suddenly materialized from the shadows of the VIP gallery. The intruder spun gracefully through the air, his body tightly coiled before delivering a lightning-fast, flying roundhouse kick straight toward Darius’ head.
Darius reacted instantly, crossing both of his forearms to block the incoming kinetic kick. The force of the strike sent him stumbling back several paces across the concrete, his sneakers leaving skid marks as he absorbed the power.
Darius lowered his guard, his face contorting into a vicious scowl as he stared at the agile teenager standing between him and the ring.
"Who the hell are you guys?" Darius snarled, his muscles tensing.
The kid in question slowly brushed his long hair to the side, revealing a cold, arrogant smirk that Darius recognized immediately from the school files. It was Dipter.
"I heard a rumor that Max was able to effortlessly best the heads of the Black Hounds in a real fight," Dipter said, his eyes flashing with a dangerous hunger. "So if I want to prove that I am officially at the exact same level as him now... I need to do the exact same thing to you, right?"