Roy was adjusting the cuff on his sleeve when someone's shadow fell over him.
He glanced up — another competitor, roughly his height, sharp suit-like uniform under his arena gear, hair slicked back like he thought he was here for a magazine cover shoot.
"Name's Lucian Draeve," the boy said, extending a hand. His voice was smooth, like it had been practised in a mirror. "You're my next match."
Roy shook the hand lazily. "Ok? Congratulations."
Lucian leaned in slightly. "I'd like you to drop out."
That caught Roy's attention — though his face didn't move an inch. "And why would I do that?"
"I'll pay you," Lucian said without hesitation.
Roy's eyebrow lifted. "How much?"
Lucian smirked, clearly thinking this was the hook. "Five grand."
Roy almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he tilted his head. "Ten."
"Seven."
"Ten."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Eight and a half."
"Ten."
Lucian sighed, looking like he'd just lost a game of chess. "Fine. Ten."
Roy nodded, deadpan. "Deal."
Inside, he was already picturing how many ways he could spend ten grand with zero guilt — meals, gear, maybe even some of Brock's ridiculous "limited edition" snack boxes just to watch him lose his mind. But on the outside, he was pure stone.
"Actually…" Lucian said suddenly, a strange spark in his eye, "change of plan. Don't drop out. Lose to me in the arena. My parents will be watching, and I need the spotlight. If I defeat you publicly, they'll take me seriously."
Roy stared at him for a beat. "…That's pathetic."
"Yeah", Lucian admitted, "but it works."
Roy shrugged. "Fine. But you're paying the full ten up front."
"Half before, half after."
"Full before."
Lucian rolled his eyes. "Fine."
They shook on it, and without another word, they turned toward their respective entry curtains. The muffled roar of the crowd seeped through the fabric. Somewhere above them, the announcer's voice boomed over the arena, calling the audience to attention.
Roy exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.
Easy money.