The apartment was quiet for the first time in months.
The immediate threat of debt was gone, a crushing weight lifted from their small family.
His mother was humming softly in the kitchen, a sound Jack hadn't heard in years. Mia was in her room, drawing, her laughter occasionally spilling into the hallway.
They were safe.
They were happy.
Jack sat on his bed, the door closed, staring at the faint blue System screen only he could see. He should have felt relieved. He should have been at peace.
He wasn't.
He felt a cold, simmering rage that had nothing to do with money.
He remembered the other man. The one who had leaned against the wall, casually flipping through their family photo album like it was garbage. The one who had delivered the first kick to his ribs while he was on the ground.
Rico Mendez was a brute, but this one was different. He had enjoyed their fear. He had violated their home, their memories.
That was a debt of a different kind and it was still unpaid.
"System," Jack thought, his voice a cold command in his mind. "Find the other one. The one with Rico."
The screen flickered, processing the request.
[Searching known associates of Rico Mendez...]
[Target Identified: Lupe 'The Leech' Vargas | Age: 31 | Known Affiliation: Senior Enforcer for Brass Fang Group]
[Last Known Location: 'The Pit' Underground Arena – Warehouse District]
A new profile appeared. man with a cruel smirk and lifeless eyes. The System neatly displayed his current status. He was the reigning champion of The Pit's amateur fight night.
He had stolen Jack's family's peace. And now, he was soaking in glory.
The injustice of it was a physical thing, a tightening in Jack's chest.
[New Personal Wager Opportunity Detected.] [Would you like to challenge Lupe Vargas?]
"What are the terms?"
[Game Format: Unsanctioned Bare-Knuckle Bout (3 Rounds)]
[Wager Type: Spoils of War]
[Jack's Stake: Trait [Fearmaker (F-Rank)]]
[Opponent's Stake: Trait [Brawler's Strength (E-Rank)] + Public Humiliation]
[Begin Match?]
[Yes / No]
Jack's eyes narrowed. He was risking his new psychological weapon for a physical upgrade. A fair trade. More than fair. It was exactly what he needed.
He'd won his first wagers with strategy. Now, he had to prove he could win with fists.
Yes.
The Pit smelled of sweat, cheap beer, and blood.
It was a cavernous, illegal arena set up in the hollowed-out shell of an old warehouse.
A makeshift ring made of steel chain and rusted poles stood in the center, illuminated by a single, harsh spotlight. A roaring, jeering crowd of gamblers and lowlifes pressed in on all sides, their faces a twisted collage of greed and bloodlust.
Hood pulled low, Jack pushed through the mob. His [Analytical Eye] kicked into overdrive, flooding him with data.
[Subject: Male, 34 | Confidence: 89% (Drunk)]
[Subject: Female, 27 | Emotional State: Anxious (Losing Bet)]
[Probability of random violence in this sector: 43%]
He ignored it all, his focus locked on the ring.
In the center, Lupe Vargas raised his arms to the cheering crowd.
He had just knocked out his opponent in under a minute. He was bigger than Jack remembered, his arms thick with corded muscle, a crude tattoo of a fanged skull on his neck.
Jack walked to the edge of the ring and spoke to the bookie, a weaselly man with a notepad. "I want to challenge the champion."
The bookie looked Jack up and down, taking in his slender frame and cheap clothes, and laughed. "Kid, you trying to commit suicide? The entry fee is five hundred."
"I'm not paying an entry fee," Jack said, his voice cold. "I'm issuing a Personal Wager."
He let a sliver of the System's intent leak out. The bookie, a low-level Player himself, froze. His eyes widened as he saw the faint, shimmering blue text of a formal challenge appear in his own vision.
He swallowed hard and nodded, scurrying away to inform Lupe.
Lupe laughed when he heard the challenge, a booming, arrogant sound. A scrawny kid wanted to fight him? For what? Some pathetic F-rank trait? Fine. An easy win and a free power-up.
He accepted.
Jack stepped into the ring. The crowd roared, a mixture of laughter and jeers. They saw a lamb being led to the slaughter.
The bell rang.
Lupe charged forward like a bull, his fist swinging in a haymaker meant to end the fight in a single blow.
Jack's world slowed down. His [Analytical Eye] went into overdrive.
[Opponent Action: Right Hook]
[Attack Trajectory: Predictable Arc]
[Probability of Hit: 98%]
[Weakness Detected: Over-commitment leaves left side exposed for 0.7 seconds.]
Jack didn't try to block. He didn't try to dodge backward. He moved forward, ducking under the wild swing. As the bigger man stumbled past, off-balance, Jack pivoted.
He drove his fist, reinforced with every ounce of his wiry strength, directly into Lupe's exposed ribs.
It wasn't powerful but it was surgical. Precise and unexpected.
Lupe grunted, surprised, and spun around, his face contorted in a furious snarl. He swung again.
And again, Jack was already gone, moving to his blind spot, landing another quick, stinging jab to his side.
The fight became a dance. Lupe was a storm of raw, brute force. Jack was the wind, untouchable, always just out of reach.
He didn't land knockout blows. He landed annoyances.
A jab to the kidney. A quick strike to the back of the knee. A sharp blow to the solar plexus that made Lupe gasp for air.
The crowd's laughter died down, replaced by confused murmurs. The scrawny kid wasn't winning, but he wasn't losing either. He was just… not getting hit.
By the third round, Lupe was panting, his movements sloppy, his face a mask of pure frustration. He was swinging wildly, trying to connect with the phantom that danced around him.
Then Jack saw it, an opening. Lupe lunged, leaving his lead leg exposed for just a second too long.
Jack didn't hesitate. He dropped low and slammed his heel into the side of Lupe's knee. The same knee he had been peppering with small strikes for the entire fight.
Something in Lupe's knee tore with a wet, awful snap.
Lupe screamed, a high-pitched sound of pure agony, and collapsed to the mat, clutching his leg. The fight was over.
Jack stood over him, chest heaving, his own body bruised and aching. He hadn't won with power. He had won with intelligence. He had won with a plan.
The crowd was dead silent.
Then, the System chimed, a triumphant sound in his mind.
[VICTORY CONFIRMED]
[Executing Spoils of War Protocol...]
[Acquiring Trait: [Brawler's Strength (E-Rank)]]
[XP Gained: +160 | Bronze Tier II]
[Current XP: 260/300]
[Bronze III Unlocked at 301]
A warm, powerful energy flooded his body. He felt his muscles tighten, his bones grow denser. The aches and bruises from the fight seemed to fade, replaced by a feeling of solid, grounded strength he had never felt before.
He looked at his hands. They felt denser. Heavier. Like tools finally fit for the work ahead.
He turned and walked out of the ring, leaving the screaming Lupe and the stunned crowd behind him.
What he didn't see—what no one did see was the woman watching from the shadows of the upper balcony, a glass of expensive wine in her hand, a thoughtful, calculating smile on her face.
He had come for revenge. He had left with power. And he had just attracted a whole new level of attention.