I slipped into a narrow alley and descended into the basement. The heavy iron door groaned as it opened, revealing a vast underground arena. The air churned with noise, sweat, and feverish excitement. Faces, men, women, young and old were all hidden behind masks, their restless movements beneath the dim lights making them look like caged beasts, waiting for the signal of blood.
It reminded me too much of the one on Planet 173. I couldn't help but wonder if these underground duel arenas were some kind of chain business. But Planet 11's version was far grander. The dome was studded with holo-screens and massive projections, while the corners were decorated with sculptures carved from the bones of star-beasts.
The lounge was lavish, silver trays overflowing with exotic delicacies, their aroma mingling with the scent of sweat and blood, quickening my pulse. The price, of course, was just as heavy, the entry fee alone cost twice as much as it did on Planet 173.
And so, my steps carried me deeper inside, straight toward the chaos that awaited.
I summoned my mech, the heavy metal plates wrapping around me until only my eyes were visible.
Walking up to the counter, I slid over my ID card. The name on it was the one I had left behind on Planet 173—Apollo.
The woman behind the counter wore a cold metal mask. At first, she barely glanced at it, but the moment her eyes landed on the name, her pupils shrank. Her head snapped up, staring at me in disbelief. Her voice dropped without her even realizing it.
"…Apollo? The one with three hundred and fifty-eight consecutive wins?"
The air froze. Fighters waiting in line all turned, the low hum of conversation erupting like firecrackers.
"What? Apollo? The undefeated Apollo?""I heard he tore through the entire 173 district… so it was true!""Zero losses… a monster among men!"
The woman took a sharp breath, her fingers racing across the terminal. A moment later, the massive light screen at the center of the arena blazed to life, blood-red letters shining out:
[APOLLO RETURNS!]
The arena erupted. Thousands roared like wild beasts, slamming the bars, screaming my name. The announcer nearly lost his mind, shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight, we witness the return of a legend! From Planet 173, the undefeated champion, three hundred and fifty-eight wins, zero losses—A—POL—LO!"
Drinks were hurled into the air, blood smeared across the walls. The underground pit shook with madness, as though I were no man but a god returned from myth.
I fastened my black-silver mask, the ID card's glow still flashing in the terminal. The roar of the crowd rumbled like thunder. I cut it short with a single calm sentence.
"Not fighting tonight."
The woman behind the counter blinked, then nodded. The words on the light screen stayed. Suspense only drove the crowd into greater frenzy.
I pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the stands.
A fight had just begun. In the iron cage, two combatants faced off. One was a young man, face cold, movements sharp. At the referee's signal, he exploded into motion, his fists and feet blurring with speed. In less than a minute, with a sickening crack of bone, his opponent slammed against the bars and crumpled, never to rise.
The audience roared. Someone shouted, "One minute five seconds! Too fast!" Another yelled, "That kid's cold as a blade!"
Behind my mask, my eyes narrowed. This one was not simple.
…
After several more matches, I walked into the lounge. The thick walls shut out the chaos, leaving only classical music flowing softly. The air was rich with the scent of roast beast ribs, crystal crab, and spiced soup laid across the long table.
I sat down, tearing off a rib and biting into it. In the dim light, the armor I wore gleamed coldly, standing in stark contrast to the rough gear of the other fighters.
This place was even more decadent than 173. Thick carpets, exotic food, glowing blue liquor. Winners roared, losers were dragged away, and no one cared. The only thing that mattered was the frenzy of bets.
I thought to myself, This place is more like the Empire's shadow than the Empire itself.
Before long, two pairs of eyes fixed on me. One belonged to the cold young fighter I had seen earlier. His gaze was sharp, his words few. The other came from a cheerful boy, eyes glued to the mech at my side like he had just discovered treasure.
"Hey! Brother, that mech is insane!" The cheerful one rushed over, his voice loud enough to rattle my mask.
"Which workshop made it? We've been hunting around and never seen this style before."
The cold one only gave a slight nod. "Well crafted."
I pretended to stay calm, though inside I was grinning. Perfect. This is my chance to make a killing.
So I leaned back, acting casual. "Oh, that? A friend of mine made it. Top-notch work. One of a kind."
The cheerful boy's eyes lit up. "Really? Can you hook us up? How much?"
I raised one finger slowly. "One million."
"What?! One million?!" He almost leapt out of his chair, arms flailing. "Are you selling a mech or a mansion? I could buy three standard models for that!"
The cold one said nothing, just kept staring at me, weighing the offer.
I chuckled inwardly. Fishing takes patience. First scare them off, then reel them back in.
With a magnanimous wave, I said, "Alright, alright. Since you really like it, I won't rip you off. Five hundred thousand."
The cheerful boy froze, then burst out laughing. "Five hundred thousand?! You cut the price in half just like that? Sounds like you're trying to cash out quick!"
The cold one finally spoke. "Five hundred thousand… fair."
I nearly sprayed wine across the table. Knew it. The quiet ones are always the real clients. This deal is going through, I'm about to hit the jackpot.
I pulled up my comms and slid it across. A couple of beeps later, they were both added to my contacts.
I glanced at the names and nearly burst out laughing.
[Superman] the cold one. Ruthless in the cage, but in my contacts? Just "Superman." I half expected him to moonlight as a kitten-rescuing hero.
[Sunny Boy] the loud one. Couldn't be more accurate. His whole vibe shouted it.
And me, in their contacts, proudly displayed as [Money Come!].
Sunny Boy took one look and slammed the table, laughing so hard he almost fell over. "Hahaha! Bro, seriously? Money Come?!"
Even Superman's shoulders trembled, clearly fighting not to laugh.
I raised my glass with all the dignity I could muster. "What's wrong with that? Life's about making money, isn't it? Way more reliable than Superman or Sunny Boy."
Right then, my comms buzzed.
[Transfer confirmed:500,000 credits received].
I nearly jumped out of my seat, but forced myself to stay cool, sipping wine like nothing happened. "Efficient. My friend's craftsmanship is top-notch. Worth every credit."
Sunny Boy leaned in, grinning like he'd caught me red-handed. "Bro, you're smiling too hard. That transfer just came through, huh?"
I cleared my throat and straightened up. "Ahem. Professional integrity. Don't jump to conclusions."