12:00 PM.
The arena was packed beyond capacity.
Day Three of the tribunal. Final evidence. Final arguments. Final verdict. Everyone who could squeeze into the space had done so, and those who couldn't watched from remote feeds throughout the facility.
The energy was different today. Not the curious anticipation of Day One or the building tension of Day Two. This was the crackling atmosphere before a storm broke—everyone knowing that whatever happened in the next few hours would fundamentally change something.
Approximately two hundred people filled the arena—mostly lower-level executives who saw this as entertainment, opportunity for betting profits, and a chance to potentially sponsor successful fighters for advancement within the Big Boys organization. Some didn't work directly for Big Boys but maintained partnerships or contracts. The fighter section held the ten remaining competitors, though notably absent were Plague and Adam Mavrick, who watched from the executive residential areas.
In the hidden executive observation room, Hannah sat in her private booth with Charlotte standing ready beside her. The massive multi-angle display showed the arena floor in perfect clarity from dozens of perspectives. This observation room was reserved for high-ranking executives—those who preferred to watch from shadows rather than mingle with lower ranks.
"All angles recording, young miss," Charlotte said quietly.
Hannah's fingers tapped that irregular rhythm against the armrest, faster than yesterday. "This is it. Today we'll know exactly what he's capable of."
On the main arena floor, guards escorted Lucius and Odd onto the platform. Both had spent the night in separate holding areas, isolated, alone with their thoughts and choices.
Odd looked tired. The kind of exhaustion that came from a sleepless night wrestling with impossible decisions. His hands were steady though, jaw set with determination that hadn't been there yesterday.
Lucius appeared exactly as he had every other day—calm, controlled, that neutral expression revealing nothing. But his eyes were sharper today. More focused. Like someone who'd finished calculating and was ready to execute.
The four officials entered and took their positions. Malik Hayes in the center, scowling as always. Jennifer Chou with her tablet ready. Marcus Webb scanning the crowd with military precision. Robert Zhang nervously tapping his own tablet.
Mike Ross entered last with his two assistants. That wide smile fixed in place. He moved to his table between officials and defendants, Leon Hauser and Caesar Dan Chen flanking him.
The crowd settled into expectant silence.
Malik Hayes stood. "Day Three of the tribunal will now commence. This is the final day of proceedings. All evidence must be presented today. Closing arguments will follow, then jury deliberation and verdict."
He looked at Mike's table. "Executive Ross, your representatives may present final evidence."
Leon Hauser stood, moving to the display screen with confident purpose. His previously professional demeanor carried something new today—the assurance of someone holding winning cards.
"Thank you. Over the past two days, we've established motive, means, opportunity, and suspicious behavior. Today we present evidence that ties everything together and reveals additional motivation the defendants concealed."
The screen activated, showing financial transaction records.
"We've uncovered a betting arrangement between King and an executive named Seung Hoon. King has been providing fight analysis in exchange for profits from successful bets. This arrangement has generated substantial income over the past weeks."
The crowd murmured loudly. That was new information. Financial motivation added weight to everything else.
Caesar Dan Chen pulled up more detailed records. "Seung Hoon has cleared his significant gambling debts and built substantial profit through this arrangement. King has made more money through this partnership than he could have won through tournament advancement alone."
Footage appeared showing Lucius and Seung conferring before matches, Seung placing bets, celebrating wins.
"This creates additional motive," Hauser continued. "King wasn't just helping Odd survive—he was protecting an investment. Odd advancing benefits King financially as well as strategically."
The crowd's energy shifted noticeably. The fighters section showed more suspicious looks directed at the defendant table. Even some who'd been skeptical yesterday were reconsidering.
Malik looked at Lucius. "Defendant, do you deny this arrangement exists?"
Lucius stood slowly, his expression unchanged.
"No. The arrangement exists."
The crowd reacted—surprised he'd admit it so readily.
"I analyze fights. Seung places bets based on my analysis. We split the profits. It's a straightforward business partnership."
"A partnership you concealed during this investigation," Caesar said.
"I didn't conceal anything. Nobody asked." Lucius's tone was matter-of-fact. "Is there a rule against betting? I checked the facility regulations before agreeing to the arrangement. There isn't. What's wrong with making money on the side? Isn't that why most people are here? For money?"
He gestured toward the crowd.
"Half the fighters here entered for prize money. Executives bet on matches constantly. The entire tournament exists to generate profit. But somehow me participating in that same system is suspicious?"
Some in the crowd actually nodded. He had a point.
"The arrangement shows financial motivation," Hauser pressed. "You had a monetary interest in tournament outcomes."
"I had an interest in accurate analysis," Lucius corrected. "My predictions were based on tactical assessment, not manipulation. If I could manipulate matches, why would I have bothered with analysis at all? and why fight I the tournament? I'd just fix the outcomes directly."
He sat back down.
Mike Ross's smile widened slightly. "Interesting defense. But the financial motivation remains relevant context."
Malik nodded. "Noted. Continue with evidence presentation."
---
"We'd like to call witnesses," Hauser said. "To establish the defendant's behavior and confirm details of this arrangement."
Malik gestured approval. "Proceed."
"We call Seung Hoon to the stand."
A guard escorted Seung onto the platform moments later. He looked distinctly uncomfortable—nervous energy radiating from every movement, eyes darting between Lucius and the officials like he desperately didn't want to be here.
He took position near the officials' table, wiping his palms on his pants.
Jennifer Chou addressed him first. "Seung Hoon, you are an executive with this organization. Correct?"
"Yes."
"You entered into a betting arrangement with the defendant King. Describe this arrangement."
Seung swallowed hard. "King analyzes fights. Provides tactical breakdowns of fighters' abilities, strategies, likely outcomes. I place bets based on his analysis. We split the profits."
"What percentage split?"
"Seventy-thirty. King gets seventy percent."
The crowd murmured at that—King was taking the majority share, suggesting he was the primary architect of the arrangement rather than a junior partner.
"How accurate were his predictions?"
"Very accurate. His analytical skills are... exceptional."
"Did King ever discuss fixing matches? Manipulating outcomes?"
"No. Never." Seung's answer was immediate and firm. "He analyzed what he observed. That's all."
"But you made substantial profit from this arrangement?"
"Yes. His analysis was consistently accurate."
Marcus Webb leaned forward. "Did King ever express interest in specific fighters advancing or being eliminated?"
Seung hesitated, then shook his head. "Not in that way. He'd note which fighters were stronger or weaker, which matchups favored whom. Professional analysis. But he never said anything about wanting specific outcomes for personal reasons."
Hauser pressed harder. "Did he ever mention Davis Brown? Express any opinion about him?"
"I..." Seung paused, thinking carefully. "I don't think King ever watched Davis's fights. He focuses his analysis on matches he actually observes. Davis only fought once before disappearing, and King was dealing with his own match preparation around that time."
"Did King ever suggest that if Davis disappeared, it would benefit his betting arrangement?"
"No. Never. That never came up."
Caesar tried a different angle. "But you must have realized that Odd advancing would continue to benefit your partnership. If Odd died, you'd lose that advantage."
"I—" Seung looked genuinely confused. "I mean, yes? But that's not... we never discussed making that happen. King just trained him to survive. That's all I saw."
The officials conferred quietly. Seung's testimony confirmed the arrangement but didn't prove any conspiracy.
Malik dismissed him. "You may return to your seat."
Seung left quickly, looking relieved to be done.
---
"We call Liu Yan to the stand."
Liu entered, composed and professional. He took position near the officials with the bearing of someone who'd testified before—calm, centered, ready.
"Liu Yan," Jennifer began, "you fought in Round 2 and have remained in the facility. You've observed King's behavior throughout the tournament. Describe what you've seen."
Liu considered his answer carefully. "Professional. Skilled. Focused. He kept to himself mostly, trained regularly, helped Odd with defensive techniques after Odd's first match."
"Did his behavior seem suspicious in any way?"
"No."
"Did he seem capable of violence outside the arena?"
Liu's expression shifted—something between amusement and incredulity. "Everyone here is capable of violence. That's literally why we're here. This is a fighting tournament. But if you're asking whether I saw him do anything violent off-camera? No. Never."
Marcus asked, "Did he ever discuss Davis Brown with you?"
"Never spoke about Davis. Never mentioned him in my presence. I don't think King even watched Davis's match. Different fight schedule."
"What about his relationship with Odd?"
"He started training Odd after Odd nearly died in Round 1 against Son Tec. From what I observed, it seemed genuine—someone teaching defensive survival techniques to someone who desperately needed them."
Hauser tried to find an opening. "But the extent of that training was unusual, wasn't it?"
"Unusual for this environment, maybe." Liu shrugged. "But not inherently suspicious. Some people actually help others without ulterior motives. It happens."
The crowd murmured. Liu's testimony was neutral at best, slightly favorable to King at worst.
---
"We call Morrison to the stand."
The younger guard entered, looking uncomfortable being called as a witness. He took position near the officials, maintaining professional posture despite visible unease.
"Morrison," Marcus began, "you've been stationed in areas where King frequently passed. Describe your interactions with him."
Morrison cleared his throat. "Limited interactions. He was always polite when we spoke. Followed instructions. Never caused problems."
"Did you ever observe suspicious behavior?"
"No sir."
"What about during the investigation period? Did he seem concerned or nervous?"
"He seemed... calm. Cooperative when needed. But I wouldn't say nervous."
Jennifer leaned forward. "Did you notice anything unusual about his routine during the tournament?"
Morrison thought carefully. "He kept regular training schedules. Visited the mess hall at consistent times. Nothing that stood out as unusual."
The testimony was brief and unhelpful to either side. Morrison was dismissed quickly.
---
"We call Dr. Lois Sacah to the stand."
Dr. Lois entered, professional as always but clearly uncomfortable being used as a repeated witness. She took position near the officials, her expression carefully neutral.
"Dr. Sacah," Marcus began, "you've examined King multiple times. Can you confirm his timeline on the day of Davis Brown's disappearance?"
"He checked into medical at approximately 5:00 PM following his match with Iron Clad Wang. Treatment lasted until around 8:15 PM due to the extent of his injuries. He checked out at 8:35 PM."
"That's nearly three and a half hours of medical treatment. Is that unusual?"
"Not for the injuries he sustained. Multiple contusions, rib fractures, significant tissue damage. The treatment time was appropriate."
"Did he leave the medical area during treatment?"
"Briefly. He used the attached restroom facility during the session. He reported nausea from the medication—a common side effect. He was gone approximately three to four minutes."
"And after treatment concluded?"
"He left medical and proceeded to checkout. Standard procedure."
Hauser leaned forward. "Did his behavior seem suspicious in any way during treatment?"
Dr. Lois met his gaze directly. "His behavior seemed like someone in significant pain receiving medical treatment. That's all I observed."
The testimony confirmed Lucius's timeline without providing ammunition for either side.
Malik dismissed her. "Thank you, Dr. Sacah."
---
"One more matter before witness testimony concludes," Hauser said. "During the investigation, both defendants' quarters were searched thoroughly by security personnel. We found nothing suspicious in either location. No evidence of planning, no hidden materials, no items that would suggest criminal activity. This has been verified and documented."
He pulled up official search reports on the display.
"The absence of evidence in their quarters is noted. However, it doesn't eliminate suspicion—merely indicates they were careful if wrongdoing occurred."
Lucius remained silent, expression unchanged. The search was expected. He'd known they'd look.
---
The witness parade had accomplished something, but not what Mike's team had hoped. The betting arrangement added context, but nobody had provided evidence of actual conspiracy or wrongdoing.
Hauser looked at his notes, then made a decision.
"We call Odd to the stand."
The arena went completely silent.
Every eye turned to Odd as he stood slowly from the defendant table. His expression was unreadable—something between resignation and determination.
He walked to the witness position near the officials' table, each step measured and deliberate. When he turned to face the proceedings, his hands were steady despite the pressure.
Lucius showed nothing. Not concern. Not confidence. Just that same neutral expression, watching Odd with those analytical eyes.
In the hidden observation room, Hannah leaned forward in her booth. "This is it. This is where we see what he's really made of."
Charlotte's fingers hovered over the recording controls, ready to mark this section for detailed review.
---
Leon Hauser approached Odd with professional sympathy in his expression—like he understood this was difficult but necessary.
"Odd, thank you for testifying. I know this is difficult."
Odd said nothing. Just waited.
"You entered into a training relationship with King after Round 1. Correct?"
"Yes."
"Describe how this relationship began."
Odd's jaw tightened slightly. "I nearly died in my first match. Against Son Tec. I survived, but barely. Afterward, I was in medical when King visited me. Asked about my situation. I told him why I was fighting—about my family, my daughters. He said I had conviction worth respecting, and offered to help me learn to survive."
"Why do you think he offered?"
"He said it directly—he respected my dedication. That I was fighting for something meaningful rather than just prize money or glory."
"Did he mention Davis Brown at any point during your conversations?"
"No."
"Never? Not once?"
"Never mentioned him. Not during initial conversations, not during training, not at any point."
Hauser's expression shifted slightly—this wasn't going as planned. "When you learned Davis was your opponent for Round 3, what did King say?"
"He didn't say anything about Davis specifically. We'd already been working on defensive fundamentals—hardening timing, impact absorption, how to control engagements against stronger opponents. We just continued that training."
"Did he seem concerned about the matchup?"
"He seemed concerned about my survival in general. Teaching me to handle dangerous opponents. Not about Davis specifically—I don't think King ever even watched Davis fight."
Caesar stepped in, trying a different angle. "But Davis was significantly more powerful than you. King must have known you'd likely die if the match proceeded."
"He knew I needed everything I could learn to survive against any strong opponent." Odd's voice was steady. "That's why he trained me extensively. Not because he planned something—because he wanted me to have a fighting chance."
"A fighting chance against someone so much stronger seems... optimistic."
"It's realistic," Odd corrected. "He taught me to make opponents fight on my terms. To use my defensive abilities intelligently. To survive long enough to find openings. It worked in my Round 2 match against Reaper. Would it have worked against Davis? I don't know. But King gave me better odds than I had before."
Hauser pressed harder. "Did King ever suggest that if Davis disappeared, it would benefit you?"
"No. That never came up. Not once."
"Did he ever discuss Davis's abilities? His weaknesses? Ways to counter him?"
"No. We focused on general defensive principles. Not specific opponent preparation. I don't think either of us knew much about Davis's actual capabilities."
"Why do you think King invested so much time training you?" Hauser's tone carried implications. "What did he gain from it?"
Odd was quiet for a moment. Then he met Hauser's gaze directly.
"Nothing. He gained nothing except knowing he'd helped someone who needed it. Some people actually do that. Actually help others without ulterior motives. Maybe that's hard to understand in a place like this, but it happens."
The crowd murmured. Some nods. Some skeptical expressions. But Odd's conviction was genuine.
Jennifer tried to find cracks. "But you must have wondered. Someone in King's position, taking such interest in helping a potential opponent? It didn't seem strange?"
"It seemed human," Odd replied simply. "Which is strange here. But that doesn't make it suspicious. Just unusual."
Marcus leaned forward. "What do you think happened to Davis Brown?"
"I don't know." Odd's answer was immediate and honest. "I never saw Davis. Never interacted with him. Never heard King mention him. Whatever happened to Davis, I have no idea. But King never told me anything about it, never suggested anything about it, never acted suspicious about it."
Hauser made one more attempt. "If you knew King had done something to Davis, would you protect him?"
Odd was quiet for several seconds. Then: "If I KNEW he'd done something wrong? I'd have to think about that carefully. But I DON'T know. I know he trained me. I know he helped me survive. I know he's someone who showed me respect when almost nobody else here did. That's what I can testify to. Everything else is speculation."
The response was perfect—honest without being damaging, loyal without being blindly so.
Hauser looked frustrated. He'd clearly expected the pressure to crack Odd, expected doubt or hesitation or something he could exploit. But Odd had held firm with simple truthful answers that didn't hurt King at all.
"No further questions," Hauser said, returning to his table.
Malik looked at Lucius. "Defendant, do you wish to question this witness?"
"No," Lucius said simply. "He answered honestly. That's sufficient."
Malik dismissed Odd. "You may return to your seat."
Odd walked back to the defendant table, sat down, and didn't look at Lucius. But there was something in his posture—relief mixed with quiet pride. He'd done what he needed to do.
---
Mike Ross's smile remained fixed, but something had shifted in his eyes. The witnesses hadn't provided what he'd hoped. The betting arrangement added context but wasn't evidence of conspiracy. Odd's testimony had actually undermined the narrative rather than supporting it.
Time to shift strategies.
Hauser pulled up new displays showing the evidence presented over three days—bathroom footage, fire analysis, timeline gaps, training relationship, financial motivation.
"We've presented substantial circumstantial evidence," Hauser began his summary. "The connections are too numerous to dismiss as coincidence. King had motive—financial interest through his betting arrangement. King had means—demonstrated fighting skills. King had opportunity—timeline gaps placing him near relevant locations."
Caesar continued. "Davis Brown disappeared hours before fighting Odd. A fire started near the location he was last seen. King was in that area both before and after Davis's disappearance. King trained Odd extensively despite the financial arrangement incentivizing Odd's survival. Every piece points in the same direction."
Mike Ross stood for the first time, his pleasant voice carrying across the arena.
"We're not asking for absolute certainty. We're asking the jury to see the pattern that's clearly present. The defendant is intelligent, calculating, capable. He had every reason to ensure Davis didn't reach that match. And Davis conveniently disappeared right before it occurred."
He looked directly at Lucius.
"That's not coincidence."
The crowd was engaged now, the energy leaning toward Mike's narrative. The cumulative weight of circumstantial evidence had built something that felt substantial even without proof.
Malik looked at Lucius. "Defendant, you may present your final defense."
Lucius stood.
And his demeanor changed.
The casual defiance was gone. The almost playful deflection had disappeared. What remained was cold, analytical precision—someone who'd finished calculating and was ready to systematically destroy every argument that had been built.
His eyes were sharper. His posture was controlled but carried an edge that made people uncomfortable. This wasn't the fighter who'd been casually defending himself.
This was someone who'd stopped playing.
"Let me address this properly," Lucius said, his voice level but carrying an authority that hadn't been there before. "Because we've spent three days building narratives and speculation, and I'm done entertaining it."
He walked to the center of the platform, and several people in the crowd actually shifted in their seats—unconscious reactions to presence that had become intimidating without obvious threat.
"First and most importantly: where's the body?"
The question hung in the air, simple and devastating.
---
TO BE CONTINUED