Chapter 78
The day of the duel tournament. Following Kids' guidance, I slipped into the secret VIP box. These were premium seats scattered high above the arena floor.
"Those old fogeys really shelled out for this stuff."
Even the sofa under my hand felt anything but ordinary. A single one of these would cost tens of millions of won. Fine liquors were on display in one corner, catching the eye.
All preparations are complete. Shall we begin?
Down on the squared ring for the match, two women stood ready amid hundreds of spectators ringing the arena. A security robot handled referee duties, dressed in an old-school illegal fight club's ref uniform complete with a black cap. It actually looked the part.
...Tough break, wrong owner.
As I scanned the arena from above, a war of nerves was unfolding below.
"You bitch don't know your place. You're dying by my hand today."
The Chinese woman spat in broken Korean, flexing her bear-paw fist toward Nina.
"Fuck off, chink bitch."
Nina beamed innocently while flipping her the middle finger. In a normal match, the ref would intervene, but the machine couldn't care less about martial arts etiquette. It followed one program for this bout: 'Maximize resident excitement and entertainment.'
Their trash talk was broadcast live on every screen in the prison, word for word. Everyone tuned in for the rare spectacle—even women laid up in the med bay with killer cramps, farmhands tending crops, Pilates instructors and their students. All dropped everything to watch.
The ref glanced upward. Moments later, it signaled the start with a hand gesture, backing away from the fighters.
Gong!
The crowd erupted in ecstatic cheers as the bell rang. Nina charged first, low and ferocious. The Chinese woman faltered at the blistering speed.
Straight into Nina's one-two punch. Thwack! The first landed but lacked real impact; the second whiffed.
"You slut!"
As Nina wound up for a third, a wok-lid fist swung her way—but she slipped diagonally aside with ease.
"Chao ni ma!"
The Chinese woman lunged again, but agony shot through her lower thigh, tripping her up. Glancing down, Nina's toned leg was fully extended.
Sneer. Pretty lips curled, snapping the last thread of the woman's rationality.
"Wah—chao!"
Roaring through the thigh sting, she barreled in. Smack! But she ate another hit. Her bulk dominated, but heights matched and Nina's reach was longer. Against brute violence relying on size and power, Nina's systematic Muay Thai training gave her superior footwork and distance control.
"Kuak!"
Drum-like impacts rang out in succession. Even mutual punches favored Nina by half a handspan. The Chinese woman desperately wanted to close in for a brawl—weight would nullify skill then. But Nina never yielded range, dancing elegantly on pale bare feet like a kite hunting snakes. Though this prey was Chinese boar, not serpent.
"Uwaaaah!"
Blood streaming from her nose, the woman charged heedless of defense. Futile. Thud! Another pinpoint low kick to the same spot. She staggered, posture crumbling.
"Hey, bitch. Breath control much? Why so chatty?"
Nina quipped, resetting distance.
"Kyaaaah!!!"
"Sis, you're awesome!!"
"Kill that chink bitch!"
The stands went wild. So did the prison viewers. Round 1 ended.
Corner breaks granted, Nina marveled. She'd come to smash an annoying pig, but organizers prepped pro-level. A green-painted med bot scanned her.
Security bots used casual speech, but others defaulted to polite. It checked her mouthpiece, iced hot spots, sprayed bruise salve on kicking shin and fists. Unnecessary—she hadn't taken a hit.
"Feels damn good."
The fighter's thrill of support, that nostalgic rush. She sat obediently, beaming. Classic post-round pose: arms draped on ropes in her corner. Proud yet sexy; watching sisters licked their lips. Delectable. Swoon-worthy. Kissable. Tempting to pounce—but none dared Nina.
Done with bruises, the bot massaged shoulders and arms. Nina's lips curved warmly. Pro days' memories revived, gratitude welled for leadership's setup—win or lose.
Tactical support required?
Holy shit—a coach bot too!
"Pfft." Nina burst laughing. "Nah. Butchering one boar... coaching? Hah! Perfect breather after so long."
Cheer message from resident arrived. Play?
Nina nodded.
Lingling, one of Nina's tagalongs. Spoken in Chinese, real-time translated to Ukrainian. Voice flat-toned, but serviceable. Minority ethnicity in China, only tongue Chinese. Joined Chinese gang for survival, but bottom rung due to origins—dirty work, constant abuse. Fled the gang, labeled traitor, tormented worse. Nina took her in, sparking this mess.
Glancing over, Nina saw the opponent's tactical bot gesturing advice. They'd requested coaching—panic after size failed spectacularly.
Gong! Round 2. Gone was the Chinese woman's cockiness; cautious probing now. Nina, expecting counters, advanced first. Feints met tight guard, no retaliation. Special remedy time.
Crack! Whip-crack as shin met thigh, booming arena-wide via speakers. Sadistic enhancement for ex-illegal pit—amplified impacts fueled bloodlust.
"Not your average arena."
Nina smirked at the huffing foe. Coaching useless sans training. Crack! "Graaak!" Low kick exploited punch hesitation. Jabs and straights followed; defense stymied clean hits, but steady damage wore her down like drizzle soaking robes. She snagged a lucky front kick to belly, grounding Nina—but gassed and unskilled, easy escape. Round end.
Tissue-stuffed nostrils, she took coaching. Face battered, brain fried—nothing registered.
Round 3. Thigh bruised black, bloodied purple, quaking. Desperate curses, final charge. Nina's low kick feint bent mid-air into Brazilian high kick. Splat! Shin to cheek; bulk crumpled.
Grab. Nina clutched head two-handed. Knee! Blood sprayed, giant toppled.
"Kyaaaaak!"
"Kee-yaaah!!!"
Screams everywhere—thrilled, rollercoaster glee.
"Hit her more!"
"More!"
No "Apologize!" here—bloodthirsty chants. Not ordinary sensibilities.
Mount position, Nina hammered joyfully. Chinese babble ignored.
"What?" Thud! Thud! Smack!
More Chinese yells.
"What?!" Crack! Madness lit Nina's smile.
"Speak Korean, cunt." Splat!
"S-stop! Mercy! Sur—"
Thud! Preempted surrender.
"Sur—"
Splat! Five more before she screamed it.
Gong gong gong! Victory declared. Three rounds, blistering—zero complaints.
Three minutes ago. Now Nina stood with me in the room.
"So, what do you want?"
She flashed a thrilling grin at my incredulous repeat. Winner's prize: anything desired. Promo hinted VIP zone 4-night stay. She passed.
Pointed at hologram Kids' query—toward VIP box overhead. Me.
Huh? Huh huh? Huh huh huh?!
What should we do, Manager?
"Ask if she really wants something else."
Shook head, pointed again.
"Never saw this plot twist coming."
Expected VIP luxury: top cuisine, imperial pleasures, facilities, culture. Presidential suite rivaling pre-war 5-stars. Ultimate for long-term inmates—or anyone clinging to old life.
But no. Now alone in upper arena suite. Brown-haired, blue-eyed feral beauty. Revealing crop top, shorts. Post-fight flush lingered, sweat-glistened skin synergizing with sculpted body—irresistibly alluring.
"Nice to meet you, Nina."
"Nice to meet you."
She bowed crisply. Known for universal bluntness and roughness—yet polite now, at parade rest. Athletic past? Or respecting my authority?
"Sit easy."
Pointed chair; she relaxed, I pulled one nearby.
"So, really—what? Confirm security spot? Captain level?"
Inner circle already, but tossed it.
"Nah. I'll earn it fair."
Declined. Confident she'd make cut.
"Cocky much."
"You said merit-based. Seems you overlook most shit here? Never doped or cheated."
I grinned. She nailed our needs. Brash exterior hid sharp instincts, bold guts. Impossible not to like.
"Then what can I do? Sports massage?"
She stood, stepped back. Whoosh! Crop top off. Bounce! Firm torso contrasted bountiful breasts freed; perky nipples met my gaze.
"?"
Befuddled stare met her stance: fists clenched, guard up. Right leg back, left forward.
"Saw the footage."
"Footage?"
Fighting pose, but eyes held curiosity, no hostility—pure competitive spark.
"You flipping cities solo, smashing monsters."
"Oh, that."
Her blues gleamed. "Insane. Can't even praise without sounding like ass-kissing."
Fair. Kids' edits amped drama: angles, cuts, transitions hero-ified my trek. No fakes—ethical propaganda.
Chibi Kids nodded smugly, arms crossed.
"No match here. That scrap? Child's play. Crave real brawl. Till limbs shake!"
Blazing eyes locked mine. Rested, fueled—fight whetted bigger fire.
I rose. "Kids, clear out. Drop surveillance."
Sir yes sir!
Her chibi hologram saluted, poof! vanished. I tossed my ID badge on the table.
"Fine. Champion's wish. Badges off—let's spar."
"Why top off, though?"
"Service. Gratitude for indulging."
Sneer. Rogue-yet-straightforward Nina's smile was stunningly beautiful.