Just Borrow and Pay Back Later (2)
[At that moment, at the top of the arena.]
"Lady Chekhov. The defeated soldiers who came in yesterday caused some trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
The vampire Chekhov, who had been slicing into a steak dripping with blood in a luxurious dining hall, set down her fork at her subordinate's question. The man was dressed in a black suit.
"They caused a ruckus in the restaurant and got subdued by Shemiri."
"...I hope Shemiri didn't go overboard."
Chekhov took a sip of her red wine to cleanse her palate, then extended her hand toward the side of the table.
Whirr.
A red aura rippled from her hand, and soon a crimson curtain unfurled in the air, displaying a particular location.
Was this what the last meal looked like on a battlefield where defeat was inevitable?
The faces of the black-haired man and woman seated in the restaurant were filled with gloom. At least the food was luxurious—bread, salad, and a perfectly roasted hunk of meat in the center—but they were only picking at the bread.
They could eat the bread with their hands, but tearing into the salad or meat by hand was another story.
"Those kids from a noble house's soldiers?"
"Not sure... All we know is they're from the East."
"Really? Hmm, interesting."
Chekhov, who had glanced at the curtain while downing her wine, turned her body fully toward the crimson display.
"They're not just grabbing bread with their own exchange vouchers—they're pooling them to share, and they treat using utensils as a given..."
"But they don't seem like complete idiot nobles. They swapped utensils without using vouchers."
"True. Well... doesn't matter anyway. Even without utensils, if they feel deprived of something else, they'll realize they need more exchange vouchers no matter what."
Chekhov spread three fingers toward her subordinate and wagged them side to side.
"They've got exactly three. If they use one more for an extra dinner tonight, do you think they'll just sit there with only one left? They don't refresh every day, you know."
"If they end up wanting to fight in the arena as a result..."
"That's the best outcome. If not, they can always work in the underground labor camp."
Chekhov peered at the humans in the curtain with an expectant expression.
"I wonder how many of them will make it out alive. Hm, if they end up living here forever, I might have to drain some blood from them later."
"You mean as blood bags?"
"If they lose the will to escape and choose to live down here like less than slaves, you couldn't even call that 'alive' anymore... Huh?"
Chekhov, who had been scrutinizing each face one by one, tilted her head.
"Why only 18? Did two already die?"
"No. They're not dead, but..."
"Not dead?"
"One of them might die soon."
"Hm? What? Did someone kill inside the room? No way they already stole vouchers on the first night?"
Voucher theft. A hint of disappointment and irritation colored Chekhov's voice.
"No. According to Shemiri, one came at dawn, bought the 'minimum voucher meal' of bread and soup, and headed straight to the arena."
"......A proxy?"
"No, not that."
"Everything I'm guessing is off-base. Just get to the point."
"He went to the arena, put up vouchers, and jumped right into a fight."
To the arena. At those words, Chekhov set down her wine glass and reached toward the crimson curtain again.
"Which arena?"
"Arena 13. Opponent is Tehalt."
Just as she was about to shift the view on the crimson curtain, Chekhov scowled fiercely at the name Tehalt.
"Fuck... That guy's a rapist who does men and women alike right before killing them in the arena. Why the hell pick him? Does he have a masochistic hobby of getting fucked in public before dying?"
"Nothing like that. The report says..."
The crimson curtain shifted to Arena 13, and the subordinate continued, gazing at the black-haired young man who had climbed onto the arena stage within it.
"...he picked him because he seemed like the easiest to kill."
* * *
I stepped into the arena. Arena 13—a space as wide as a UFC ring. It resembled those underground dogfight pits you'd see in movies.
The spectators beyond the iron bars? Barely any.
Usually, when a newbie hits the arena, a few come to gawk at the fresh face for gossip's sake. Not even those were here.
Why? Because the opponent was a total jobber.
"Heh heh heh."
Right in front of me stood a musclebound brute at least two meters tall, gripping a wooden club. The intent was clear: beat someone down so they never stand again—nearly to death, but not quite. The tip bristled with nails.
"I heard the deal. If I win, I get your three vouchers and your body."
"Right. If I win, your nine vouchers are mine."
"Uahaha! Finally, a worthy fuck after so long comes charging in."
A worthy fuck. If it were a sex joke, "fuck" might mean borrowing vouchers, but this was Chekhov's arena.
"You a virgin?"
"Fuck off."
"Definitely a virgin."
In a place where "fuck" only meant rape, it came off like cheap banter.
"Heh heh heh."
"Hey, Tehalt! Don't kill him!"
"Keep it clean for the next guy!"
Even the sparse crowd were all twisted perverts with warped tastes. How were they still alive without dying from STDs?
Regrettably, magic existed in this arena, and with vouchers, you could buy cures for STDs easily enough.
"......."
Only one person. Shin Yu-hee, watching me from a spot slightly apart from the others. She looked like she desperately wanted to shout something but was holding back.
Worry for me, unarmed and stepping into the arena barehanded. Anxiety that if I died or got eaten here, she'd be next.
Yet she hadn't left—this was her gamble. Better to bet on me walking this tightrope than stick with 18 humans full of envy and jealousy.
'Good thing I picked an opponent whose fans wouldn't react much to Shin Yu-hee.'
Nine vouchers if I won. Plenty of other choices, but I picked this gay barbarian Tehalt considering the crowd his fights drew.
Black hair might've drawn eyes and trouble, but luckily, Shin Yu-hee didn't quite fit the pervs' tastes here.
"What's this, missy? That guy's family or lover?"
"Heh heh heh, watch close then. Your man's gonna beg on all fours like a beast to be spared."
Not their taste, sure, but arena vets wouldn't ignore her completely. No leers her way, but plenty of intent to mess with my head from the stands.
"Sick of hearing all this fuck-this fuck-that shit. Ref, when does the match start?"
I hurried the other person in the arena—the vampire ref.
"Still some issue?"
"......No."
The ref blinked a few times, then his eyes turned red like a vampire's.
"Prep's done. Match starts the second I snap my fingers. Get ready."
Vampire red eyes. Normally, whatever, but in Chekhov's arena, that glow meant one thing.
Someone bigwig was watching.
In that case, no holding back.
"Heh heh heh, watch close. I'll smash your legs so you can't walk and eat you right up!"
Snap.
Whoosh!
Aiming to crush my shoulder first—then drag it into a stamina war in this cage. That was his eye.
'Slow.'
Useless. Even without a decade of combat from my first run, ten years ago me could've dodged this.
"Huh?!"
He flinched in surprise as I evaded, then grinned wide and swung again.
Thwack!
He tried to swing. If my fist hadn't planted in his jaw.
"Uh, guh...?"
Tehalt staggered back, wobbling like he couldn't steady himself.
Precise jaw shot. No matter the muscle mass, couldn't block a rattled brain.
"Th-this—"
He raised his club. Warrior instinct pushing through the daze to target me.
Thwack!
Too late. Even sober, he'd eaten a blindside punch—dazed, no chance.
Thud!
The giant crumpled. Eyes open, but body in chaos, staggering.
Crack.
I stomped his wrist hard enough to shatter bone. As his grip loosened, I snatched the club and gripped mid-shaft.
"W-wait—"
Smash.
Big downward swing, once. Not jaw—bridge of nose. Caved in deep but didn't shatter.
Then keep going.
Thud, smack.
Until his skull split and he stopped moving.
Splatter.
The arena echoed only with skull-cracking sounds. And the crowd gulping.
Crunch!
The club splintered too. Nail-studded end snapped off, rolling on the ground. I eyed the jagged break.
"Winner?"
"......."
The ref just stared with red eyes.
"Fine. Let's make it clear."
I reversed my grip on the broken end and stabbed like a stake into Tehalt's throat.
Gush!!
Blood sprayed forward. Nearly soaked my hand, but I yanked the club free and stepped back first.
"Asking again."
Poke, prod.
I nudged Tehalt with my foot. No twitch.
"Winner?"
"...Your victory."
Clap.
"Winner, Yoo Si-woo!"
One win. Vouchers up to 12.