The Substitute
The temple bastards knew how to put on a show better than I expected.
"Jinger of Group 21! Lia of Group 34! Step forward!"
Especially considering how terribly they had rigged the bracket.
"Dammit..." Jing muttered a curse under his breath, just as flustered as Lia, who had to step up to fight the moment she arrived.
I watched the temple priests lounging arrogantly in the VIP seats. They hadn't set this up with Lia in mind. No, they were targeting Jing, the clear favorite to win the tournament. If his matches ended too quickly, the crowd's excitement would fizzle out. Besides, they probably wanted to gauge the strength of the rest of our group.
"I-I'll be right back." Her hard-won relaxation vanishing in an instant, Lia climbed into the arena, her movements as stiff and mechanical as a clockwork doll. Worried glances and mocking sneers followed her every step.
"Well, look who it is. I didn't think you'd have the nerve to show your face here again."
Lia bit her lip, staring at the sneering face before her. It was Jinger, the eldest son of the local leather shop owner. He was a man who used to pester Ethan to enter the tournament as his partner, only to leave grinding his teeth after being flatly rejected every single time.
"Why don't you forfeit now? It'd be a shame if you got caught playing dirty again."
Lia wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and hang her head at the cruel insult, but she couldn't. It wasn't because she had suddenly found some deep well of courage.
"Keep your eyes on your opponent! Fix your posture!"
It was a side effect of the grueling training she had endured over the past two days; she felt that if she closed her eyes for even a second, Jing's thunderous roar would echo in her ears. The memory of his relentless nagging and the brutal workouts flashed through her mind. Feeling her muscles naturally tense with resolve, Lia corrected her stance. She planted her feet firmly and raised her clenched fists to her temples.
The moment she settled into her stance, the referee's whistle blew as if on cue. Jinger, a seasoned veteran of the Lucha Tournament, lunged at her without a shred of hesitation. Forcing down her pounding heart, Lia repeated Jing's advice like a mantra. Just like in training. Just like in training. Just like in training.
But his advice didn't actually help much. To be precise, she didn't even need to remember it. Lia realized this the moment she effortlessly slipped past Jinger's opening punch.
...Why is he so slow?
Stunned by the thought, she casually dodged his follow-up strike.
However, Jinger was still an experienced street fighter, and Lia was a complete novice—one who hadn't thrown a punch in three years.
Thwack!
Jinger's low kick caught Lia square in the shin.
"Ugh!"
As the sharp pain broke her stance, a fist flew straight for her face. Lia twisted her body in a panic, but she couldn't clear it entirely. The knuckles grazed the tip of her nose as she scrambled backward.
As the match dragged on longer than expected, jeers erupted from the crowd. Everyone was eagerly anticipating Lia's brutal defeat. Fortunately, their mocking shouts barely registered. Her lungs burned, and her bruised shin screamed in agony.
"You slippery little rat! Are you just going to run away the whole time?!" Jinger shrieked, clearly infuriated by his failure to land a decisive blow.
Lia clenched her fists. It was strange. She was on the defensive, her leg and nose throbbed, and she was gasping for air—yet she didn't feel a shred of panic. Compared to Jing's terrifying speed and power, Jinger's attacks were incredibly slow and feather-light. Had Jinger always been this weak?
While she was momentarily distracted, Jinger aimed a low kick at her knee.
Thwack!
The blow missed her knee but struck her calf. It was a sloppy, half-failed attack, but Jinger, ecstatic to have landed anything at all, unleashed a wild barrage of punches at the off-balance girl. Even through the stinging pain, Lia kept her eyes glued to Jinger from behind her guard. It was as if Jing's voice was echoing in her ears.
"Alright, Miss Lia. There are only two things you need to remember. First, don't get hit. Second, even if you do get hit, get right back up."
"Uh... is there nothing about how to actually hit them?" Jing had chuckled at her question.
"No need to worry about that. An opportunity will present itself. You just have to make it count when it does."
"Make it count..."
"Don't worry. One punch is all it will take." Raising his fist with far more confidence than Lia herself possessed, he had added, "Just one clean hit is more than enough."
One punch. She finally understood what Jing meant. And just as he had said, the opportunities were everywhere. Her opponent was far slower and far more reckless than she had realized.
The moment Jinger pulled his arm back to wind up for another punch, Lia took her very first step forward since the match began. Her eyes remained locked onto her target. The sweet spot right under Jinger's nose.
Crack!!!
The sickening crunch of Jinger's front teeth shattering against her knuckles echoed through the arena. Almost simultaneously, Jinger collapsed to the dirt, completely unconscious. The deafening jeers of the crowd instantly died, replaced by a stunned, heavy silence.
"T-The winner... Lia!" the referee announced, his voice trembling as he looked back and forth between the unconscious Jinger and Lia.
Yet, not a single person cheered. No one clapped. Under the weight of their hostile, icy glares, Lia gave a stiff, awkward bow and bolted toward the waiting room. The crowd's eyes followed her every step of the way.
Among the spectators, one pair of eyes looked down at her with chilling coldness. Ethan stared at his sister—who was flushed with a mixture of shock and adrenaline—before turning his back on the arena. My quiet, observing gaze followed him as he walked away.
The second round of the Lucha Tournament, which had begun early in the morning, wrapped up much faster than the previous year—well before dinner. Jing and Lia, the primary culprits behind this swift conclusion, fled to the bookstore to escape the crowd's overwhelming attention. A few clueless onlookers tried to follow us inside, but they were promptly beaten back and chased away by the bookstore owner wielding a feather duster with furious wrath.
"Miss Lia, you did exceptionally well today," Jing said, finally letting out a sigh of relief in the quiet sanctuary.
"Did I... did I really knock Jinger out?" Even though three hours had passed since the match ended, Lia muttered, still unable to process reality. If knocking out three of a man's front teeth and rendering him unconscious didn't count as a knockout, then the standards of Lucha Village were terrifyingly high.
"Just how brutally do you have to mutilate someone before you accept that you beat them?" Ratel grumbled, apparently sharing my exact thoughts.
"No, it's just... I won so much more easily than I expected, so it doesn't feel real," Lia stammered defensively. "Compared to Jing, he was just so slow... and his punches didn't feel threatening at all."
Jing beamed at Lia, who had just metaphorically kicked Jinger's corpse a second time. "Thank you for the compliment. You proved to be an exceptional student."
"That's wonderful. I'll be in your hands for the third and fourth rounds, and the finals as well." When I indirectly reiterated my plan to simply forfeit my matches just like today, Ratel's sharp gaze instantly pierced me.
"You don't seem surprised at all."
At his accusation, I merely shrugged. "What do you mean?"
"You look like someone who knew exactly how this would play out from the very beginning."
Of course I knew. Well, at least half of it. Even though we had arrived half a year earlier than scheduled, Lia's innate talent wasn't going anywhere. In the original novel, she was already the strongest fighter in the village even without any professional training. But right now, there was something else that grated on my nerves far more than that.
"You." This punk had been casually dropping honorifics and speaking to me informally since our last conversation. Sure, I was currently occupying the body of a kid who wasn't even twenty, but mentally, I was pushing thirty. But if I brought that up, I'd have to explain the whole transmigration-into-a-novel situation. I merely glared at him, my eyes burning with unspoken grievances.
"How could I possibly know the future? If I had, I wouldn't have worked myself to the bone during Jing's training."
A smirk played on Ratel's lips at my defense. "For someone who claims to have worked so hard, you slacked off quite a bit."
"Did you even watch me train?"
"..."
He shut his mouth, having no comeback. I had no idea why he insisted on picking these bizarre, petty fights. Sometimes, he was no different from Celos. No, wait—at least the protagonist had a slightly more endearing side than that lunatic. Feeling a sudden wave of magnanimity, I looked at Ratel with a gentler expression, only for him to immediately shatter my goodwill.
"Why are you looking at me like that? It's creepy."
Right. What was the point of comparing the two? They both possessed utterly garbage personalities.
Lia, who had been watching the two of us, spoke up with a soft smile. "The third round is in three days. The rules are exactly the same as today."
Which meant that if things continued like this, we could easily sweep the tournament without any major upsets. It was great that things were going smoothly, but one detail kept nagging at me: the discrepancy caused by the timeline being pushed forward compared to the original novel. I had to decide whether to fill that gap, dig deeper, or simply ignore it and move on before we left Lucha Village.
"I just hope luck is on our side that day as well... o-oh..." Lia's voice trailed off, her smile freezing on her face. I turned my head toward the entrance of the bookstore, following her locked gaze.
"So this is where you were."
At the flat, calm voice, Lia snapped out of her daze and awkwardly stepped toward Ethan. "Did... did you come to the arena today?"
Ethan stared down at his sister's face—which held a faint, hopeful expectation—for a brief moment before silently brushing past her. He stopped directly in front of Jing and Ratel. His business wasn't with Lia, but with the rest of us. Before the abruptly ignored girl could even process her embarrassment, Ethan spoke.
"I came to make a proposal."
"No."
"..."
As Ethan's expression stiffened, completely shut down by Ratel's conversation-killing bluntness, a more reasonable negotiator stepped forward.
"And what kind of proposal could you possibly have for us?" Jing asked.
"I can guarantee you a much more certain victory."
"Ethan, what do you mean by that?" Lia asked, flustered by his somewhat arrogant opening. But Ethan didn't spare his sister a single glance as he continued.
"I will enter the tournament with you. In Lia's place."
In Lucha Village—which remained unaffected by the disrupted flow of Manis I had caused—there were two characters who differed significantly from their counterparts in the original novel. The first was, of course, Lia. In the original story, Lia was far more proactive, confident, and desperate than she was now. Her sole motivation was to win the Lucha Tournament so she could leave the village and reunite with Ethan. It was hard to reconcile the current, timid Lia with the original version, who had actively hunted for strong outsiders to partner with. That was how precious her only brother was to her in the original timeline.
The problem was that very brother. The second anomaly who hadn't even made an appearance in the original novel: Ethan. An insurmountable wall that Lia had never once managed to defeat.