Groin Shot and the Lucky Bracket
"Kuh...!"
Foam bubbled from Garanz's mouth.
"...!"
"G-Garanz...!"
"Did it burst or something?"
The spectators who'd watched the seizure—especially the men—muttered with pale faces, as if they'd seen something they wished they hadn't.
And who could blame them? The spot Garanz had been hit was...
"Kicking him there! That's downright diabolical!"
The men's most vulnerable spot—the family jewels.
"Kuhhh."
I looked down at Garanz writhing on the ground and made a sorry face.
Damn, that wasn't on purpose.
A moment ago, I'd been pondering which of his countless openings to exploit. After some deliberation, I'd aimed to sweep his thigh and send him crashing to the floor...
But by sheer bad luck, he'd reacted to my kick. In dodging my foot, his body twisted awkwardly, and I ended up putting extra force into the strike to ensure it connected.
The problem was that the iron weights on my feet—upped from 15 kilos each in my juvenile stage to 25, then recently to 30—slowed me down more than I'd calculated. I haven't fully adapted yet.
And the result... My foot nailed him right in the nuts.
It's not actually burst, is it?
I'd heard a seriously ominous sound, but... no way. It had to be fine. We couldn't crush the future seed of the mantis race like that.
I forced myself to think that as I approached him.
"You okay?"
"K-Kuhh!"
He couldn't answer, just clutched his lower belly and trembled.
For some reason, it hurt just looking at him.
"Match over! Team 7 wins! And get this guy to the infirmary, stat!"
The referee declared our victory and had Garanz carted off to medical.
I turned away, feeling an inexplicable pang of manly guilt.
"Aleck! Great job!"
"Aleck, sir, well fought! Ngh..."
"We made it to the main draw!"
My teammates rushed over with hugs and cheers... only for Kind to awkwardly clutch his groin mid-embrace. What was that about?
* * *
Not long after we advanced to the main draw, the full brackets were set.
"Alright! And with that, the 32-team bracket for the Infant-to-Juvenile league is complete. What a... what can we even call this draw?!"
"Right? Group A and B split from the qualifiers, and Group A turned into a total group of death!"
Luke and Matthew, the league broadcasters, blinked at the 32-strong bracket.
No wonder. The power gap between the 16 teams in Group A and Group B was glaring.
"All the top contenders got funneled into Group A. It's a slaughterhouse! What cosmic joke is this?!"
The favorites in this Infant-to-Juvenile team league were all from elite top-tier clubs: Overlord, Royal, Pearl, Serenity. Stacked with superior races like king and shield mantises, featuring the strongest juveniles.
"Overlord Club's team has the overwhelming edge, though... But man, Group B looks like a cakewalk by comparison!"
Matthew raised his voice again as he scanned the groups.
Unlike A, Group B had zero pre-tourney favorites. It was a dumping ground for the underdogs.
Stronger teams had knocked each other out early, leading to this lopsided result.
"Group B's basically scrub central."
"Anyone could win it..."
"Group A's semis might as well be the finals, right?"
Whispers like that rippled through the crowd.
"Even if the groups mixed, Overlord Club was taking it anyway, no?"
"Yeah... they're on another level."
Overlord's squad: Takwin, Conveni, Gamlin, Pitt, Zadan. Shield mantis prodigies who'd turned heads at Mantis Hall.
Elite of the elite! Takwin, their vanguard, had solo-swept every qualifier match without breaking a sweat, cementing his rep.
Those foes included heavy hitters, proving just how dominant they were among peers.
"Eh, let's just watch Overlord cruise to victory."
That was the common vibe in the stands.
* * *
"Lucky draw."
"Whoa, are we seriously finals-bound?!"
"We can totally do it."
"Ngh, the finals!"
Kind whooped at the brackets. Group B was a wide-open field of weaklings.
Everyone else probably thinks the same.
Group B teams were buzzing, eyeing the finals.
But... my goal isn't the finals.
Win or runner-up, a podium finish meant access to the Mantis Hall treasury—a solid prize.
Normally, that'd be plenty. But...
Not this time.
Chung Hak Gwan dispatch list. I had to make it.
That qualification was my real prize here.
MVP of the league should clinch it.
No official criteria released, but the standout performer gets the nod, obviously.
So I need chances to shine.
Breezing through Group B meant fewer spotlights. Crushing strong foes proves true worth.
Lucky draw? Not entirely a win.
"Yeah, great draw. Let's push to the finals, everyone."
I said the opposite of what I thought. No need to kill morale with nitpicks.
If we reach finals, opportunities will come.
My eyes gleamed.
* * *
We drew as the last seed, Team 32.
Main draw? We steamrolled: consecutive wins, unstoppable.
Vanguard: Kind.
Flank: Bishier.
Mid: Ruslan, Robed, me—rotating.
Kind/Bishier ended some early. Others? We swept mid.
"Team 32 wins! Finals berth confirmed!"
"Kyaaah! Aleck sir, we did it—we're in the finals!"
Kind leaped with arms wide at the ref's call.
Easier than expected. But the letdown...
No real impressions made. Finals left, though.
I glanced at Overlord Club, already finals-bound as predicted. Group A was brutal, but they prevailed.
Impressive: Takwin's perfect solo streak.
Takwin, shield clan's breakout star. Wielded a swift blade despite his race—foes just blocked futilely.
Even against Royal Club favorites.
He's legit.
Puberty edging growth stage, no doubt. Standout even among elite shields.
And not just him.
I scanned Overlord's crew, watching our match boredly. Every one matched or exceeded Takwin's aura.
Especially the burliest, probable captain...
Might need to drop the weights against him.
Ruslan-level: post-juvenile, relentless training nearing growth. Historic shield talent—and here's another with matching potential.
"Hey, that team's captain is Zadan."
Kind sidled up, whispering.
Zadan?
Familiar name—I tilted my head. Heard it pre-regression? Must've been big already if Kind knew.
"Ugh, seeing them kills my hype. Can we even win...?"
Kind wilted under their presence, whining early.
"You know what happens if Instructor Norton hears that muttering, right?"
"Eep!"
He clapped a hand over his mouth, whipping his head around in panic.
I chuckled and patted his back.
"Finals tomorrow. Worry then."
* * *
"Excellent! Fine results, lads!"
Norton boomed before us, grinning wide.
"Aleck, congrats!"
"Knew our ace team would finals. Called it."
Back at dorms post-Day 1, Norton and fellow trainees congratulated us.
Most peers out in qualifiers. Two others made mains—busted in 32-strong.
Still impressive.
Three teams breaking through, including us? Insane for Mantis Hall rookies mere months in.
Proof of Norton's genius methods.
"Don't sweat the dropouts! Plenty more shots ahead."
"Yes, sir!"
"Orders received! Loyalty!"
"Ho, why so fired up?"
"Heh, gotta be sharp before the great Instructor Norton!"
Norton chuckled at their extra pep.
Guessed why? The league showed his training works—skin-deep.
Smart ones realized: explosive short-term gains.
Hence the deference.
"Hmph! Finally grasping my methods' greatness, eh?"
Veteran that he was, Norton clocked it instantly.
"I know you griped about weighted training. Some figured I was just tormenting you."
A few flinched. Plenty thought that.
"But I let it slide. Knew you'd feel the difference unweighted—convincing you of my genius."
He flashed pearly whites, smug with pride. Then shot me a sly glance.
See, Aleck? Masterful mentor, right?
Like a kid fishing for praise.
Damn, he grows on you.
Creepy geezer at first—now kinda cute.
"So, any secret sauce to clinch tomorrow's finals win?"
Someone shot up a hand.
Peers eyed skeptically: One day? Nah.
I clocked it: they foresaw finals rout.
Made sense—gulf too wide visually.
"Secret? None. But a way to boost odds? Sure."
"Ooh, what?!"
Kind perked, surprised.
"Heh, curious?"
"Yes!"
"Good! Follow me."
Norton led us out... to...
The entertainment district?
Mantis Hall's bustling streets. The alley dubbed the red-light zone loomed ahead.