The referee walked over to Brizks and knelt down in a half-squat to check on him. After confirming his condition, the referee crossed his arms over his chest, signaling that Brizks had lost.
Seeing that, everyone in Club Harlem erupted in excitement because Ryder had won the fight that night. They cheerfully collected money from those who had bet on Brizks.
On the other hand, disappointment was clearly visible on the faces of those who had placed their bets on Brizks. It was unusual for Brizks to lose to a rookie like Ryder. Some of them kicked the walls and tables in frustration, while others just stared blankly ahead, still unable to believe the result of the fight.
Ryder looked at Brizks, who was now sprawled on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth and temple. He immediately turned around and walked toward the committee table to collect his winnings for the night.
When he arrived, Ryder tried to smile, though it felt forced.
Dog, seeing Ryder's face covered in bruises, immediately handed him a bag of coins.
"Congratulations, Ryder. Here's your prize money," Dog said as he patted the bag.
Ryder accepted it carefully, hearing the clinking sound of coins inside, bringing a slight relief to his heart.
"Thank you, Dog." Ryder held his stomach and the back of his head, which were still aching.
"Congratulations, Ryder! You're tonight's winner!" Fagu shouted while patting Ryder's shoulder.
Ryder was a bit surprised, then turned toward Fagu. "Thanks, Fagu. I'd like to order a sweet drink, do you have any?"
He slipped the bag of coins into the pocket of his hoodie.
"Of course, we have some. What would the winner like to drink?" Fagu asked, chuckling.
"You're praising me too much, Fagu. Can I see the menu?"
Fagu grinned. "You should drink some alcohol to ease your burdens tonight." He snapped his fingers, calling another server over.
Ryder immediately shook his head. "If it's alcohol, I don't think I want to drink it, Fagu."
Fagu looked disappointed and lowered his head. This was the first time someone had refused alcohol in Club Harlem. Usually, everyone loved it because they used the finest wine to make Turaman, Club Harlem's signature alcohol.
Besides alcohol, Club Harlem was also famous for its homemade cigarettes called Razunan.
"Hey, Fagu! Get back to work!" Dog shouted while pounding the table.
"Calm down, old man!" Fagu retorted with annoyance.
Ryder furrowed his brows, only now realizing that Fagu worked under Dog.
"What did you just say?" Dog stood up from his seat, glaring sharply at Fagu.
"If you force me, you will lose your money, old man."
Dog fell silent upon hearing the threat, then slowly sat back down.
"I'm sorry Fagu, today there is no opponent willing to fight for you tonight," Dog said, taking a deep breath.
"It's fine, I wanted a break anyway. I'm getting bored of fighting," Fagu replied while glancing at Ryder.
Ryder looked confused, scratching his head as he tried to understand the situation he had just discovered.
"Looks like you're confused, huh, Ryder?" Fagu asked.
"Of course. So, the owner of Club Harlem is Dog, and you, Fagu, work under him?" Ryder's eyes widened even though his face was still full of bruises.
Dog Hazard, the owner and organizer of the fights in Club Harlem, nodded slightly. The man had been running the street fight business in the Iron Street Vale area for five years, and every word from his mouth was law in this place.
Fagu and Dog exchanged glances, then suddenly burst out laughing loudly, almost unable to stop.
Ryder's face turned red, feeling embarrassed. It was understandable; he truly knew nothing about the ownership of Club Harlem or who worked under whom.
"Enough, stop it!" Ryder shouted, trying to halt their laughter.
"Sorry, Ryder. It seems you've never tried to learn about Club Harlem, huh?" Dog raised his eyebrows.
Ryder could only lower his head. What Dog had just said was true. Ryder had never cared to learn about Club Harlem. Meanwhile, almost everyone in Iron Street Vale already knew about it.
Of course, they all kept the street fights a secret from the government. If the Blaze City authorities ever found out, Dog's business would be shut down forcibly, even destroyed overnight.
"But, how did you find out about the fights at my club, Ryder?" Dog asked, resting his chin on both hands, looking curious.
Ryder let out a breath before answering, "If I remember correctly, I got a message from an unknown number. It said, 'If you need money, go to Club Harlem. You can earn more money there.'"
"An unknown number?" Dog repeated, narrowing his eyes.
"That's right, Dog. I'm not lying."
Dog only nodded slowly, as if understanding that someone wanted to see a new fighter in his club.
It was true, Club Harlem hadn't seen a new fighter in a long time. Most who fought there were veterans like Brizks, Ryder's opponent earlier. Brizks had been fighting in Club Harlem for over a year, and even though he lost, many fighters kept coming back because they needed money, regardless of losing again.
"Can I see the number, Ryder?" Fagu asked, holding out his hand.
"Of course, Fagu."
Ryder reached into the pocket of his sweatpants, took out his phone, and handed it to Fagu. Fagu accepted the phone carefully. Dog, looking curious, stood up from his seat and approached.
Now Dog and Ryder stood behind Fagu, who started opening the messaging app on Ryder's phone, scrolling the screen carefully.
Suddenly, a message popped up on Ryder's phone.
"Congratulations on your victory."
At the end of the message, there was a suspicious-looking smiley and thumbs-up emoji.
"What's the meaning of this?!" Dog grabbed Fagu's shoulders and shook him roughly.
"Hold on, Dog! You're making it hard for me to read!" Fagu grumbled, trying to stay focused.
Ryder stared at his phone, an uncomfortable feeling creeping into his chest. All this time… someone had been watching him.
"Look at the end of this number!" Fagu shouted, pointing at the screen.
Dog immediately stopped shaking Fagu's shoulders, and Ryder leaned in to see.
At the end of the sender's number, the numbers "67" appeared, looking suspicious. It was a number they had never seen before; even Dog and Fagu had no contacts with a number ending in "67."
"Looks like this person is interested in you, Ryder… but I think they're still here in Club Harlem right now," Fagu muttered, still staring at the screen.
"Right, they haven't left this place yet," Dog nodded in agreement.
The three of them exchanged glances, then turned simultaneously, looking toward the crowd in Club Harlem, trying to find someone suspicious. However, everyone there was dressed oddly and varied, making it hard to recognize anyone.
Finally, Fagu handed the phone back to Ryder.
Ryder accepted it, staring at the screen with serious eyes, focusing on the "67" at the end of the mysterious number, a slow creeping sense of curiosity and caution rising in his heart.
There wasn't much time for Ryder to think about it. He was deeply grateful to the person who had given him the information about the fight at Dog's Club Harlem.