Kari knelt beside Xander, his towering frame casting a long shadow under the buzzing flicker of the ruined locker room lights. Without a word, he reached out and helped Xander to his feet, his grip steady and calm.
"What exactly happened here?" Kari asked, voice level and controlled.
Xander wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, blinking through the swelling around his right eye. His body ached all over, but the pain was numbed by adrenaline and residual rage. He motioned toward the crumpled figure lying near the dented lockers—the first victim of the Red Ogre.
"Uhh… this guy was beating up that guy over there… then he picked a fight with me after," Xander said, breath still ragged. As he spoke, he spat out another mouthful of blood onto the already bloodstained tiles. His blurred vision made it difficult to focus, but he could still see the mess he and the Red Ogre had left behind.
Kari's dark eyes scanned the room with surgical precision. Broken lockers, blood streaked walls, cracked tiles, a shattered mirror, and two nearly unconscious fighters told the full story without needing another word.
"I will take care of this," Kari said coolly. "Do not speak to anyone about what happened here. Just tell the ring announcer… her brother is in bad shape. Xander? Do you understand?"
Xander, still dazed and breathing hard, kept staring at the Red Ogre's mangled, bloodied face. Something primal still stirred in him, something that hadn't completely left after the fight.
"Uhh… yeah," he replied. "D-Do you want me to leave the fight club or…?"
Kari raised an eyebrow, almost amused by the question. "Leave? For what? Fighting at a fight club? No."
A subtle smile curved his lips.
"It seems I was underestimating you. If you can endure this and keep standing, then you've got much more to prove out there. So go and fight. The matches begin in a few minutes. Clean yourself up while I handle this."
Xander gave a shaky nod, turning toward the broken mirror. He twisted the cracked faucet and splashed cold water on his bruised, blood-streaked face. His features were a mess of discoloration, swelling, and minor lacerations, but they were healing—slowly, steadily.
The cold helped. It dulled the sharp edge of pain and jolted his mind back to focus.
Behind him, Kari crouched beside the unconscious Red Ogre, now nothing more than a broken heap of pride and blood.
"Hah… look at you," Kari muttered, his tone neutral yet cutting. "Getting beaten by a rookie. You've truly fallen, Thomas."
He stood and pulled out a sleek, high-end phone from the inside of his coat, lifting it to his ear.
"Yeah. It's me," he said, walking slowly toward the exit of the locker room. "We've got a situation. You'll want to send a retrieval unit for cleanup. And prepare the lower ward. He's going to need a lot more than just stitches."
Kari's footsteps echoed down the hall as Xander took one last look at the shattered room before walking out into the bright chaos of the contestants' hall.
The real battle was just about to begin.
Xander emerged from the locker room, the air outside immediately cooler against his half-dried, blood-smeared skin. Though most of the smaller cuts had already healed thanks to his [Regeneration], his bruised face still held a swollen look—less severe now, but unmistakably battered.
'Regeneration is seriously a life saver… without it, I'd be out of commission like those other two,' he thought, gently touching the tender swelling along his jaw. Each step away from the carnage felt like dragging a phantom of his former self behind him.
He didn't make it more than five feet into the contestant staging area before the stares started.
Fighters leaned against walls, sitting or stretching near their assigned spots, paused mid-motion as they caught sight of him. Blood—fresh, dry, and somewhere in between—coated his chest, arms, and legs like a second skin. Many of the newer fighters stared in confusion. Some of the older ones just narrowed their eyes, calculating, reading the blood as a message.
'They're wondering what kind of fight I just crawled out of…'
He noticed the way their gazes sharpened—not in disgust, but appraisal. He returned those looks instinctively, scanning builds, foot positions, posture, even breathing rates. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up—not from fear, but something primal, something that whispered: "I'm ready for a massacre… come."
Realizing what was happening, he blinked and looked away, shaking off the sensation.
'That was… weird. Not me. Gotta stay grounded.'
Above, the massive arena screen came to life with a deep mechanical hum. Names appeared in bracketed tiers—rows upon rows of fighters arranged for elimination.
And there it was.
[Scarlet Phantom]
Xander's face scrunched into an immediate cringe.
'God… it sounded way cooler in my head. Now I just look like a geek with middle school syndrome…'
The title flashed in crimson above his match slot, sandwiched between other, much more intimidating aliases: [Gorefang], [Night Ruin], [Midas Scar], and more. He let out a dry cough and tried not to look directly at it again.
Looking around, he took in the layout—sixteen miniature rings spaced evenly throughout the arena floor, each one a bloodied battleground waiting for its pair of contenders.
'Wait… sixteen rings? Sixteen… this is a damn tournament?! Nobody told me it was gonna be a full tournament!'
His eyes darted to the massive countdown screen. 3:00 minutes until Round One.
Then, it hit him.
'Right… the announcer. I was supposed to tell her about her brother… but… wait. Which one was her brother again? Was it the Red Ogre? Or the other guy…?'
He froze for a second, cursing under his breath. "Dammit…"
Shrugging off the uncertainty, he moved forward anyway. 'Doesn't matter. I'll just deliver the message. No one knows what really happened. Just keep it vague.'
Two guards flanked the corridor leading to the announcer's station. As he approached, they each gave him a quick up-and-down, hands still resting lightly on their belts—probably close to weapons, just in case.
"I need to speak with the announcer," Xander said, still slightly breathless. "It's important—it's about her brother."
The guards exchanged a sharp glance, their relaxed demeanor tightening slightly. One of them gave a small nod, then moved aside, gesturing down the hallway.
"Make it quick."
Xander slipped past them, entering the buzzing backstage hall where music, lights, and showtime tension coiled together. It didn't take long before he heard voices—raised, animated ones—from behind a curtain.
"I'm telling you, if you contour one more time I'll break your damn brush! My cheekbones are natural!"
"Sweetheart, your cheekbones are as natural as my hair color. Now hold still!"
Rounding the corner, Xander came face-to-face with the ring announcer—sitting in a massage chair while a heavily muscled, pink-haired stylist fluffed her pigtails and applied highlighter.
"Hey… excuse me?" Xander called out.
The girl jumped, nearly dropping her chocolate bar, while the stylist snapped upright, alert.
"Who the hell are you? Jeez, they seriously let anyone back here these days. Do we need to get new security? Useless bast—"
"Your brother is in bad shape!" Xander interrupted, voice sharp.
She froze. The stylist's eyes widened as Xander continued.
"He's in the locker room. Took a pretty bad beating during a fight. He needs urgent medical attention."
The girl shot up from her chair, her expression morphing from annoyance to alarm in an instant. She grabbed Xander by the collar and yanked him close.
"WHO DID IT?! Who laid hands on him?! You better not be lying to me."
Xander pushed her hands off, scowling. "Hey, hands off, brat. I don't know who it was, okay? They just told me to tell you."
She turned to the stylist.
"I'll find out," the man said calmly and stormed off with professional urgency.
Turning her gaze back to Xander. "If this is some joke, I swear… you're not leaving here in one piece. And don't call me a brat again."
Xander sighed. "Yeah, yeah. You got a name? I'm Xander. Or, I guess, 'Scarlet Phantom' if we're doing ring names."
Seo blinked, stifling a laugh. "Scarlet Phantom? Oh god… that's priceless. Okay, loser. I'll stick to Xander. I'm Seo. Seo Yura."
She stepped past him, adjusting her gloves. "Nice to meet you, kind of. But we've both got business out there. I'll see you in the ring."
Xander watched her walk off through the curtain, then looked at the clock.
"Okay… that didn't go too bad. One minute until the fight. I haven't fully healed, but I should be fine… right?"
He glanced at his status.
HP: 68/84
With a deep breath, he turned and made his way back to the contestants' hall. Showtime was coming fast.
Just as Xander stepped back into the buzzing contestants' hall, the massive screens above flickered, the countdown timer slamming down to the final seconds. "Three… two… one…"
A loud buzzer rang throughout the underground arena. The atmosphere instantly shifted, the air becoming electric with tension. All around him, fighters began moving toward the scattered mini-rings that had been assembled across the massive floor—sixteen platforms in total, each one ready to host a brawl that would leave someone broken.
But Xander's eyes widened, not from the announcement of battle, but from a sudden thought that hit him like a lightning bolt.
'Wait… my rewards! From that stupid suicidal quest…'
With a sharp inhale, he opened his status window.
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
Quest Completed: [Learn Some Respect]
Objective: Teach the target how to show some respect—by beating it into him.
Quest Rewards:
• +75 EXP
• +2 Strength (Received)
Combat Skill Acquired: [Combat Instinct] (Rank E)
• After dodging or taking a hit, your next attack within 5 seconds deals +15% more damage.
• Landing 2 consecutive hits grants +2 temporary Strength for 10 seconds.
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
You have leveled up!
+6 Stat Points
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Xander Shayden
Rank: E
Level: 2
EXP: 55 / 200
Stats:
Strength: 10
Dexterity: 15
Constitution: 12
Intelligence: 28
Charisma: 12
Perception: 14
Distributable Stat Points: 6
Sub-Stats:
HP: 74/84
Mana: 56
Speed: 30
HP Mod: 7
Mana Mod: 2
Speed Mod: 2
Xander blinked at the screen. A quiet rush of energy rolled through his limbs as the boost kicked in. His fingers curled instinctively into fists, veins bulging slightly with the surge of new-found strength. He could feel it—his body responding like a predator given just a bit more edge.
"Combat Instinct, huh…?" he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips. "Is that why I was moving like a psycho at the end there..?No, can't be just that…"
There was no time to linger on the screen. With his HP sitting at 74 and the countdown to his first match seconds away from completion, he shut the status window and let out a low breath.
"Alright then… Let's see what level 2 feels like."
Just then, a sudden ache twisted in Xander's stomach like a gnawing vice. Hunger. Deep, primal, and insistent. His body, still recovering from the brutal backstage fight, had burned through far more energy than he'd realized.
'Damn it… not now,' he muttered internally, clutching at his side. 'It's cause I burned a bunch of calories brawling with that psycho…'
He grimaced, beads of sweat forming on his brow despite the relatively cool air of the massive underground arena. His stomach rumbled audibly, adding insult to injury.
'My fight club debut is about to be a total flop at this rate…'
Before he could stew any longer, the overhead lights dimmed, casting a dramatic shadow across the blood-colored tournament floor. Spotlights converged on the central elevated platform, where Seo Yura stood tall and radiant, now donning a sleek black dress that sparkled like starlight. Her voice boomed across the stadium, electrifying the crowd with a raw, palpable energy that buzzed through the air like a live wire.
"Ladies and gentlemen! The long wait is FINALLY over! It's time for the action you've been CRAVING!!" she shouted, her tone a calculated mix of fire and thrill.
The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, a wave of sound crashing against the walls of the arena. They stamped their feet, banged on the rails, and clapped in near-unison, a ritual before the bloodbath.
Yura pointed up dramatically at the enormous holographic tournament bracket spinning slowly above the arena, each name glowing brightly under the rotating display.
"I hope you've got your bets locked in, 'cause every one of these fights is gonna be absolutely insane! Keep your eyes peeled on all sixteen rings, because tonight is straight carnage from start to finish!"
The bracket froze on Block A. A dramatic pause ensued.
"And starting us off in Ring 3," she said, grinning like the devil herself, "we have a debut match… a mysterious new contender… with a very theatrical name."
She paused again, half-turning and covering her mouth like she was about to cough—but clearly stifling a laugh.
"The one, the only… THE SCARLET PHANTOM!!"
Xander winced so hard he nearly cringed out of existence.
'Oh no… they really had to say it like that?'
The crowd did not hold back.
"Scarlet Phantom?! You serious?" "Bro thinks he's starring in his own anime." "Middle school edgelord name, 100%." "Bet he picked that out of a hat labeled 'Cringe.'" "Watch him fold faster than laundry." "Someone get this dude a cape and a therapist." "Lame name for a poser. He ain't making it past round one."
Xander exhaled slowly, resisting the primal urge to turn invisible. He stepped into the spotlight regardless, walking with the stiffness of someone heading toward their own funeral.
But the moment his figure became clear, the crowd's laughter ebbed slightly.
He was bloodied, yes. Bruised. But still upright. Still walking. And there was something in his eyes. Something sharp and wild.
Their chuckles faded.
There was a storm beneath his skin—an ancient, cold sort of fire that flickered behind his half-lidded stare. A beast within who hadn't tasted war in far too long. As he looked out over the sea of eyes, a subtle smile crept onto his face. Not one of pride.
But hunger.
His fists clenched.
Despite the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, despite the toll of his injuries, his muscles buzzed with a quiet rage, a readiness to tear something apart. The air felt different now. Thicker. Meaner. Like a gladiatorial coliseum rather than a mere fighting tournament.
Then Yura raised her hand once more, calling the crowd to a frenzy.
"And his opponent! The undefeated beast! A crowd favorite! The merciless juggernaut of carnage himself! THOMAS! THE RED OGRE! LARSEN!!!"
Thunder. Absolute thunder from the stands. The name alone was enough to set the arena ablaze. Cheers rang out like war drums, and chants of "OGRE! OGRE!" echoed like ancient hymns of bloodlust.
Xander's eyes widened. Then narrowed. And that grin grew just a hair darker.
'You clever little bastard,' he thought at the system. 'This whole time… this entire time you were setting me up for this? The quest. The beating. The nickname. You knew he was my first match.'
He tuned in with his enhanced perception. Voices hit his ears from all sides.
"Bet every dollar on Red Ogre. Easy clap." "That 'Phantom' guy's gonna get WRECKED." "He's gonna need a real phantom to carry his body out." "No offense, but the dude looks like he barely survived breakfast."
Every insult was like gasoline.
And Xander? He felt the spark catching.
He rolled his shoulders. Let the tension crack his spine. Let them all think what they wanted.
Then came the shift.
Silence. A strange, delayed silence as time ticked by and no one entered from the other side of the ring.
People murmured. Confusion spread like wildfire.
Seo Yura cocked her head, smile faltering. Her earpiece crackled. A staff member ran up to the podium, whispering something sharp and urgent.
She stilled.
Then looked up.
Right at Xander.
Her gaze was the kind that screamed accusations. What did you do?
Xander looked away, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence.
She took a breath and composed herself. Then raised her mic.
"Ladies and gentlemen… we regret to inform you that Thomas 'The Red Ogre' Larsen is officially out of commission and will NOT be participating in tonight's tournament."
It was like pulling the plug from a dam.
"WHAT?!" "NO WAY!" "He was a HEADLINER!" "Refund! I want a refund!!"
Yura pressed on, voice unwavering despite the noise.
"Therefore, by default… the victory goes to our newest contestant, The Scarlet Phantom."
A long, stunned silence.
Then outrage.
Betting slips flew like confetti. A man in a Red Ogre T-shirt tried to leap the guardrail and was tackled mid-air. Three spectators began fighting in their row, spilling drinks and fists. Security swarmed like bees to honey.
One woman shrieked, "I bet my RENT money on him, you scamming pigs!!" as two guards hauled her away.
Another shouted, "This is staged! He paid someone off!"
Booing. Screaming. Fingers pointed directly at Xander.
"Go home, poser!" "Take your fake win and run!"
Seo Yura clapped sharply.
"CALM DOWN! Yes, this is disappointing—but I PROMISE, we have a full night of explosive, jaw-dropping battles ahead! Don't blink. Don't look away. Or you'll miss something legendary."
The crowd didn't like it.
But they sat back down.
Somewhat.
Xander stood motionless, surrounded by the chaos his silence had created.
'…So I won. Just like that. From bleeding out to a free pass. I'll take it.'
A familiar flicker danced at the edge of his vision.
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
Block A, Match 1 Result: WIN (Default)
+10 EXP
Audience Reputation: +1 (Curious/Controversial)
He walked off the ring, tension still wrapped around him like armor.
And beneath it all?
Not just relief.
Vindication.
Thomas wasn't just beaten.
He was deleted…