“Tag one, step into the ring.” The call snapped through the tension. A girl stepped forward.

  Flozy.

  She was small, even for her age. Her hair was braided tightly against her scalp, and her eyes burned with something sharp and stubborn. She walked into the ring with her fists already clenched, shoulders squared as if daring the world to break her.

  A boy followed.

  Andy.

  He rolled his neck as he stepped forward, lips curled in a sneer. He was broader than Flozy, heavier. His eyes flicked briefly toward Kelly, standing at the edge of the arena, before settling back on his opponent.

  “Begin,” Master Kangfu’s voice boomed. Flozy did not hesitate. She lunged.

  Her fist shot forward, fast and straight, connecting with Andy’s cheek before he fully registered her movement. The impact snapped his head sideways.

  The sound echoed. Andy staggered back half a step, shock flashing across his face before rage replaced it. “I will kill you,” he growled.

  “Try if you can,” Flozy snapped back, already moving again.

  She lifted her leg and swung it hard toward his ribs, the motion sharp and practiced. For a split second, it looked like it might land clean.

  But Andy caught her leg. His fingers locked around her ankle like iron. Flozy’s breath hitched. Andy pulled her closer and drove his fist forward. Straight into her right eye.

  Vuuush.

  The sound cut through the arena. Flozy collapsed instantly, hands flying to her face as she screamed.

  “Aaahhh! My eye! My eye! My eye!”

  Her voice was raw, panicked, ripping through the silence that followed. She rolled on the stone floor, clutching her face, legs kicking uselessly.

  Andy smiled. It was slow. Satisfied. “Get up, girl. I thought you were running your mouth a few minutes ago.”

  Flozy didn’t move. Her screams softened into sobs, breath hitching unevenly. Blood seeped between her fingers.

  Andy stepped forward and grabbed her by the head, yanking her head up. Her knee flew up on instinct, slamming into his skull.

  Crack.

  Andy gasped, stumbling back, hands flying to his head. For a moment, his vision split, the arena doubling and twisting.

  Flozy surged up. She did not think. She struck. Her fists slammed into his chest, his jaw, his throat. Each blow was desperate, fueled by pain and fury. Andy reeled backward under the assault, arms flailing as he tried to regain balance.

  A murmur rippled through the crowd. For a heartbeat, it looked like Flozy might turn it around.

  Then a voice sliced through the air. “Get up, Andy. Finish her up. Do not waste my time.”

  Kelly.

  He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. Andy froze for a fraction of a second, then his jaw tightened. He shoved Flozy away hard enough to send her crashing to the ground and straightened, breath coming hard.

  Flozy lunged again, one eye already swelling shut. Andy didn’t hesitate this time. He aimed. His fist drove straight into her only good eye, her left eye.

  Vuuush.

  The sound was wet. Final, and brutal. Flozy collapsed again, both hands clutching her face.

  “My eyes! My eyes! My eyes!”

  Her screams were higher now. Broken. Andy turned toward Kelly, chest heaving, searching for approval. Kelly met his eyes and dragged his thumb slowly across his own throat.

  Finish her.

  Andy nodded. He turned back to Flozy. She was writhing on the ground, sobbing, disoriented, her legs dragging uselessly behind her. Andy grabbed one leg and lifted it high.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Then he brought his foot down.

  Craaaack.

  The sound of cracking bones tore through the air. Flozy screamed, slamming her fists against the stone floor, her body convulsing. The crowd gasped. Some students covered their mouths. Others turned away.

  Andy didn’t stop. He grabbed her other leg.

  Craaaack.

  Another scream. Hoarse. Ragged. The cruelty felt endless. “You will never fight again,” Andy growled. He reached for her right hand, fingers closing around it. He lifted his foot, preparing to crush it.

  “That is enough.” Master Kangfu’s voice thundered across the arena. “You already won.”

  Andy froze, then released her. He stood slowly, lifting his arms toward the sky, chest swelling as he waited. No applause came. The arena was silent. Then one clap rang out.

  Kelly.

  Then another. Then the rest of his gang joined in, their clapping slow and deliberate, mocking in its isolation. Andy grinned and basked in it, turning in place as if soaking up invisible cheers.

  Harry didn’t see any of that. His eyes were fixed on Flozy. She lay broken on the stone floor. Her eyes were swollen shut, blood streaking her cheeks. Her legs bent at angles that made Harry’s stomach twist. She wasn’t screaming anymore.

  That was worse. Monks rushed in at last, moving carefully, lifting her as if she might shatter completely if handled too roughly. Her sobs were quiet now. Hollow.

  Harry swallowed hard. Around him, the other students stood frozen. Some stared at Flozy as she was carried away. Others stared at their own hands, flexing their fingers slowly, as if suddenly aware of how easily bones could break.

  Kelly laughed softly somewhere behind him.

  Harry’s fists clenched.

  For the first time, the truth settled into him fully. They were not just fighting for promotion. They were not just fighting for their kingdoms.

  They were also fighting for their lives.

  Other fights went on that day. They blurred together after a while. Faces. Shouts. The dull thud of bodies hitting stone. Sometimes a cry rose too sharp to ignore, and the crowd would flinch as one. Other times, it was quiet. Too quiet. Just breath and bone and the scrape of skin against the arena floor.

  But no matter how many fights followed, no matter how much blood stained the ring, Tag One stayed lodged in everyone’s head. Flozy’s scream lingered in the air long after she was carried away.

  Harry watched the remaining matches with legs that trembled beneath him. He did not sit. He did not speak. He stood with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, nails digging into his skin as if anchoring him to the ground. Each time a blow landed, his shoulders jerked. Each time someone fell, his stomach twisted.

  When the final bell rang and Master Fen dismissed them, relief washed over the arena like a weak tide. Students began to drift away in silence. No one laughed. No one boasted.

  Harry went back to his quarters alone. The room felt smaller than usual. The walls pressed in on him, thick with shadows. He sat on his bed and tried to breathe, trying to tell himself it was over for the day.

  But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Flozy’s face. Her hands clawed at her eyes.

  The sound of bone cracking. The way her screams faded into something quieter.

  Harry pressed his palms against his jaws, as if he could force the images out. He lay back and stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks, tracing them with his eyes.

  It didn’t help.

  At some point, he sat up. Slowly. “He is just a man like me,” Harry whispered. The words sounded thin at first, like they didn’t belong to him. He swallowed and said them again, louder this time.

  “He is just a man like me.”

  He pushed himself to his feet. The stone floor was cold beneath his bare soles. He moved to the center of the room and took a stance, feet apart, knees slightly bent. His arms rose, awkward at first, then steadier.

  One step. Then another. Left. Right. Pivot.

  He repeated the movements he had learned, slowly at first, then faster. His body remembered even when his mind hesitated. Each step smoothed into the next. Each turn felt a little less uncertain.

  Sweat gathered at his temples. His breathing deepened. Again. Again. Again.

  By the time exhaustion crept into his limbs, his chest was heaving and his muscles burned. He stopped, bent forward with his hands on his knees, drawing in long breaths.

  The room felt too tight now. Too hot. He needed air. Harry climbed the stairs, each step echoing softly in the empty corridors. The academy was quieter at this hour. Most students were resting, saving strength for the next day.

  He reached the last floor and pushed open the door. Cool air washed over him. Harry sat on the stone ledge, legs dangling over the edge, the academy sprawling beneath him. He stared out into the distance, lost in thought, his mind circling the same fears over and over.

  Then something below caught his eye.

  Movement.

  Harry leaned forward slightly. In the training yard below, someone was still practicing.

  Kelly.

  Harry’s legs trembled. Kelly stood alone, shirt discarded, muscles slick with sweat. He wasn’t using practice dummies. There were no padded posts. Only bones and rocks lay scattered at his feet.

  Kelly lifted a fist and struck downward.

  Crack.

  A bone shattered cleanly in two. He picked up another and struck again.

  Crack.

  Each blow was precise. Controlled. Like he knew exactly how much force was needed to destroy whatever lay before him.

  Kelly turned toward a stack of bricks. One punch. The bricks exploded into pieces. Harry’s chest tightened.

  Kelly didn’t even pause. He moved to a larger rock, rough and jagged. He struck it with his bare hand.

  A fracture spread across its surface. Another strike. The rock split apart.

  Harry’s heart clenched so hard it hurt. His mouth went dry. The weight of what he was facing pressed down on him all at once, heavy and suffocating.

  He stood abruptly. His legs felt weak as he turned and hurried away, footsteps echoing too loudly in his ears. He didn’t slow until he reached the restroom. He shoved the door open and stumbled inside, bracing his hands against the wall as he emptied his bladder, breath shaking.

  When he was done, he stood there for a moment, head bowed. He knew fear means defeat even before the fight begins.

  “God gives victory to those who are pure in heart,” he whispered. The words steadied him. Just a little.

  That night, far above him, at Level Eight Block, Kelly stood before Gabriel. The air there felt different. Heavier. Colder. Gabriel leaned against the railing, broad shoulders blocking the light behind him. His eyes glinted red in the dimness.

  “Tomorrow,” Kelly said carefully, “I am fighting your little brother.”

  Gabriel moved faster than Kelly expected. In one swift motion, he grabbed Kelly by the collar and slammed him against the wall, lifting him off his feet. Kelly’s breath left him in a sharp gasp.

  “Call him my brother again,” Gabriel said softly, dangerously, “and I will pull out your eyes.”

  Kelly nodded frantically. “I’m sorry, boss,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean to call that bastard your brother.”

  Gabriel released him.

  Kelly dropped to the ground, coughing, hands braced against the stone. Gabriel straightened and reached into his robe. He pulled out a tiny piece of metal and tossed it to Kelly. It glinted faintly as Kelly caught it.

  “A knife,” Gabriel said. “Make sure he doesn’t survive the fight.”

  Kelly bowed low. “Tomorrow he dies, boss.”

  Morning came too quickly. The bell rang through the academy, sharp and insistent, stirring the students from restless sleep. The air buzzed with anticipation, thicker than the day before.

  Especially for those who had not yet fought. Harry stood among them, his stomach knotted. He didn’t know how to feel. Hope flickered inside him, fragile and uncertain. But fear pressed harder, heavier.

  He remembered Flozy. He remembered Andy. He remembered Kelly breaking bone and stone with his bare hands.

  The first fight ended almost as soon as it began. Tanya, a tiny girl, lunged forward and was knocked unconscious in a single blow. Her body hit the ground and didn’t move.

  The crowd murmured uneasily. Then the call came. “Tag Forty-Four. Harry Jones versus Kelly Petterson. Step into the ring.”

  Harry’s heart twisted violently. For a few seconds, the arena faded. The noise dulled. The faces blurred. He saw Monica. She stood at the edge of the crowd, hands clasped tightly together. Her eyes met his.

  “Believe in yourself, Harry,” she said softly. “You are special and you can do all things.” The image snapped away. Harry exhaled slowly. That was all he needed. He stepped forward.

  One step.

  Then another.

  He walked into the ring.

  Kelly also walked into the ring. The stone floor seemed to harden under his steps. Each footfall sounded heavier than the last, like a drumbeat counting down something inevitable. His shoulders were loose, relaxed. His confidence was not loud. It did not need to be.

  His eyes fixed on Harry. Cold. Empty. Certain. As he came closer, Kelly lifted his hand and slowly dragged his thick finger across his throat.

  “You are dead,” he whispered. The words were not meant for the crowd. They were meant only for Harry.