Chapter Text
(Namtan's POV)
The buzzer announcing the start of the seventh round sounded as if it were underwater. An unbearable, pressing ringing filled my ears. My mouth instantly filled with the salty, thick taste of my own blood.
I sat on the stool in my corner, breathing heavily, my vision blurring wildly. My thoughts spun in a frantic whirlwind around those strange, mocking words Mira had said at the end of the sixth round. “What kind of a damn game are they playing?” I thought panickily, trying to steady the shaking in my hands. Why on earth did she blabber that nonsense about an agreement and about me hitting too hard? What were the Dragons trying to pull right now, in front of everyone?
My gaze darted across the hall: Chen was in his VIP box, calmly sipping his tea, and behind Nanon’s back stood Jay with an absolutely blank, stony face. Everything inside me turned upside down with a sickening presentiment of trouble, but I couldn't grasp any logic in their actions. They were clearly playing their own hidden and very dangerous game.
Emi was frantically applying ice to my broken jaw. Her eyes were wild with shock and incomprehension, her hands trembling. She leaned in sharply, almost touching her forehead to mine, and whispered fearfully:
— Namtan, damn it, what was that?! What the hell was that bitch talking about?! Why did she say you guys "didn't agree to this"?! What agreement is she talking about, Nam? Kirk is furious, he heard it! Nanon is looking at us like he’s ready to execute us right here! Tell me what's going on!
I grabbed Emi by the wrist, heavily swallowing blood, and rasped directly into her face:
— Emi, calm down! There is no agreement, you know me! I have no idea what she's talking about! The Dragons... they’re just playing some dirty, clever game. It’s a provocation, they want to mess with my head and turn Nanon against us because they can’t win this fight fairly!
— Damn it... — Emi froze for a second, breathing heavily, and then shook me hard by the shoulders, trying to bring back my fighting spirit. — Fine. Forget it. Throw her nonsense out of your head. Go out there and just kill that bitch!
Leaning on the ropes, I heavily forced myself up. The right side of my jaw ached terribly, but I stubbornly forced myself to raise my head and look at our box. Film stood right at the edge of the railing. Her face was as pale as chalk, tears streaming down her cheeks in large drops, but her eyes held such a pure, endless faith in me that my heart wrenched with pain. She was silently moving her lips, repeating: “You can do it, Nam. I’m with you.”
The referee signaled us to engage, and Mira and I faced each other in the center of the cage once again.
**Round 7**
I tried to regain control over my own body. Throwing my hands forward on pure, years-honed street reflexes, I fired a sharp left jab, followed by a hard right hook. My gloves found their mark, and Mira’s face was covered in blood again, but instead of showing pain, the wretch just laughed insanely and hoarsely. She boldly pressed forward again, closing the distance and intentionally forcing me into a tight clinch against the fence. I locked her arms, getting ready to turn her and execute a throw, but Mira suddenly threw her entire weight against me, pinning my back against the steel mesh. And then she whispered right into my ear—a fast, chilling whisper that made my blood run cold.
— You're too stubborn, babe... — she hissed while the referee circled us from the opposite side of the ring. — Do you think those were just words? Look at your precious Lady Film. Right now. Look up and glance at her. If you don't drop in this fight right now, her head will blow into pieces right in front of everyone's eyes.
In that split second, the Dragons' game finally revealed itself in all its horrifying completeness. All my fighting rage and adrenaline vanished in a single moment, replaced by a wild, primal terror. Screw the fight, screw the referee, and screw the roaring crowd.
And at that exact moment, when my gaze focused on her, a thin, barely noticeable red beam slid out from the darkness of the hangar's upper ceiling beams. Right on the pale, clean forehead of Film, who noticed nothing and only looked at the ring in fear, a tiny ruby dot of a laser sight began to dance lazily. There it was—their real game. My girl was being held at sniper's gunpoint.
— No... — a hollow, choked gasp escaped my lips, sounding more like the groan of a wounded beast.
Mira took advantage of my numbness instantly. With a swift, agile movement, she broke the clinch and landed a devastating low kick with all her might against my injured left thigh, followed by a brutal barrage of punches straight to my face. I didn't even raise my hands to defend myself. I just stood there, staring with wide eyes up at that cursed red dot on my girlfriend's forehead. Every blow from Mira threw my body back, my head snapping from side to side, but I felt absolutely no pain. Only one single thought pounded like a hammer in my brain: “Just not Film. Please, shoot me, just not Film.”
The final buzzer literally saved me from falling. Barely staying on my feet, staggering and leaving drops of blood on the canvas, I somehow managed to limp to my corner and collapsed heavily onto the stool. Emi rushed to me, as pale as death—she saw that I had completely stopped fighting, but now I just squeezed her hand tightly, silently begging her to just let me finish this nightmare and lay down for the sake of saving Film.
Rounds 8 - 9
Those two rounds turned into a slow, agonizing execution for me. I completely stopped attacking. Emi stood below by the mesh, biting her lips until they bled and barely holding back her tears—she no longer shouted any commands to me, understanding that I was throwing the fight for some terrible reason. Kirk, in total panic and rage, kept slamming his fist against the steel frame of the ring, demanding action from me, but I only feebly simulated a defense, letting Mira literally destroy my body.
I endured every single blow. Film’s crying echoed from the box—she was openly sobbing now, not understanding why her strong Namtan had turned into a living punching bag and wasn't even trying to punch back. Every time Mira trapped me in a clinch against the fence, she mocked me, whispering in my ear: “Good girl, babe. Just a little more.” And I submissively took the hits, keeping Film in my sight and seeing that the laser sight was still there. For my girl to live, I had to lose. And I made that decision.
Round 10
I came out for the final round barely holding myself up. Purple, heavy hematomas completely covered my face, my breath rasped out of my chest with a wheeze, and my right eye was almost entirely swollen shut with blood. Mira looked at me with a triumphant, predatory snear. She knew the victory was in her pocket.
We met in the final clash. Mira made a fast, feinting swing with her left hand. I intentionally opened up my defense, dropping my hands completely down, and looked up at Film one last time. In that gaze of mine was all my love, all the heartbreaking pain, and a silent plea for forgiveness for not being able to protect the clan's reputation. The only thing that mattered was that she lived.
Bam!
Mira put all her remaining strength into a final, devastating right overhand straight into my unprotected jaw. The blow was horrific. My knees buckled, and I crashed to the canvas of the cage like a felled tree. The dull thud of my body hitting the canvas seemed to echo in the chest of everyone present in that hall.
— One! Two! Three! — hoarsely, as if through cotton wool, I heard the referee's count.
I lay on my back, staring into the dark, high ceiling of the hangar. And in that very second, I saw that the small red dot on Film's forehead finally vanished—the sniper had lowered the weapon. The danger had passed. My girl was safe. I closed my eyes. My street training and physical strength would have allowed me to get up even after a hit like that; I could have stood up on the count of eight. But I consciously chose to stay down on the floor, feeling the canvas beneath my head soak with blood. I allowed the referee to utter the final words:
— Nine! Ten! Outright knockout! The winner is Mira! The Dragon Clan!
The hall around us exploded deafeningly into shouts and boos. Forcing myself, I imagined how shocked Nanon, Kirk, Jay, and all our guys must be right now. We had lost. The massive shipment of cargo and all our influence now transferred to the Dragons by the law of the Code. I had failed the clan, failed the people who believed in me... but I didn't care.
As soon as the iron cage door slammed open, I heard the fast, erratic clicking of heels. Film, disregarding all the guards, rules, and decorum, flew down the stairs of the VIP balcony like a bullet. She burst inside the ring and fell to her knees with tears straight into the dirt and blood next to me, gently lifting my head into her palms.
— Nam! Nam, wake up, please! Oh my god, what happened?! Why didn't you fight?! — Film wailed frantically, pressing her face against my bloody, battered cheek. Her hot tears dripped onto my skin.
With great effort, I cracked my left eye open. Struggling to lift my heavy, trembling hand, I faintly touched her clean, untouched cheek with my fingers. A faint, painful, but the most sincere and relieved smile of my life appeared on my bloody lips. I didn't care what would happen next. The main thing was that Film was alive, and she was with me.