11

Mouse repeated the blows he had seen the fighters give and went out to run with all his strength after having slept for a few hours, he was determined to do that thing they called exercise, which was called exercise, although Mouse did not notice anything, only that at the end of the day after running and climbing the infernal staircase he was tired, hungry and very hungry.

He had saved more than three thousand salaries, it was a real outrage, although he really did not know what he could get with that, if among the poop cleaners having enough to buy a skill that was 180 salaries was already an achievement, what could he get with three thousand salaries.

But Mouse's mind had begun to think beyond when he left the tunnels, what would he need to be a Battle Suit fighter? He needed to know how he could reach that goal, otherwise all the plans he was building in his head would be just useless dreams.

In the dining room Mouse approached the guard, who looked at him with curiosity.

"I still don't know when you'll fight again, Mouse, don't be in such a hurry, these things aren't easy..."

"It's not that."

"So what do you want?"

"How can you become a Battle Suit fighter?"

"Ha ha ha, you haven't even won two fights, and you're already thinking big, well that's not so easy for the kids from the gutter, to be able to use a Battle Suit you have to advance to be a class E, otherwise it's impossible..."

"And how do you advance in class..."

"That's the hard part, you don't only have to have saved up to buy most of the skills of that class, that's expensive especially for the great skills, and this is the easy part so to speak, also physical improvements that eliminate your class G defects, at least the most obvious ones and that's the most expensive, and on the other hand there are the merits to the station so that they propose you and the general evaluation, if you don't have potential, or you have a limp or something like that it's possible that you advance to class F, but E is impossible with a basic defect..."

Mouse put on a sad face, really the panorama that he was telling him was not good, it was a very long road for a pooper, two strokes of luck didn't make a fortune, he needed all the factors in his favor to be able to reach that point.

"Don't make that face Mouse, if you do well in the Hurricane you might be lucky, and get accepted into a fighting school, you'll have to work, and fight to entertain at fighting nights and be able to buy the upgrades, but it's not easy, there will be kids from class F too and those from class E, the latter are the worst"

"A fighting school?"

"Yes, at our station there are three ex-fighters who teach and sponsor kids, they keep a part of their earnings and the kids also get a debt with the big guy, but he teaches them the tricks, the things they need to know to be a Battle Suit fighter."

These words filled Mouse's head with illusions, he was just a kid, it was a difficult path, but he had been walking that path since they let him go into the tunnels, he just had to work hard and keep going. Winning the Hurricane, that was his goal from now on.

Knowing the path he had to reach gave him wings to run, to climb the stairs, to practice the punches as if there was nothing else.

He redoubled his efforts in that useless thing they called training, who had thought that getting tired could be of any use? But Mouse gritted his teeth and tried even harder.

In his head, he reviewed his two fights and all the ones he had seen, movement by movement. The intensive exercise made him hungry, but he had no problem paying for his food, he could even afford to eat a half ration if he wanted, although he didn't, he didn't want the excess to make him feel bad. Mouse had no one to guide him, no one to tell him what he should or shouldn't do, he only acted on instinct.

A few days later Fang told him that his third fight would be in ten days, but this time he had to be careful, his opponent was a child who had already won two fights in another club on the station like him, they would not fight at the beginning of the night, but at the end, as the main course of the day, since many potential sponsors would see them to give them or not an invitation.

Nimus Blacker would not be the only class E who would be watching and evaluating him, many Class E adults, those who ran the station had this type of entertainment. The Gretia was a mining space station, lost in a remote region of space, where they extracted metal and ice from the asteroid belt. Life was monotonous and boring, fights and wrestling were the few things that could get them out of their boredom.

"So I won't be able to see the other fights?"

"Don't worry, that can be fixed, although I recommend you don't binge on rat stew before the match."

"I know, I don't want to end up like Chupacubos."

"Exactly, kid, exactly."

Fang was getting a taste for that scrawny but tough boy, he was determined and intelligent, he didn't need things explained to him twice to understand them, something that didn't usually happen with the rest of the kids.

Mouse had to squeeze those eight days to the maximum. The last time, the rest before the fight had worked, all that muscle pain, all that fatigue from training had diminished, and although a little tense he arrived in perfect condition to the fight. If something had worked, why change it?

He pushed himself harder and harder, running longer, running faster, climbing the stairs faster, reaching further, using only his arms to pull himself up. More than once he fell while running or was left hanging by one hand on the stairs when his hands slipped.

In his cubicle he repeated the movements over and over again, how they turned their shoulders, how they leaned on one leg or turned their hips to throw a kick. Mouse had nothing else, he had no other guide than his memory and those fights he had seen in the wrestling club.

One of the fights the night before had caught Mouse's attention, after an exchange of blows the two contenders had crashed to the ground, but there they held on, changing position and locking their legs and arms. They didn't hit each other, they didn't react like most of the boys he had fought with so far in the sewers trying to get on top of each other to hit each other. They preferred to twist, until the winner of the fight dislocated his opponent's shoulder, tearing off the joint of the Battle Suit.

But the movements they made on the ground were impossible for the boy to reproduce or even try to simulate. But Mouse saw an opportunity, one of the worst things that could happen to him was to fall on his back and have the other boy start hitting him. That would lead to his defeat if he ever found himself in that situation. But if instead of just covering himself, the only thing he would have done instinctively before, he tried to take the fight to a game in the mud, to twist one arm or grab the other, even if he would win the fight with his poor technique, he might win the opportunity to get back on his feet.

The days passed one after another while Mouse trained, and before he knew it, the night of the fight arrived, although this time it surprised him, before putting him in the garbage can he had brought a thick brush, water and a little soap, they were things that Mouse had never seen before.

"What is that for?"

"Clean yourself up, the smell of shit and sweat you give off can scare away potential sponsors, and no E-class would take you home smelling like shit."

"Clean yourself up?"

"Yes, take the brush, dip it in that bucket and scrub yourself, let's see if that gets rid of that crust of grime you have..."

The experience for Mouse was not pleasant, it was as if his protective part was being removed. The water for the child had only been to drink from the dispensers in the dining room, it was the only thing they gave them for free and in as much quantity as he could take. This was something he had not expected. He had always wondered why the guards and adults did not have that blackish skin with crusts like the children, but he would never have guessed that water was used for that.

The smell left by the soap reminded him of the floor of the dining room, and the boy was right, Fang had simply poured a splash of the floor cleaner into the bucket of water.

After more than ten minutes of rubbing himself, Mouse could see his reflection in the water of the bucket. It was the first time he had seen his face clean since he left the farm. The boy could not be said to have become handsome, but at least he was clean. Fang put him in the bucket and began the journey to the fight club. That evening would bring many surprises to all of them.