THROWN INTO THE WOLVES

The main attraction of the eleventh deck's test hall was verily the ice dumpster; however, numerous minor events were also always taking place at several spots.

Some events showcased people testing the coarseness of their skin while some others promoted people to harden their tootsies by moving atop a mat embedded with small and spiky substances or to alleviate oneself in the art of contending and tangling with tumult.

All the minor events helped entries tackle the main test under a brilliant light, enticing them into trying them all out despite the exorbitant prices put by the event holders. Some of these events might be a bit painful to watch for those with faint hearts, but even they could find subtly-funny moments thanks to entries frequently mishitting each other in foolhardy ways.

The inflow of the masses into the hall would always be more than the outflow for most hours of the day. Currently, it was a peak time, so all the roads leading to the hall bustled with men except for one undulating road—one which served as a way to reach the staircase that led people to the next deck in line to the top.

A handful of entries, who won in the previous rounds of the deck test, could be seen strolling in Winner's Street, where private booths were set up. These booths primarily sold clothes, pills, and certain creams with at least ten percent more discount than how they were sold elsewhere on the same deck.

One Winner's Street existed on every deck, and only the winners of the deck test were warranted to step foot on it. On the whole, most of the losers envied the winners for not so omnifarious reasons, and because of that, most winners directly entered Winner's Street, whereas a few still chose to stay on the same deck.

Lirzod, Sariyu, and Burton stepped onward, leaving behind both Hundred and 777, who briefly glanced at each other before minding their own business. 777 stayed right where he was while Hundred went to the betting counter.

Hundred had only sixteen silver with him, so he used all of it. Even if he had more, he probably wouldn't have placed all of it in the bet, though he would have bet up to one gold, at best.

Watching Hundred at the betting counter, 777 gave out an abstruse smile. (Betting on whom, I wonder.)

Hundred came back and stood at a distance to 777 before exchanging short-lived smiles as if they were obligated.

"Never spend money on those who didn't earn it," 777 said loud enough that his voice reached Hundred's ears. "It's an easy but effective principle for anyone to follow, yet, I guess, some people never learn things."

"It's good if one minded their business as well," Hundred snorted as they both were looking in different directions.

Hundred then focused on observing the game and the participants. (Whew, I hope luck is on my side today.) With every passing second, the rhythm of his heartbeat grew erratic. (I wish I had taken more money from that positive parker.) While brushing fingers through his hair, he looked for a higher spot in the crowd who all positioned themselves on the audience stands sculpted from a special brown-colored rock. Hundreds of people sat there to watch the event from either side of the ice dumpster.

777 glanced back at Hundred in a brazen smile. (Not so sure about the win, are you? No use worrying about it now. Your money is as good as gone.)

Though Hundred could feel 777's stare on his skin, he appeared like he wasn't bothered.

At that moment, a blonde guy came to Hundred and asked, "Hey, sir, do you want to participate in the Derxes Skin Contest?." He pointed the direction with his thumb, "It's right there in the southern end of the hall."

"No thanks," Hundred lightly waved his hand, telling him to leave.

The blonde guy leaned forward before speaking in a genial accent, "You can give it a try in the least, sir. I can assure you that it will be fun."

Hundred glanced at him in a galled gaze. "How does my skin look like?"

"Pardon?"

"In your eyes, my skin getting cut is impossible," Hundred's frigid voice startled the blonde guy. "Am I correct?"

"W-Who knows, sir?" the blonde guy's unremitting tone sounded out after he recovered his composure in no time, "You might hit it big."

"Yeah, I will get cut big," Hundred snorted as he broke eye-contact. "That's what will happen."

"You don't know that until you try." The blonde guy slightly stretched the smile, his tonality as blandishing as ever as he spoke, "you might just wake up the sleeping spirit inside you."

Hundred stood from his seat and stared right into the man's eyes, conveying much more than what he was about to speak. "I don't know if the contest can do that or not, but if you don't escort your ass off here in the next five seconds, you will see the spirit right here and now."

The blonde guy's shoulders jerked from startlement, "I-I think I just heard someone call my name." He hurriedly turned away and began to leave in quick strides.

Hundred plopped back in his seat.

"Know that you are missing something that can make you rich, sir," the blonde guy's voice reached Hundred's ears, irking him further, but didn't even bother to cast another glance at him, for he knew that the blonde guy approached him after probably seeing him at the betting counter.

"Like how it never rains on this ship, it never ceases to amaze me how people always find a new way to steal other people's money." Hundred couldn't help but reinforce his thoughts. "I don't get why no matter the place I go, there are always more ways to lose than to earn money. If I'm not careful, I will lose everything I've stacked till now."

Unlike some people, who used various contests to cheat the new entries on the deck and earn boatloads of money, Hundred just resorted to selling tickets for higher prices with no restraint, which was wholly allowed. Most hollows did the same thing as Hundred did for earning some quick coins. Howbeit, because of the heavy competition, such a profession never yielded consistent profits in the long run, and there was also the typical case of hollows grouping together to assert dominance on certain days. In worst cases, they even came after the loners and scared them into working for them.

There were many instances when Hundred lost his hard-earned money, especially in recent times. And his experience brought him into the batch of hollows who believed that the best way to avoid unnecessary troubles with other hollows was to climb the decks with an entry.

Choosing the right entry was crucial to any hollow as it had the potential to change their lives in either good or bad ways. Higher decks meant higher stakes and better chances for forming grand connections with hellacious ones, but it also contained the risk of meeting egregious ones. Still and all, most hollows supposed that the payoff was almost always worth it. Hundred, however, held mixed feelings regarding that prospect.

"You've done a good thing, mister," the person, who was seated next to Hundred, said in a friendly manner. "You might gain more just by sitting on this beast rock than what you may get by participating in that contest."

Hundred looked to his left and got dazed by a familiar haircut. It was without a doubt a wonder as to how the twenty-inch long sunny hair managed to stand straight as though unaffected by the air currents nearby. Even such a haircut paled when compared to the man who owned it.

"I'm Tarkan Solorzano, also known as the Inch Man." Unfitting his small figure, his voice was surprisingly soft yet oozed confidence.

Hundred got pleasantly confounded, "I-I… Of course, I know you who are. Mr. Tarkan." Their hands met and shook, "I mean, Inch Man. Every hollow knows who you are." He, for sure, didn't expect to meet the honored Inch Man in such a fashion.

"Kah-ha, you can call me either way," Tarkan chortled. "It seems like you are in the process of choosing a nipper."

"Yes," Hundred pointed his finger toward Lirzod, his eyes brimming with clear ado. "That one."

"Oh... that boy," Tarkan perused Lirzod for a few seconds. "He's giving off fresh vibes. He's probably the type who brings new things to the table, though I could be wholly wrong, kah-haha." He turned his head toward Hundred, "can I ask what your first impression on him was?"

Hundred wasn't expecting such a question, so he pondered for a moment. He wasn't the same as Tarkan, who could sort of guess one's character from their face and capabilities from their actions. Hence, Hundred blurted out what was on top of his mind. "I would say 'recklessness,' maybe."

"Kah-ha, you see it in most people on this ship," Tarkan got a good amount of thrill from his response. "I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not, though." He observed Lirzod. "He progressed past the Dog Run, so he's not a complete newbie. Who knows? You might win more than just the bet, kah-haha."

Hundred rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. (He saw me place a bet, too, huh. Just how many eyes does this guy have?)

"Having said that…" Tarkan put up an unsmiling face. "Dog Run is one thing, but Circus of Wolves is an entirely different thing, be it in difficulty or scariness. Every year, only a handful of entries succeed this test in their first attempt itself."

Hundred's heartbeat raised steadily.

Generally, hollows gave an unofficial name to every deck test. The test on the tenth deck was known as Dog Run, where the entries were expected to run like dogs to finish the hundred-meter mark in the required time. Likewise, the test on the eleventh deck came to be known as Circus of Wolves.

Hundred hesitated a little to ask, but he was unable to hold back the thoughts so he ended up asking, "W-What do you think are his chances?"

At that time, Tarkan was staring at Lirzod who finished removing the footwear and was looking for a place to stand among the boorish and boisterous contestants. Most men were either six feet or taller, and compared to their sturdy bodies, Lirzod, Sariyu, and even Burton looked like children.

Tarkan's eyes turned sharp as they hovered over the contestants, "He isn't throwing himself into just any wolves; these are the tenebrous wolves—ones that would betray members of their pack without a shred of scruples. The chance of anyone expertly leading them is zero."

Hundred's eyes turned vacant, and he felt like his head was spinning. He clutched the sides of his head and inwardly frowned. (Why? Why did I place a bet knowing that winning in the first attempt is but a dream? I'm a fool! I shouldn't have listened to his deal.)

"Kah-ha," Tarkan continued, "I said, leading is not possible, but I never said anything about winning."

Hundred's eyes widened out of expectation. "You mean…"

"Surely, winning is possible," Tarkan's firm voice hoisted Hundred's hopes into the heavens. "By and large, the winner would not be the one that came out after conquering the packs, but the one who skedaddled his way through the variant wolves and reached the finish line first before succumbing to opponents' strength."

"I know, right?" Hundred's pulse fastened. "If everything goes well, his two followers will help him win."

"Two followers..." Tarkan's eyes only now observed both Burton and Sariyu, and it brought a smile on his face. (The three of them look like sheep compared to the rest, but we are not on hunting grounds, so even a sheep might make it out of the dumpster before the wolves do. Whether they win or not will depend on how hungry and smart the wolves are. Things should get interesting.)

"I hope they will win," Hundred murmured to himself and appeared to be praying.

Seeing him, Tarkan slightly smiled and said, "This deck turns dogs into wolves. If your boy has what it takes to be a wolf, he will come out victorious."