Pre Duel

Kyler's POV

30 minutes earlier...

After I left the sitcom "Roommates," I needed to find the noticeboard. Why? Well, because I assumed there wasn't a duel going on 24/7. Wait—since it's been 3000+ years, are there still 24 hours in a day? Nah, I'm sure it's the same. I've got to be overthinking it. Anyway, where is that damn noticeboard?

I found myself wandering the wide-open halls, catching many glances from passersby.

"Aha! It's over here," I said, spotting a large board filled with bold names and versus titles, making it look strikingly similar to promotional material for a UFC fight. A few men were crowded around the area. I moved in closer and tried to see the times.

There's supposed to be one at 1:30.

Huh. Is there a clock somewhere? What time is it?

As I tried to back away sharply to find a clock, my shoulder lightly brushed against a huge, pot-bellied guy. In an instant, he grabbed my wrist with an iron grip, tightening it.

"Who do you think you are?"

His whole appearance made me think of an obese Steve from Minecraft, as his haircut was perfectly flat on top, giving his head a cube-like appearance. His smirk, filled with hostility and arrogance, finally registered in my mind—but then, in an instant, he was petrified.

"Kyler, I didn't know you were back."

He let go of my wrist as if I had suddenly become too hot to handle, which I am.

Again, I didn't know how to react. All of these situations are so ridiculously over-exaggerated. Before this, I never needed to talk to anyone, and now I get this stereotypical bully.

Looking down at my wrist, I saw a red handprint where his grip had been.

Rubbing my wrist, I glanced back at the guy, who was now avoiding eye contact, his bravado completely gone. The others around the noticeboard exchanged awkward glances, a few of them whispering under their breath. "Kyler's back?" "Mord's Dead." I caught snippets, but none of it made sense. It felt like I was missing the punchline to every joke since i came here, a joke everyone else was in on.

"Hey," I said, directing my words at the pot-bellied guy. "Do you know what time it is?"

He flinched, his face going pale. "I-I think it's around one." His voice cracked as he scrambled to step back into the crowd, bumping into one of his friends in the process.

One o'clock. That gave me thirty minutes. I turned toward the board again, scanning the names. There it was: Mord vs. Hartly 1:30, Arena 2.

Now I just need to find Arena 2. Mr. Cube's friend—or lackey, or food, whatever the relationship—suddenly made a small clicking noise with his tongue, and a slow smile crept up his face. He tapped Mr. Cube on his shoulder, and Cube flinched from the tense situation. Lackey 1 then muttered something to his face, and Cube, as if not convinced by whatever Lackey 1 had said, looked at me apprehensively. His gaze drifted to my wrist, and seeing the red mark, a slow, malicious grin spread across his face. He then gestured at what I assumed was Lackey 2.

"Tell Hartly that he is no longer needed and is allowed to withdraw." Lackey 2 nodded and immediately turned, striding across the room. Cube watched him go, then turned back to me, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous calm. I couldn't help but feel the weight of his stare, like he was measuring me, sizing me up as if I were already a corpse waiting to be disposed of. The smile on his face never faded, though it became more twisted.

"Well, Kyler, how about you have a duel with me?" He said it like a question, but I knew it was a command.

"No thanks." I immediately tried to slink away, but his hand reached for the back of my collar and firmly held me in place.

"I wasn't asking." His words held a sadistic glee, as if his lost confidence and ego had been fully replenished.

What am I going to do? I can't fight. The only times I fought In the past was when it was one-sided or a surprise attack, and I don't have the confidence to sucker-punch this guy. What if he eats it?

I tried to yank myself free, but his grip tightened, pulling me back. My pulse hammered in my ears as his face loomed closer. There was something terrifying in his eyes, a kind of cold amusement that made my stomach churn. He was enjoying this—enjoying seeing me squirm.

"You don't get to run, Kyler," Cube said, his voice smooth, almost playful, as if we were discussing something trivial. "You've caught my attention now, and that means you're finally able to be dealt with."

I grit my teeth, my mind scrambling. I couldn't let him control me like this. My fingers clenched at my sides, desperate for some kind of solution.

Think, think, think.

I Know what to do. The strongest most move in every timeline…

I pointed over his shoulder and gave a feined terrified expression.

"What the hell is that?"

"What?" As he quickly turned his pixelated head i made my attempt.

Insert attempted sucker punch.

(The Marty Mcfly)

But much to my horror, my fist didn't even land. As if by instinct, his arm shot out of nowhere, his wrist bent at an impossible angle, redirecting my punch so that it brushed harmlessly past his head.

Well, I'm screwed.

I stood frozen for a moment, staring in disbelief. His reaction was so fast, so effortless, it was as though he had been expecting me to try something. The smug smile returned to his face, sharper now, as if savoring my failure.

"You really thought that would work?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement. He stepped forward, forcing me to take a step back. "You've got guts, Kyler, but now you can't back them up." Then with a quick movement his hand shot out, he grabbed my thumb and bent it at an unnatural angle with a dull cracking sound. I gasped, the sharp pain shooting through my hand like a bolt of electricity. My knees wobbled, and I bit back a scream, trying to keep my composure. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I struggled to pull away, but his grip was unyielding, his strength crushing.

"How does being weak feel now?" Cube's voice was cold, almost mocking as he twisted my thumb further, sending fresh waves of agony through me. The grin on his face was nothing short of sadistic now. "I will duel you so please stop." The words barely escaped my lips, shaky and strained. I could feel warm tears running down my cheek, the humiliation mixing with the excruciating pain in my hand. The tears felt like weakness, but there was nothing I could do to stop them. I couldn't even focus enough to control my own body, let alone fight back effectively.

Cube's laughter was low and cruel. He didn't loosen his grip, instead, he twisted my thumb again, just enough to make me flinch harder. "You think I care about your surrender? I'll do whatever I want with you. Your words mean nothing." I could hear a few of the bystanders' whispers.

"Why isn't he doing anything?"

"Did Mord get that much stronger?"

"Should we get someone to stop this?"

Just then, sharp and loud clopping noises echoed through the room, sounding like high heels striking the floor. A woman who looked like a lost runway model appeared, her presence as commanding as it was striking. She surveyed us with a disdainful gaze, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable.

"In academy grounds, there will be no fighting. If you have a grievance, duel," she said, her voice cool and authoritative.

Mord, or Cube, didn't hesitate. His response was almost immediate, his tone surprisingly obedient. "Yes, ma'am."

I couldn't believe it. This was the moment she showed up? She let him off the hook—she gave him the opportunity to beat me up in front of an audience. I felt a surge of frustration flood through me.

"You heartless woman," I muttered under my breath, glaring at her.

The woman didn't acknowledge my words, her gaze already shifting from Mord to me, assessing with an almost clinical detachment.

"Consider yourself lucky," she said to me, her voice carrying a bite. "You won't survive here if you don't learn how the world works. If you have enough power, then the rules are merely a recommendation. So don't waste your opportunity."

Her words stung more than I expected. Her cold indifference made it clear she didn't care about the why—just the order. Her attitude was infuriatingly bitchy.

"Hartly withdrew from the duel," she said with an air of detached finality. "Since the schedule was already posted, you will need a new opponent." She turned to face me fully, her gaze sharp and laced with malice. "And I already heard you agree to the duel with your own mouth. What was it you said?"

Her lips curled into a mockery of a smile as she mimicked my earlier words in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice. "I will duel you, so please stop."

The room was silent except for the sound of my teeth grinding together. This woman—this bitch—needed to be put in her place. My mind raced with imagined methods of revenge, ways to wipe that smug look off her face. But I couldn't act on any of it. Not yet.

"Congratulations, Hollow King," she continued, her tone dripping with condescension. "If you don't show up for your duel, then you will face punishment." Her smirk widened as if she knew exactly how much power she held over me in that moment.

I clenched my fists, the mark on my wrist pulsing faintly as frustration bubbled inside me. The title she used—Hollow King—felt like another jab, a mockery. I am starting to hate this title. Because only Jerks call me that. Cube then as if his wish was fulfilled let go of my thumb and giddily walked away and said "I will kill you in the stadium." I could only whimper in pain, clutching my hand as I tried to steady my breathing. My thumb was swollen, looking like bent straw, and throbbing, the dull ache making it hard to think straight. Every small movement sent sharp jolts of pain up my arm, a constant reminder of how outmatched I was.

The woman—the self-proclaimed enforcer of academy rules—didn't so much as glance at me as she turned on her heel and began to leave. Her heels clicked against the floor, each sound like a nail being hammered into my Skull.

I swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall again. My thumb wouldn't stop shaking, and the thought of facing Cube in the arena made my stomach churn. But the mark on my wrist pulsed again, faint but insistent, like it was trying to remind me of something I couldn't quite grasp. What do i do?

I could avoid the fight but what was the punishment she mentioned. I don't know if i can risk it. You know what screw honor and dignity If I have to fight and be humiliated I am taking Cube with me.

Present...

Shit, I'm still here, and I don't even know if my plan is going to work.

Mord grinned wickedly as he stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "I've been waiting for this moment. A chance to crush a so-called legend."

I could only glare at Cube with a mix of fear and anger. I might get beaten up, but I'll make sure you don't get any satisfaction from it.

"What's the matter, champ?" Mord taunted, stepping closer, his voice dripping with mockery. "Or is that amnesia I've heard about real?"

Hearing his words, the crowd made some confused noises.

Ah, it makes a bit more sense now. His sudden attitude change from cocky to cockroach and back again...

I couldn't even clench my left fist, so I kept it hidden in the Akatsuki robe. It was still throbbing from earlier. I forced myself to stand tall. For my risky experiment to work, I needed to push him—to make him really want to kill me. But that meant finding the perfect insult, something that would cut deeper than his overinflated ego could handle.

The problem? The only insults I could think of were references he wouldn't understand. Calling him something like, "You look like your favorite mobile game is DoorDash," or "someone who can only go down in elevators," wasn't going to cut it. I needed something harsher, more personal.

The commentators' words echoed throughout the stadium. "You all know the rules the winner is decided by knockout or surrender we have healers at the ready in case of any injury so go Nuts."

I could surrender Immediately, but I will save that for only if I think I am going to get hit, and what if I actually win?

The air horn's echo had barely faded before Mord lunged toward me, his speed shocking for someone built like a mountain. I didn't even have time to think; my legs moved on their own, carrying me in the opposite direction as fast as they could.

The crowd roared, and I couldn't tell if they were cheering for me, Mord, or just enjoying the absurdity of what was happening. The circular arena layout worked in my favor—I started sprinting along the curved edge, weaving slightly to throw him off.

Mord's heavy footsteps thundered behind me, and I could hear his ragged breaths growing closer.

"You're just delaying the inevitable!" he shouted, his voice booming over the noise.

"Yeah, well, I like my inevitables delayed!" I shot back, risking a glance over my shoulder.

Big mistake. He was closer than I thought, his eyes blazing with fury.

I pushed harder, my legs burning as I maintained the gap between us. Time for some insults to make him angrier.

"Is this really your top speed, Mord?" I said while spanking my own butt in a deliberately provocative gesture.

His growl in response was almost animalistic.

"Oh no, you're catching up!" I gasped dramatically, then smirked. "Just kidding! Don't try too hard, or do you need a snack break?"

The crowd's laughter stung him more than my words. He roared in frustration, picking up speed, but I was ready. I feigned a stumble, slowing just enough to bait him into a reckless charge.

Then, at the last second, I veered sharply to the left, cutting across the arena. Mord skidded, his momentum carrying him too far forward before he could correct himself.

"Nice try!" I yelled, already circling back to my original path. "If you need motivation, imagine that I am food!"

Mord's curses were coming out in gasps. I couldn't help but grin. My strategy wasn't working yet.

But my body was already protesting. I couldn't keep this pace up forever. I needed a backup plan, in case my suspicion wasn't right, and I needed it fast.

"You surprised me. I didn't know you could run," I taunted over my shoulder, panting heavily.

He snarled, his expression promising pain. But the longer this went on, the more frustrated he got—mere insults weren't going to do it. This is my plan to use my authority. I'm trying to mimic the same conditions that happened with the Earth dragon. That's right. I am not stupid; it wouldn't faint for no reason. I am guessing the conditions are that the enemy has to want to kill me and attempt to hit me with a killing strike.

This is all a very risky gamble, but if it works, I can win without getting injured. Thinking about injuries, I couldn't help but pull out my thumb. To my surprise, while it was still swollen, it didn't look like a broken stick anymore. Hoh, do I have a healing factor? Am I the next Wolverine?