As soon as I said that, everyone—I an EVERYONE blew up, because they were all waiting for to knock his loud-ass out, but I took the 'high ground' because of the damage he sustained. Even Quinn and Tatiana—our "refs"—couldn't believe what I just did because if it was any other day, I would've just knocked his ass out and took the winnings and the glory.
But no, I already proved that I could beat him in a fight and I sure as hell wouldn't lose to him any ti soon, but the only way to make him lose was to make him win.
It's fucking confusing, I know, and breaking a man's psyche and confidence in an exhibition match was uncalled for—usually, but doing all this shit for him would be a lesson he'd thank later.
Bartow's a man as a man could get but as my new "friend", now's the ti to learn so hard shit a man like him should also be capable of. A few from the top of my head were control, temperance, knowing when to stop, acknowledging one's limits, and so on.
Bull-headed people like him were destined to die early on and even if he was already aware of such things, it was still fucking dumb to ignore it and keep moving on.
But to be completely honest, as much as I would've hated to lose—even by forfeit—I'm sure that it definitely fucking sucks inside his head right now because even I would find this extrely unsatisfying and stupid as fuck. Then again, I still had so bones to pick with this motherfucker, and doing this type of shit would be a huge blow, especially for guys like him.
He's one of those types to rather die than go back with his tail between his legs and he couldn't even voice out his anger or co up to and demand to get knocked out because his torso and legs were that swollen and it was a fucking pain to just walk.
And yeah, I did technically lose but everyone still knew that I fucking won.
That's the hard fucking pill to swallow for Bartow.
But yeah, there was one other thing that I forgot:
A lot of my people fucking bet on .
Isaac started, "BROOOO! WHY'D YOU QUIT?! I BET MY GUN, MY KNIFE, AND MY ASS TO ROYO! I'M NOT SAYING ANYTHING BUT I WON'T BE ABLE TO WALK FOR A WEEK!"
"M-My pics… I just bet my nudes…"
"DUDE! I'M GONNA GET SLAPPED WITH A WHOLE FUCKING TUNA! THE FUCK?!"
"My hot pockets… I lost all my hot pockets…"
"That's not even that bad, Artem—"
"How dare you?! WHO BET AGAINST ?! DOUBLE OR NOTHING!"
Luckily, Kaley predicted that sothing was up and the ones sitting next to her were spared from losing shit from the betting pool. But yeah, even Unc Zardon was looking like he'd drive our truck to the water because he lost sothing important. In any case, what's done is done but to mitigate our losses, Artem, Kuzma, Tatiana, and a few more of our fighters stepped up and bet with the Marines.
Granted not all of them were professional fights, since even Seb and JP joined in to test the waters with the other privates, it was all in good fun and it increased morale and a bit of relationship points toward this camp.
But yeah, I was given a stern talking to by Bartow's grandpa and the Admiral because I should've really knocked him out when I had the chance instead of embarrassing him thoroughly, and also, Bartow wouldn't be available to go on runs tomorrow because of his injuries and a quick knockout would've been preferred.
'Brain damage is still worse but okay…'
In any case, our event went for a bit more than an hour before everyone soon did their own thing, but we found ourselves on the suite floor laughing at Quinn's annoyance from the lack of 45-pound plates in the supposed gym.
"CAN YOU SEE THIS SHIT?! THERE'S ONLY TWO PAIRS! TWO! WHAT KINDA FUCKING GYM IS THIS?!"
I piled on, "Have you seen the dumbbells—"
"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT, DON'T REMIND OF THE DUMBBELLS! WHO FUCKING GYMOWNER WOULD DECIDE TO HAVE IT GO UNTIL 35 POUNDS?! THEY ONLY HAVE ONE POWER RACK THAT'S MISSING ONE OF THE SAFETY BARS, TWO FUCKING USELESS CHEST MACHINES BUT A TON OF FUCKING TREADMILLS AND STATIONARY BIKES?! THEY DON'T EVEN HAVE AN ELLIPTICAL OR A STAIRMASTER!"
"It's weird they have a Kabuki bar though—"
"WHAT— Oh shit, you're right. The fuck— I'm more surprised you know what a Kabuki bar is."
"Heh. I don't deadlift as much compared to you but I do know so stuff, alright?"
"HAH! STILL FOR PUSSIES THOUGH! IF YOU WANNA PULL SO HEAVY SHIT, PULL IT ALL THE WAY! NOT AN INCH OFF THE GROUND!"
"Don't you sumo deadlift? It's almost the sa—"
"IT'S NOT THE SA THING!"
Ella nudged as she finally took the plugs out of her ears, "Is she really this loud?"
Everyone else nodded, including Jennifer, "Unfortunately, yes—"
Rachel who flew in with more supplies earlier cut in, "What's a Kabuki bar?"
I replied, "In short, it's a deadlift bar where it bends a lot, allowing you to pull a lot of slack and be in lockout position while the plates were only a few inches off the ground. It does have a lot of rits to it and it feels like cheating because you'd be able to pull more weight with that compared to the stiff bar but yeah, no one gives them too much shit compared to sumo lifters.
That's a whole other subject to complain about…"
"That's… That's not a short explanation at all—"
"Want the long one then?"
"No—"
Tatiana quipped from the side, "I'd like the long and thick one, please."
Quinn chuckled, " too but we have a kid over here—"
Ella sprang up, "Hey! I'm not a kid!"
"Uh-huh. I bet you don't know what we're about to do after this, huh?"
"W-What are you a-about to do then?"
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