Masks hung at a stand for guests who wished to conceal their identities.
Prostitutes danced in the dim light, dressed in little more than thin lingerie that left their full figures and soft curves bare.
The sight could make any man want to devote his life to this place.
Logan drank it in with a calm, unbothered expression.
The won here could rival top models from his previous world. Not a flicker of it moved through him.
A scantily dressed man spotted Logan across the floor and quickly made his way over, moving with the practiced ease of soone who had clocked fresh blood.
"Scram." Before he could utter a single word, Logan said it coldly.
The fat man shut his mouth, put on a wide smile, and changed directions almost smoothly, his expression never once shifting.
Logan turned toward the stack of masks.
He didn’t like the idea of hiding his identity, but the underground fight arena existed outside every law above ground. Caution was the sensible choice.
He reached for one shaped like a black leopard’s face, two jagged horns jutting outward from its edges.
He brought the mask to his face. It embedded itself instantly, sealing his identity beneath it completely.
It was a unique mask, built with nanites, designed to ensure there was no accidental risk of exposure even in the heat of battle.
Logan shifted his attention toward the swelling noise ahead.
He strolled inside. As he did, a gentle finger brushed against his chest.
"I can tell you’re a handso young man, don’t you wish to have so fun tonight?" The sultry voice drifted to Logan’s ears, enough to make a man’s knees grow weak. Logan didn’t pause in his steps.
A look of shock appeared on the prostitute’s face.
She recovered quickly. Another figure was approaching, and her charming smile slipped back into place.
"I can tell you’re a handso young man, don’t you want to have so fun tonight?" Sa line, sa voice, though with a faint edge sharpening beneath it this ti.
The man paused. He groped her, and she moaned loudly, leaning into him ever so slightly.
"Don’t you want to experience much more than touching?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her hand drifting toward his trousers and stroking lightly, a seductive, teasing expression on her face.
That was how they made money in this lawless place.
Any woman could end up here. So were slaves. Others had family debts that had forced them into such conditions.
Logan, who hadn’t seen any of it, couldn’t care less.
He walked toward the registration room.
As soon as he entered, he noticed a young woman behind the desk with a slightly exhausted expression.
Logan froze slightly, his expression shifting.
This was his second ti encountering a heroine.
The first had been Angeline. And now...
"Hi, welco to the underground fight arena, my na is Cecilia, how may I help you?" Her smile was strained but held its shape. Still professional, even here.
She glanced at Logan, already waiting for this to be over.
She had neatly trimd short dark brown hair that fitted perfectly to the sides of her face. Light freckles dusted her skin, doing nothing to diminish her.
The thought that this girl, treated casually like a slave by her own father, the head of the underground fight arena, would one day awaken an SSS-rank potion origin path, made Logan think twice about his interaction with her.
If he could steal her from the protagonist, it would be perfect.
The system had ntioned conquering the heroine’s mother, but it hadn’t said there was any penalty for taking the protagonist’s won, had it?
The thought made Logan realize his line of thinking had been slightly off from the start.
Still... he was doing this mainly to have a powerhouse at his side.
In his heart, though... only Evelyn remained.
"I want to register for ten battles."
"What’s your origin rank?"
"Origin initiate."
Cecilia glanced up briefly, taken aback.
She lowered her gaze soon after. But beneath the table, her fist clenched without a sound.
She could hear the lightness in the voice. She could tell it belonged to soone close to her own age.
So why then... was she so useless?
The thought soured her mood. Her expression stayed neutral as she produced a device.
"Please release your origin energy into this. I want to crosscheck your precise rank."
Logan didn’t hesitate. He knew this was all part of procedure.
After the scan, Cecilia recorded the information and brought out an ID card.
"What na should we address you as?"
Logan lingered for a mont. He wasn’t offering up his real na.
"Legion." He said it after so consideration.
"Alright... legi—"
"Can you make it a streak battle?" Logan cut her off. He wanted to complete the system’s mission and get back to his training.
"A streak battle?" Cecilia glanced up, surprise clear in her eyes.
"Yeah."
"Alright, give a mont." She made a few changes and handed Logan the card.
"When it’s ti, the announcer will call you up." She exhaled, slow and tired, then leaned back, her expression settling into its previous weariness.
"Hey..." Logan called out just before he turned to go. "Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m sure everything would work out fine." As he said it, he slid a folded piece of paper smoothly onto the table.
The words froze Cecilia. Her face shifted, moving from surprise to sothing quieter, sothing close to wonder.
She glanced down and reached for the paper.
Most of the people who ca through here only cared about fighting to make money or about the won. Soone like Logan was rare. She genuinely hadn’t encountered anyone like him.
Recalling what he’d just said, a faint warmth blood in her chest.
It was good to know there was still soone in this world who cared about her, even if it was a stranger.
She unfolded the paper and read through it.
A location.
*Should I go and et him there? But he’s still in the arena... so after he’s done? What if it’s dangerous?* Many thoughts moved through Cecilia’s mind, but internally she had already made her choice.
...
anwhile, Logan continued toward the arena.
No one could tell what was turning over in his mind, or why he had handed the paper to Cecilia.
He moved at an even pace until his ears were swallowed whole by an ocean of noise.
It was as though the night had turned to day inside. Hundreds of people packed the stadium, their gazes fixed on two fighters at the center of the stage.
People held their phones up, so recording, others placing live bets.
A booming track tried to swallow the crowd noise and failed completely.
Female dancers on poles surrounding the stage moved with slow allure, their figures pulling a portion of the crowd’s excitent away from the fight itself.
"Show so more butt cheeks!!!"
"Hey, pretty lady over there, I can see so panties! Show sothing more!!!" Their shouts were thunderous, filled with that particular brand of anticipation that only lived in a place like this.
Logan reached up to drag a hand through his hair, exasperated, then rembered the mask and awkwardly put it back down.
What was he thinking when he wrote about this?
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