Just as Jack Young expected, the Martial King Tournament kept things snappy and professional—by noon, all the matches were done. No messing around with "go home and wait for the results" nonsense; they announced everything right there on the spot.
The outcome? Also just as Jack predicted: four people were picked for the semi-finals, and Jack squeaked in—barely—as number four. Maggie Monroe let out a huge sigh of relief, clutching her chest. (Should I tell you where Jack was staring when Maggie did that?)
"Three days from now, same place, for the Shandong regional semi-finals. Be on time." The venue changes every year, but this time it’s in Qingdao—lucky for Jack, that saves him a ton of hassle.
The semi-finals are the real deal—proper ring matches, with martial artists from all over the province duking it out. Sure, it’s tougher than the prelims, but honestly, Jack still didn’t think much of the competition. Eight rings going at once, and only the top four get to go to Beijing for the finals.
As for the ring matches, Jack was sure—no way he’d lose.
During the semi-finals, a bunch of gym members showed up to cheer for Jack. The whole place was packed with excited, chirping fans—mostly women—making quite the spectacle. Ever since the Dragonforce Dojo Challenge, Jack’s popularity had skyrocketed. Some of the ladies looked at him like they wanted to eat him up.
The semi-finals only lasted two days. Each night, Maggie Monroe would hit up every forum and message board, working the crowd and hyping up Jack. Stuff like “Most Handsome Martial Artist Ever,” “Romance Under the Moon, Invincible in the Ring,” and “You folks don’t get real internal boxing yet!”—she squeezed in every chance to stir things up.
Turns out, hype is a professional job. Maggie’s solo efforts didn’t make much of a splash. Eventually, she just sighed and admitted the internet was way too deep for her, then let it go.
Meanwhile, in a place neither of them knew about—a distant, bustling city, in a grimy underground fighting pit—two men were locked in a brutal match.
Calling it a ring was generous—it was more like a square pit, with harsh white lights glaring down from above. Two shirtless brutes were going at it bare-knuckled. Unlike the friendly sparring in official matches, these guys were fighting for real, every punch thrown with deadly intent.
Blood splattered everywhere—raw, savage, and wild. Muscles tore, bones snapped, and finally, a burly Black fighter knocked his opponent to the ground. He roared, ready to deliver the finishing blow, but stopped his fist just short of his rival's eyes.
Staring at his weakly gasping opponent, the Black fighter breathed heavily, sweat pouring down his face. Who knows if it was the heat of battle or the cold sweat of stopping himself at the last second.
"Finish him." A voice echoed from the darkness, in English: "Finish him, you'll get your reward."
"No, no..." The Black fighter shook his head in a daze, then stepped back, muttering, "I can't. That’s not what our contract says, I can't kill anyone."
"Fine then." The voice replied from the shadows, and the fighter breathed a sigh of relief. But in the next instant—bang! A gunshot rang out, and the loser’s head exploded, blood and brains splattering everywhere.
"Oh God! Oh my God!" the Black fighter screamed in horror, frantically wiping the blood off his skin.
Someone walked out of the darkness, stepping into the ring’s harsh light. It was a man—tall, well-built, dressed in a sharp suit, but with a terrifying devil mask covering his face.
The man spoke: "Tina, you disappoint me."
The fighter panicked, "No, Jonathan, listen, I just wasn’t ready, next time—"
Everything went blurry. All the fighter saw was Jonathan’s foot coming up—and in the next instant, it was at his neck. Crack! No time to defend, no time to be afraid—the blow twisted his head a full circle. His strong body went limp and collapsed, lifeless.
The man in the devil mask walked off the stage without looking back.
An assistant quickly caught up, saying, "Boss, we’ve confirmed it—this guy was an undercover cop."
"That’s a minor issue. What I need now is a new fighter." Jonathan Black strode forward, cold as a winter storm. "Activate every channel—I want to find an interesting martial artist. I want to see a chosen one fall from grace. In the end," he ripped off his mask, revealing a handsome but cruel face, "their souls will all be mine."
"Understood, boss!" The assistant jumped in with a suggestion: "There’s the Martial King Tournament happening in China right now—should we keep an eye on that?"
"Go ahead. Pick someone promising."
The day before the tournament, at Qingdao Airport’s departure hall, Maggie Monroe came to see Jack Young off.
No tearful goodbyes here—Jack and Maggie joked and chatted as usual, acting like Jack was just popping out to buy groceries and would be back in no time.
But they both knew Jack wouldn’t be seeing Maggie again for a while.
"I bought you a set of clothes. I know you have zero fashion sense, and I don’t want you embarrassing yourself in front of the whole country. And here—take this." Maggie handed Jack an envelope. "You made me a ton of money teaching at my place. Consider this your salary and bonus."
Jack opened the envelope. Inside was a bank card.
"Oh, please. I half-started a dance class, then quit, and you had to clean up the mess when the students complained. I should be paying you instead."
"Ha, at least you’ve got a conscience! Fine, consider it the boss paying her bodyguard. You’ve done a pretty good job as my muscle lately." Maggie patted Jack’s shoulder and whispered, "Alright, I know you need cash for your herbal supplements. I’m not short on money, so just take it. If you feel guilty, sell yourself to me—pay your debt with your body, how about that?"
This chapter isn’t over yet ^.^—click next page to keep reading!
"Oho, such a pretty lady wants to keep me? Now that’s a sweet deal." Jack looked out at the sky beyond the airport—endlessly blue and wide open, the perfect place to soar. Staring at the sky, he let out a barely-there sigh: "Let’s talk when I’ve raised my market value."
"Mm." Maggie lowered her eyes and nodded. "Go on, then."
The next day.
The camera turned on—a man appeared on screen, holding a microphone.
"Hello, viewers! I’m your field host—uh, that guy—and today’s the day you’ve all been waiting for: the Martial King Tournament finals! Before we kick things off, let’s check in on the contestants everyone’s talking about!"
The scene shifted to outside a fancy hotel, where the host pointed at the building, looking totally jealous.
"This year’s Martial King Tournament is the most high-end ever. Every finalist gets put up in this five-star hotel, and they even have special cars to take them to the matches. All of it’s covered by the organizers, not a dime out of the contestants’ pockets. Honestly, I’m a little jealous myself."
The scene shifted again—now inside the hotel, bustling with people.
"Now, let’s talk about the contestants. There are sixty-four fighters in the finals this year. Most are familiar faces, top experts, but there are some fresh newcomers too. Just look at the way they stand like pines and sit like bells—you can tell these martial artists live and breathe discipline. The famous grandmasters need no introduction, so today we’re focusing on checking out the new blood."
The camera cut to one interview, then another. Finally, a young man came down from upstairs, looking like he was heading to lunch. The host hurried over and brought him in front of the camera.
"Hello, viewers! This is Jack Young, one of the rising stars! Recently, online fans dubbed Jack ‘The Most Handsome Martial Artist Ever,’ and up close, he really is dashing. Jack, what do you think of that nickname?"
"Didn’t expect you to dig up that meme! About the nickname—well, let’s just say it’s pretty embarrassing."
"So you don’t like it, huh?"
"No, actually, I like it a lot. But liking it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. It’s fine if it’s about someone else, but when you ask me, I realize it makes me blush."
"Some people think you’re hyping yourself up on purpose. What’s your take on that, Jack?"
"Haha, I should thank the person who’s hyping me up!"
"Uh...that’s not really the point... Oh well, Jack’s answer shows his generous spirit! So, Jack, do you feel any pressure competing this time, with all those famous masters around? Got any slogans to promote yourself?"
"A slogan? Let me think... Got it! How about this—Love reading, love learning. My name is Jack Young."
"Did you just make that up? Never mind. But do you have anything about your martial arts, especially your goal for the tournament?"
"Tournament goal? Got it—Fluid Footwork, Internal Boxing, and I’m absolutely taking home that hundred thousand yuan!"
"A hundred thousand yuan... Can you give us something deeper? Maybe a more philosophical goal?"
"Well then... Fluid Footwork, Internal Boxing—my goal is cash! How’s that? But honestly, I think ‘hundred thousand yuan’ sounds better, so I’ll stick with that."
"Uh, yeah, I agree, ‘hundred thousand yuan’ does sound better... Jack, why are you so obsessed with money?"
"Isn’t being obsessed with money normal? Isn’t everyone? Besides, how else am I supposed to buy medicine without cash?"
"Medicine? Is it for a sick family member? That’s understandable. Looks like Jack isn’t just a money-chaser after all!"
"Uh, sort of... Anyway, thanks for trying so hard to paint me in a positive light, host."
"Sorry, I can’t keep up the act anymore..." (Looks like everyone’s guessing pretty enthusiastically~ Nice, someone already got it right~ Now for some bad news: starting Monday, my vacation’s over and I’m back to work. Then I have to go on a business trip with my boss—Tuesday to Sunday, six days straight. Lots of long train rides, not sure how I’ll manage. I haven’t figured out how to schedule posts yet, and apparently only signed authors can do that. So updates might be irregular. If you don’t see new chapters, don’t worry—this story isn’t abandoned.)