Sophie Chow, at the end of the day, was just an ordinary girl. All the stuff playing on the screen lately had her nerves stretched thin, and when someone suddenly turned into ground meat right before her eyes, well, that was a bit much. She almost screamed, but caught herself just in time, clapping a hand over her mouth and swallowing the scream, leaving only a muffled "mmm mmm" sound.
The bosses and fighters were too tense to notice, but Donald Zade spotted the Bloody Queen acting strangely. "Bloody Queen, are you... laughing?" Sure enough, Sophie Chow was bent over with her hand over her mouth, looking like she just couldn't hold in her laughter.
Everyone in the hall turned to look, and Sophie Chow felt like she was sitting on pins and needles, frozen in place. The room fell silent for a moment, until the Bloody Queen's manager spoke up: "Someone's bringing money, of course Her Majesty is smiling."
"Bringing money?" Donald Zade glared. "If you're going to brag, at least have some guts. If you ask me, winning back a single life is already a miracle, you pigs."
The manager stood up straight and shrugged his shoulders. "If I say you're here to hand over your money, then that's exactly what you're doing. From where I'm standing, you're going to lose everything tonight, idiot." He walked up to the ring. "No need for Her Majesty to lift a finger—just me, the manager, is enough to make you eat shit."
Hearing the manager's cocky declaration, bosses and fighters couldn't help but gasp—being this arrogant in such a dangerous place? This guy, this guy... does he have a death wish or what? Hasn't he seen how strong those Super Soldiers are? Maybe wearing that mask for too long turned his brains to mush.
But some people burst out laughing. Besides the big shots, there was one other—Phantom Mask, who’d been sitting quietly from start to finish.
"Alright, if that's how you want it, let's see you handle the terror of a Super Soldier." As soon as Donald Zade finished speaking, a Super Soldier strode up to the stage. Two weapon racks rose up, loaded with all kinds of cold steel. "Any weapon is fair game. Now—begin!"
With that, the fight to the death kicked off. The Super Soldier sprang into action like a machine, grabbed a dagger, and charged the manager in huge strides. His dagger shot out like a viper, aiming straight for the manager’s chest. But the manager just spun away—blink and you’d miss it—and the Super Soldier was suddenly sent flying, crashing down hard. The manager had tossed him with a perfect back throw, and snatched the dagger too.
Thud—the blade sank in. The manager, quick and clean, stabbed the dagger into the Super Soldier’s heart. Even with a fatal wound, the Super Soldier didn’t scream or show any emotion. He still swung his arm, trying to attack the manager. But the manager seemed ready for it, yanked out the dagger, and dodged away.
Blood sprayed everywhere—the Super Soldier’s heart pumped like a jet engine: higher, faster, stronger, like a twisted Olympic slogan. He twitched twice on the ground and then just... gave up the ghost. Lights out.
Thud! The manager booted the Super Soldier’s corpse clean off the stage, spun around, and shot Donald Zade a cocky finger. "One million now."
The crowd’s reactions were all over the map. The bosses sucked in air, wheezing like they just caught asthma—thinking, "If even a manager is this wild, how scary is the Bloody Queen herself?" But the fighters? Their eyes lit up. They realized these Super Soldiers weren’t so terrifying after all. Sure, they were strong and fast, but when it came to close-quarters brawling, they were just greenhorns.
Even if they didn’t have the edge in brute strength, the fighters trusted their own deathmatch experience to mop the floor with these guys—just like that manager did.
Donald Zade didn’t bat an eye. "Send in the next one."
Another Super Soldier stepped up, way more cautious than the last, picking the classic "longer weapon, bigger advantage" strategy. He whipped out a katana and lunged at the manager. The manager, cool as ever, showed off some serious guts and sharp eyes—left hand flipped a dagger, arm bent, blade vertical, meeting the katana head-on.
Riiip! Fabric tore, but no blood. The crowd gasped—the manager had used his blade, forearm, and upper arm to lock down that katana in a slick, show-off move!
In a flash, the manager grabbed the Super Soldier’s shoulder and spun him like a waltz—deadly, but with style.
"Disarm." A quick smack to the Super Soldier’s wrist—whoosh!—the katana was in the manager’s hand before anyone even blinked.
"Seppuku." The dagger plunged into the Super Soldier’s gut and sliced sideways. The guy shuddered, staggered back, guts clenching.
"The Second." The manager spun on his heel, slashed a bright arc—splat! The Super Soldier’s head thudded to the floor, neck spraying blood like a busted fire hydrant. The manager flicked the blade, blood droplets flying like cherry blossoms. "A samurai’s fate: to fall like sakura petals. Anyone else need a send-off? I’m happy to oblige."
Turning back, the manager flashed Donald Zade three fingers. "Three million now."
The crowd was a mess—some wide-eyed, some itching to jump in, some just dead serious. Donald Zade’s face twitched like he’d swallowed a lemon. He barked, "Next!" and turned away, dodging the bigwigs’ mocking stares. Under his breath: "What’s going on? Why are the Super Soldiers losing so fast? Is the system busted?"
A voice crackled in his headset: "Boss, system’s fine. Data says the Super Soldiers are picking up fighting experience and sharpening their skills. Shouldn’t be long before they win…"
Before the guy could finish, an annoying voice cut in: "Six million now."
"What!" Donald Zade whipped around to the screen, just in time to see the manager slice the third Super Soldier in half at the waist. The top half kept crawling, guts dragging, face blank—a total nightmare. The manager dropped his "six" hand, flipped the blade, and stabbed it right through the Super Soldier’s skull. Game over.
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"Anyone else?" The manager rolled his wrist. "Send at least one more—let me round it up to ten million. Barely enough for pocket change."
"You damned swine, you’ll pay for your arrogance!" Donald Zade snarled. "Keep sending them—don’t stop until he’s dead!" Super Soldiers marched up one after another, and one after another, the manager wiped the floor with them. Donald Zade was losing it, face twisted as he screamed into the intercom, "What’s happening? Seriously, what’s going on? Why aren’t the Super Soldiers getting any better?"
The staffer’s voice was shaking: "N-no idea, boss. System data looks fine. Super Soldiers should be getting stronger, but we don’t know why this is happening…"
"Useless, all of you! Can’t even handle a simple system. How did idiots like you end up in my lab?" Donald Zade spat.
Donald Zade’s shouting was all bluster, but the big bosses’ eyes had changed. Watching Super Soldiers go up and drop like flies, they glanced at each other, seeing caution and wariness in each other’s eyes. The system wasn’t the problem—the Super Soldiers really were getting stronger. Experience, technique, all improving at a crazy pace. But the fighters below? Their eyes were turning hopeless. They knew they were outclassed now.
But none of that growth mattered, because the manager was just too damn strong. Not just in experience and technique, but in reaction speed, brute force, and pure physicality.