Two months earlier.
The early morning mildew dripped from the trees above her as Ivy rubbed her eyes, stirring awake as she heard heavy footsteps approaching her.
She had spent the night in this forested park, using her backpack as a pillow and an oversized hoodie as a blanket.
Standing over her, hands on their hips, the security guard said, "You gotta move. You can't sleep here."
Still groggy, Ivy gestured around them, "I'm waiting for the event later today in the park. Y'know, the one with prize money?"
"Yeah, I'm aware. They're trying to set that up, and you're in the way. Get moving."
"I was just napping."
"Homeless aren't supposed to be in this park, period. I could take you to jail."
"Okay. Okay," she threw the hoodie over herself and flung the backpack over her shoulder, slinking away.
Several hours later, she returned to the park, walking up to the registration tent. Inside, sitting on a folding chair behind a plastic fold-up table holding up a binder, was a bored-looking teenager.
Not looking up from his binder, he asked, "Which events are you here to register for?"
"Uh," Ivy didn't know there were multiple. "Whichever gives prize money, I guess."
"Each event you register for will cost you fifteen dollars."
There was a long pause. "On the poster I saw, it didn't say anything about it costing money…I don't really have- I mean-" Frustrated, she dug around in her backpack, looking for anything of value to offer, but she came up short.
The teenager just shrugged. Next to him, on the table, was a cut-in-half breakfast sandwich from a fast-food place. It was cold. He looked up for the first time, seeing her hungry eyes and gaunt face, then followed her gaze to the food. He awkwardly slid the sandwich towards Ivy, "You can have this if you want."
She blinked, "Oh, thanks," she said, taking a beat before devouring the entire thing in less than thirty seconds.
"I was gonna say, there was a microwave over…nevermind. I could ask the administrator and see if they'd make an exception…" he took out his phone and started typing quickly.
As he did that, Ivy's eyes wandered around the tent. Seeing the vast amounts of sports equipment, "How do I get the prize money?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is it in cash?"
"It can be."
"Nice."
His phone chimed, he looked at it and asked her, "So, how do you feel about playing tennis?"
"I'll do it!"
Present day.
Tobi leaned forward in his seat and stared at the television screen with a dead-eyed dread. Ivy sat next to him, legs crossed over his lap, loudly sipping on a chocolate shake in her hands.
He shot her a look, asking, "Are you not worried about this?"
Ivy thought for a while, "Worried about what, specifically?"
Tobi rolled his eyes, "This guy has the highest NFC kill count record, as well as the fact that they let him use those weapons that can just cut your leg or arm off."
He pointed to the television, which was playing a slow motion highlight of a man named Karbur. His family was rich, very rich, putting him with the best martial arts and weapons trainers in the world. His weapons of choice were dual kamas, with a chain attached at their hilts—It was a similar weapon to a scythe, but with much shorter handles. Knowing that killing wasn't allowed, but dismemberment was, he would coat his blades with a special agent, making them cauterize all wounds they inflict. Without thought, he would embed the kamas deep into their bodies, ripping out bones, taking off limbs, all while the crowd roared its approval. His opponents would always inevitably surrender, all except two.
"I mean," Ivy paused, "He thinks he's like some kinda artist—look at him, you can tell."
"What do you mean?"
"His game sucks. There's a reason he's never made it to the Three Kings."
Tobi chuckled, "You're talking pretty crazy for someone who hasn't, either."
"I haven't lost, though."
"You were close this last time. I mean, I think what he's doing works."
"It works," Ivy agreed, "For the competition he's fighting, yeah. But what's going to happen 'when' he gets past the NFC, and to the real world?"
Tobi thought about what she meant by 'the real world.'
Ivy continued, her eyes turning dark and focused, "He's going to be thrown into confusing situations like everyone else. And he's going to be fighting people with energy abilities, and realize that he may be in the top ten of the NFC, but 50,000th in the world. Things that are so strong, fighters that he's never even heard of. Fighters who suck. And they're going to kill him, because he's a child, and they're men. They've seen what the world is. They know what it is like for no one to care about them. They are very familiar with the feeling of losing, and they need to win. For survival. He just wants to win some tournament, because he's good at fighting, and people told him he was talented growing up."
"Damn."
"Yeah," Ivy said, focusing on the television once more, "Geez!" she cackled, pointing, "Look! That guy got messed up!" she laughed, watching Karbur rip open one of his opponents.
Ivy stood in the middle of the arena. The referee stood next to her, looking at his watch.
The crowd, as well as the commentators, grew restless.
She looked at the referee, asking, "What's happening?"
"I'm not sure."
Overhead, Cheryl, the commentator, said, "It seems like Karbur is late arriving to the ring."
Ivy turned around, looking at Tobi, who shrugged. He was just as confused as she was.
Ahim spoke, "As per NFC rules, if a fighter is anymore than five minutes late, they will be disqualified, and the win will be awarded to their opponent."
"What do ya think is happening?" Machita asked. "This is a first for him, I think."
"He's always been quite punctual," Cheryl agreed.
"Dang, I hope he's alright," Amir said. "I was pretty excited to see these two, and I know the fans were too."
The referee looked down at his watch, muttering to himself, "He's got thirty seconds to get in here."
Just as the words left his mouth, a man appeared at the mouth of the tunnel.
The crowd erupted with relieved cheers, but they quickly died down. The cameras zoomed in, displaying his hunched over posture on the massive screens above them.
His head was down as he shuffled to the ring.
"Our late contestant, Karbur, now heads towards the fighting area," Cheryl said. "His record stands at 14 wins and 2 losses in the NFC. He is looking to continue his ten-fight winning streak. It looks like Karbur has a horrible look of concern on his face as he makes his way to the ring. He does not look confident in the slightest!"
"Yeah, that's true," Ahim said.
The commentators continued to chatter as Karbur made his way toward the ring.
"Looking at our current betting odds," Machita said, "Favor has dropped considerably for Karbur after his late arrival and nervous energy. However, he is still looking to be the betting favorite. As a reminder, bets are finalized the moment the first round starts."
"I still think Karbur takes this one," Ahim said.
"I don't know, man," Cheryl said, unsure.
"She's never gone up against a true long-range fighter here," Ahim protested.
"Ivy has a high fight-IQ, though," Machita countered. "From what I've seen, she seems to be quick-witted enough to adapt to most things someone throws at her. If not that, then she just has the drive to persevere. Like something inside of her wants it more."
They were right. Karbur was the most nervous he'd ever felt in recent years. He felt everyone's eyes on him as he stepped into the ring. As he did that, Ivy closed her eyes, taking long deep breaths, holding her arms out to the side, spinning slowly in a circle.
As he approached, for a brief second, it was so quiet that one could hear the echo of a pin drop.