Alexandre was in a good mood when he arrived at the participants' lodge. A man stood at the entrance with a computer, and he called out politely, "Hello! Your name, please?"
Alexandre forced himself to look nonchalant. "William Walton. What, do you need to see my Pip-Boy serial number?"
The man's eyes narrowed. It seemed that he understood what was going on. Had he received special instructions regarding how to treat Alexandre?
On his end, Alexandre held breath, feeling tense and preparing to react in an instant.
However, the man eventually nodded. With a voice dripping in sarcasm and suspicion, he said, "No need… William… I trust your word. Go on in and prepare for your fight. It starts in fifteen minutes. Be warned, once you're in the dressing room, there's no giving up!"
Alexandre gave the man a curt nod and then walked past him and into the lodge, where the dressing room was located.
A few seconds later, the man's phone rang. He answered it at once. "Yes, boss. I've let him in, just as you instructed." Then he jerked the phone away from his head and grimaced as a loud buzzing shout came from the other end. "Sorry, boss! I was just doing as you told me! Should I go in and get him? Uh… okay, as you wish! Sorry, boss!"
***
Once inside, Alexandre looked around and immediately saw Chetan Ambani and two other people who would also be on the points of this fight. Alexandre didn't sit down—with only a few minutes left to wait, he preferred to stay on his feet and think quietly.
But then Chetan noticed him and walked over, fully equipped from head to toe in Hunter steel armour. Alexandre gave an amused smirk as he realized this was obviously part of why the director wanted to get rid of Chetan Ambani.
In a normal fight between two Hunters of equal skill, the better-equipped Hunter had a big advantage. When you added in the fact that Chetan always went after inexperienced Hunters, there was almost no chance at the newcomer winning. That hardly made for a suspenseful fight! It was no wonder that Chetan had effectively turned the arena into his private ATM.
Chetan chuckled as he looked Alexandre from head to toe, noting his lack of similar armor. "Bet you weren't expecting to see me geared up like this, hmm? Well, sorry, but I'm not holding back just because you're a freshman!"
Alexandre didn't reply, but allowed his smirk to widen.
Chetan seemed slightly taken aback at being ignored. There was almost a tinge of nervousness to his voice as he said quickly, "Look, don't take it personally, alright? I've got big responsibilities! I just need money, that's all..."
Alexandre finally replied, "I couldn't care less. However, your arguments are pretty weak. I imagine that everyone on this island has a good reason for needing money."
Chetan said, "You don't understand! It's not a question of comfort. For me, it's a matter of duty!"
"If you say so," Alexandre replied with another lazy smile. Thieves and hitmen alike always had an excuse to justify their actions… and Chetan Ambani was no different than all the rest.
But his opponent was growing frantic at Alexandre's lack of reaction and air of superiority. "What do you know about the world's upheaval!? You were born in America! You had a comfortable childhood! What the hell do you think you know about the people who've gone into exile?"
Alexandre snorted derisively. "You think you're the only one to have suffered? Do you really think that, for Americans, the Great Wave was a piece of cake? Surely you're not that stupid."
Chetan muttered, "Of course I'm not saying it was painless and easy for you. But how can you compare to the many communities that lost everything in the Black Zone? Before the Great Wave, my family was one of the richest in Asia. We lost everything. I came to America with my sister at the age of 16—how can you possibly compare your life to ours, hmm?"
Alexandre gestured with disinterested contempt. "Your armor must be worth a few million dollars. Don't try to tell me you came here empty-handed. You're in a much better position than almost everyone else in this school, so stop trying to justify your actions, you grifter! Have some self-respect and at least tell yourself the truth."
Chetan seemed to realize he was becoming heated, so he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down before replying. "Look, I'm not just talking about money, but culture and identity! Our country has been irretrievably lost. There's nothing we can do about it. Most of my people died, or worse, became refugees in absolute misery in South America! Please, tell me if you have such a cause to defend? In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter if I humiliate a novice hunter for a few minutes. I do so to save my people!"
Alexandre replied, "A Utopian guild member, eh? You want to restore the world as it was before? recreate China, Russia, India, the countries of Europe? You said it yourself! Those places have been lost, at least as they once were. Even if we were to kill every Zombie right now and start repopulating, the new world would be nothing like the old one. This world is dead around us! If you don't understand that, you're as good as a Zombie already! Naive little boys like you have no place in this world."
Chetan snapped, "Maybe that's what cynics like you believe! But Utopia will make it! It already has the most fortresses in the Black Zone and will soon be the most populous guild!"
Alexandre waved his words away. "You're even more naive than I thought if you think any guild truly has philanthropic ambitions. If you want to do any good in the world, you're the only one you can trust, and only put faith in your own personal achievements. If you ever put your hope in someone else… Well, you can beat up as many freshmen as you want, because a newbie killer is the only thing you'll ever be."
At that moment, the bell rang, interrupting the conversation and announcing that it was time to bear out their disagreement with weapons and Hunter power.
Chetan Ambani stared at the ground for a long moment. It was clear that Alexandre's words had struck him deep in the heart. Then he raised a simmering gaze and growled, "It's clear that I'll never get words through your thick American skull. Apparently I'll have to beat sense into you with my bare hands!"