Waking up the next day, Jake rushed up from his bed. Feeling pumped yet nervous, he went out to practice Prathee Sanrak like usual before coming back in for a hearty breakfast (he doesn't usually do one for the sake of budget).
Wearing a combat shirt and jeans, the front door opened and slammed shut with a booming sound, like a cannon being fired. Rushing through the front gate, Jake was about to call for a taxi as usual when a gruff voice called out, "School?"
Stopping in his tracks, he slowly turned around, with a guilty expression on his fave. There, stood a brusque face, beard spread out in haphazard manner, dyed in a mixture of olive oil and... motor oil? Hands held in his hips, he glared at the wayward man, who kept shuffling on the spot.
"I thought you were supposed to go to school today?" Still shuffling his feet, Jake could not answer at all. Just as he was about to make something up, he realized something: Wait, don't I have one more day of sick leave?
Feeling emboldened, he straightened his back and straightforwardly told him to his face, "I do have one more day left for my sick leave, so technically I don't have to go today either." Smoothly giving his answer, he turned around and called a taxi with his holophone. Edward just sighed before exposing him brutally. "Today is Sunday, and I know that you have an exam today. Don't think I don't know you are skipping it for no reason."
Jake flinched at the exposure, squirming again at being caught. Sighing, Edward simply reminded him, "I will give you some advice: someday, in the future, you will look back and regret all the things you haven't done. Cherish what you have." Turning around, he walked back home, working on whatever pet project he was occupied with.
Meanwhile, our protagonist, letting the advice go in one ear and out the other, called a taxi, specifying that he wanted another robover to come instead. This time, they complied (to the relief of the one).
Once again coming to Bloodfall Arena, Jake put on his mask and went to the registration desk. Today, another receptionist was manning the desk, this time a Catnis.
Unlike the ones in school (Emily being an exception; she always seemed weird), these ones sported a bob cut, unruly in design, hair waving around like an escaped prisoner. She sported a black eyepatch, inlaid within a blood-red cobweb, giving her the look of a convict.
But her body, though, that was another thing.
Her toned body sported a lean look, devoid of any unnecessary fat. Her bronze skin reflected her intense discipline, uniform in color. But most importantly of all, her belly revealed eight-packs, showcasing her fitness and presenting her as a wild animal, waiting to be unleashed. It did not help that she seemed bored at the table, fanning the flames of the myriad rumors about her.
As Jake went up to the desk, he looked through the rules of the arena and read through them. There were many of them, but the most important ones, which he determined, were five:
1) No killing at the arena. Any deaths will be investigated for foul play suspicions. Should it be proven, the relevant authorities will be informed.
2) The arena will not be responsible for any deaths caused by feuds. All personal grievances formed in matches should be settled here (without any killing) or outside the arena.
3) You must participate in at least three matches a week; otherwise, your membership will be canceled.
4) Any forms of sponsorships formed in the arena will require authorization from the management team, and if passed, you will be required to hand over 25% of the total revenue to the arena.
5) You may also keep your identity a secret at the matches, but during registration, your actual identity must be used to sign for membership.