Arthur nearly stumbled to the ground due to Nighthawk's presence. Heaven knew how much he feared beastfolk. The rhinoceros gentleman he'd encountered shortly after arriving in Brighton City had already been enough to terrify him, and now this—an enormous wolf nearly two meters tall. And why, of all things, was this wolf called Nighthawk?
Nighthawk used his slender fingers to stroke the blue fur on the tip of his sharp snout. That, in human society, was the equivalent of a mustache he took great pride in. Adjusting his golden-rimmed glasses, he squinted to confirm that the young boy standing before him was indeed an unfamiliar face.
"I don't think we've met before."
Arthur opened his mouth but was too consumed by fear to say anything. This left Nighthawk displeased. In his dictionary as the owner of this underground establishment, mutual respect was of utmost importance. He had expected someone noteworthy to be aware of his name, but this boy—a mere child who couldn't even speak—was a letdown.
"Don't bring just any riffraff to me next time. I'm not that free," Nighthawk growled, extending a sharp claw to point at the giant man's nose before turning to leave.
"Wait!"
Nighthawk turned back, visibly impatient, only to find himself a little surprised by the scene before him. The boy was pounding his trembling legs with all his might, slapping his own cheeks to force himself to calm down. Finally, he managed to look Nighthawk in the eye, though there was still a faint hint of evasion in his gaze.
Arthur couldn't stand himself. He didn't know what kind of place this was or what this Nighthawk person did, but he couldn't accept being so scared he couldn't even speak.
Nighthawk crossed his arms with an amused expression. The boy now displayed a tiny spark of the backbone that was necessary for him to consider someone his equal.
"Alright, then. Tell me, how do you know me? My name isn't one that commoners in the East District would typically hear about—only a handful of bigwigs."
Arthur hesitated, unsure how to phrase his response. Since George hadn't explained why he was coming here, Arthur decided to start with him.
"I heard your name from George Cavendish, Mr. Nighthawk." Arthur deliberately added a title of respect, sensing from Nighthawk's tone that he wasn't just anybody.
"George?" Nighthawk pretended to think, glancing at the giant beside him, who knew a bit more about the situation.
"Sorry, kid, there's no such person here."
Arthur's expression immediately turned anxious. He began to wonder if he had come to the wrong address. He regretted not bringing the note with him.
Nighthawk couldn't hold back his laughter, baring his teeth as he nudged the giant beside him with an elbow, mocking, "Look at this. Just look at this." It was then that Arthur realized Nighthawk had been teasing him.
Nighthawk bent down slightly as if to put an arm around Arthur's shoulders, only to find the boy far too short for the gesture. He abandoned the attempt.
"Don't take it personally, kid. Wolves are sly by nature—we can't resist a little fun."
But you're a werewolf. Arthur finally felt a bit more at ease. Facing this enormous wolf who still had the humor to joke, he wasn't as terrified as before.
"George, huh? That kid has some skill. I've got a good impression of him. Since the Integration, he's the first human brat to make me fight seriously." Recalling George, Nighthawk's grin widened. His body visibly quivered with excitement. He seemed ready for action. Arthur, however, asked his burning question:
"Fight seriously? Mr. Nighthawk, what kind of place is this?"
This time, Nighthawk was the one taken aback. "You don't know? You came here without knowing? George didn't tell you?" His triple interrogation left Arthur, who had been guessing, thoroughly puzzled. "I thought it was some sort of gym..."
His words were cut off by Nighthawk's laughter, loud enough to echo like a wolf's howl. "You're not wrong. It's just that the process is a bit bloodier than you might expect."
After his fit of laughter, Nighthawk clapped his hands. The kerosene chandeliers hanging in the underground space flickered to life simultaneously, illuminating a central sandpit ringed by ropes. A group of thuggish-looking men gathered around, joining Nighthawk as he stood under the light. He extended his arms, his grin broad as he formally introduced the venue to Arthur:
"Welcome to the Tapler Underground Fight Club. I'm the owner and manager here—Nighthawk."
Arthur's jaw dropped in astonishment.
...
Three days flew by. When Arthur once again stood in the Tapler Underground Fight Club, it was as a participant.
Three days earlier, Nighthawk had given Arthur a tour of the facility. Though simple, the underground space was well-equipped for both fighters and spectators. Training rooms, rest areas, locker rooms, and showers—everything was accounted for. According to Nighthawk, while the East District was infamous for being unregulated, establishing a legitimate fighting club still required official approval.
In other words, this was an illegal fight club. The East District, rife with thugs, vagrants, and violence, was the perfect place for bloody entertainment and cash prizes.
"As long as you don't kill anyone, you can do whatever you want to your opponent here. What's your purpose? Money or strength?" Standing by the ropes of the sandpit, Nighthawk leaned casually, his nearly two-meter frame putting tremendous strain on the ring.
Arthur felt a pang of frustration at the thought. "To be honest, I want to grow stronger. But even if I do, I doubt it'll be enough to achieve what I want."
Nighthawk burst into laughter again. "You? A kid? What kind of troubles could you possibly have? Does thinking that much help you? Do you want to magically become as strong as me overnight, like some extraordinary wolf?" Adjusting his only piece of clothing, a pair of shorts, he smirked. "Everyone grows stronger step by step. Even if you can't achieve your goals in a year or two, what about ten or twenty years from now? As long as you keep moving forward, you'll get there eventually."
There was something compelling about Nighthawk's words. Arthur couldn't help but follow his train of thought. His eyes sparkled with newfound determination.
"So, what should I do to get stronger, Mr. Nighthawk?"
Nighthawk didn't answer, only giving Arthur a knowing smile as he appraised the boy's not-so-skinny frame. This sent a shiver down Arthur's spine.
And so, back to the present. Arthur stripped off his shirt, first casting a bitter glance at Nighthawk, who was flamboyantly introducing him in the ring, then at the roaring crowd waving Brighton City currency, and finally at the hulking figure of his opponent—a giant nearly identical in build to the one who guarded the door earlier.
To be honest, this is nothing like what I imagined. Arthur barely reached half the height of his opponent.
With a bellow, the giant hyped up the crowd, unleashing a deafening wave of cheers. Most of them shouted things like, "Kill him!" or "Rip him apart!" Arthur's opponent's name was Austin.
Austin mimed crushing Arthur with his hand and took enormous strides toward him, kicking up sand with every step.
I'm done for. Arthur cursed George under his breath, bracing himself as he raised his fists and charged forward.