Page 60 of Whispers of Wisteria

The extent of my knowledge about the more illegalfighting rings camefrom a bear-shifter comic I’d once read. The underestimated hero provoked fights simply by existing. And, despite his misplaced confidence in his self-taught boxing, he’d continually been pummeled during the first half. However, an illogical burst of strength and an inspirational self-monologue would usually give the hero the strength to win the day.

It was quite uplifting.

“We need to find out who’s in charge.” Maria crossed her arms. “There’s normally some sort of payment to enter these things, and—”

“Go punch that guy.” I pushed her shoulder and nodded toward a giant man half-hiding at the other end of the busy room. He didn’t notice that he’d become the subject of our attention and chose that moment to spit his chew onto the floor.

His aim was off, and the tobacco landed on the shoe of the person standing next to him.

The spit-on person took offense, rounding on the offender. But it seemed our target could, at least, throw a proper punch, and he’d knocked his opponent into the wall within a second.

The saliva-covered man fell to the ground, unconscious.

“He’s exactly what we’re looking for,” I told the lioness. He wasn’t a weakling either, which would cause Maria’s popularity to skyrocket fabulously.

She could have the violence and recognition she longed for, while I could stay safely hidden in the background, making our dreams a reality.

My pulse was soaring already, and my stomach fluttered with nerves.

This was so exciting.

“I don’t know.” Maria pursed her lips, giving the man a once-over. She didn’t seem to be impressed by his prowess. “It seems too easy. I’m looking for more of a challenge. What about him?” She flippantly motioned toward a banner hanging over the ring as if that wasn’t enough. On it was a fuzzy picture of a man in a red suit. He had multicolored hair streaked with variations of purple and orange, and a striking black mask covered his facial features.

Under the photo, in a zig-zag font that was more childish than impressive, was the aliasSkull Crusher.

I was hesitant to tell her, especially since our friendship had just levelled up, but…

“He’s okay, I guess.” And he probably could fight too, since he appeared to be the reigning champion and all that. But those who had the most respect weren’t the ones who posed in flashy costumes for poorly illustrated banners.

We needed someone like our tobacco-spitting friend.

As we watched him, he’d already turned down at least three offers to enter the ring. Yet he was strong enough to knock a man out with one hit. If Maria wanted to start somewhere meaningful, she had to get him to spar with her. It would show that she was particular about who she fought while showcasing her strength.

“Ignore him for now,” I told her, pulling her attention away from the banner. The room was loud, but she had no trouble keeping up with the conversation. “Challenge the spitter.”

“The spitter?” Maria raised her eyebrow and gave me a dubious look. “Is that his name?”

I shrugged. Who knew? I had no idea what to call him yet. “We’ll see.”

“But what…” Maria began, then raised her hand to cover her smile. She cleared her throat, her tone serious as she reclaimed her sentence. “Whatexactlyam I supposed to do?”

Wasn’t it obvious? Then again, this was why I was the manager.

“Get him to fight you,” I explained. “But try not to hurt him too badly. Just make it look good. Then win. After that, we’ll need to disappear.”

“But why?” Maria pointed to a folding table set up to our left. “I’m pretty sure that’s the ring manager right there. We can sign up—”

“Trust me.” I rubbed my hands together. Yes, it was clear that I should be the mastermind of this operation. After all, if we did things her way, we’d have to pay money, and they’d probably match her with someone weak until she proved herself. We could bypass all of that.

My way would have thembeggingher to be here, and we could chargethemfor the honor of having her bless the stage with her presence.

We’d both get what we wanted.

Speaking of…

“We need to think of your stage name,” I told her.

“My what?” She lifted a brow.