Amid the deafening uproar, the starting bell suddenly rang. In the blink of an eye, Owen threw a straight punch. Number 17 reacted quickly, raising his elbow to block and sidestepping out of the way.
“These gloves are really thin. They’re not even eight ounces, are they? Probably only six. It’d be easy to break your finger bones with them.” He Wei chewed his gum. “But in a place like this, there’s usually something fishy when they wear thick gloves.”
He leaned closer and made a fist with one hand, tapping it against the ribs on Lu Heyang’s right side. “Some people put shards of broken glass inside the gloves. Right underneath the ribs, here—the liver. Land one punch there, and the other guy won’t be getting back up.”
In underground venues, most fighters played dirty. The spectators did not care. They even cheered and applauded for it—they had come precisely for the excitement and the taste of blood, wishing the scene could become even more frenzied and brutal.
Less than ten seconds after the opening, Number 17 had clearly fallen into a disadvantageous position. Owen kept using extremely fast jabs to disrupt his attacking rhythm while continuously targeting his head and lower abdomen. Number 17 kept retreating, and he was about to reach the edge of the octagonal cage. Quite a few spectators had already risen from their seats, roaring and shouting, “Fucking fight back! Take him down!”
Relying on his weight advantage, Owen began using heavy punches to break through Number 17’s guard. During the sustained defense, Owen broke through Number 17’s left-hand guard. He immediately took advantage of the opening and swung a straight punch directly into his face. Bright red blood instantly sprayed from Number 17’s nose, splattering across the gray rubber mat beneath his feet.
The screams and shouts were deafening. Some people had already crowded around the octagonal cage like a surging swarm of ants, gripping the steel mesh and shouting at the fighters inside. Whether they were cursing or cheering no longer mattered. This kind of match existed solely to stimulate the spectators’ adrenaline, using the fighters’ struggles and blood to let them vent themselves recklessly—anger, excitement, exhilaration… As long as it provoked any one of those emotions, it was considered a success.
“How many rounds in a match?” Lu Heyang suddenly asked, watching Number 17 lower his head and wipe away the blood with his elbow while leaning against the steel mesh.
“There’s no such thing as rounds in this place. It ends when one of them is completely unable to get back up.” He Wei rested his elbow on his knee, leaning forward as he stared at the arena. “Usually, that’s how it goes. Sometimes they’ll hold tournament matches.”
Inside the octagonal cage, Number 17 slowly straightened up. He raised his hands and lightly knocked his two gloves together before walking back to the center of the ring.
Owen twisted his neck and spread his feet into a fighting stance. When Number 17 approached, he stuck out his tongue and made an extremely insulting face at him. The arena immediately erupted again, filled with curses and cheers. But Number 17 did not seem affected in the slightest. He drew his arms in, returned to his ready stance, and slightly hunched his back.
Another rapid series of jabs came. Number 17 was struck in the nose again. Blood ran down his sharp, thin chin, mixing with the greasepaint on his face and making him look a complete mess. Owen advanced toward him arrogantly, every punch aimed at a vital point.
Number 17 was forced back toward the edge once again. Lu Heyang heard the spectators who had bet on Number 17 cursing one after another, complaining about how he could not even beat a newcomer…
But suddenly, those curses transformed into excited gasps because Number 17, who had been on the defensive the entire time, suddenly ducked and slipped sideways, switching the position of the engagement. He then countered with an uppercut that struck Owen squarely on the chin.
The punch landed solidly, leaving Owen somewhat dazed. Once he recovered, he launched another attack. Number 17 slipped past his strikes in succession, feinted a straight punch to the abdomen, and immediately followed with a right hook, landing precisely on Owen’s left cheek. Before anyone had even clearly seen the sequence of movements, Owen’s head had already snapped to the side, and his mouthguard, stained with bloody saliva, was knocked straight out of his mouth.
Number 17 was like a snow leopard awakening and suddenly unleashing its strength—calm, decisive, swift, his punches crisp and clean, every strike hitting its mark. He gradually forced Owen into the corner instead. That utterly unhesitating, coldly composed, domineering aggression transformed into one straight punch and hook after another, bursting out like lightning striking the ground. It ignited the entire venue, and the crowd’s roar nearly shattered their eardrums.
“Really smart! He knows these people love this kind of reversal.” He Wei rose from his seat, every muscle in his body tensed with excitement.
At the final moment, Number 17 threw a powerful rear-hand punch directly into Owen’s face. Owen threw his head back and spat out a mouthful of blood. His entire body slammed into the steel mesh before bouncing back and landing face-down on the ground.
Blood slowly spread out beneath his head. Owen braced himself with his hands and tried to get back up, but each time he collapsed back down. Clearly, he no longer had any ability to fight back.
“Get up if you’re not dead! Fight!”
“Keep fighting! Come on, fight!”
“Don’t stop! Beat him to death!”
The spectators waved their fists and shouted themselves hoarse. The referee had neither called for a stoppage nor begun a count, which meant Number 17 could continue throwing punches—no rules applied here. If he wanted to, he could beat Owen until he was twitching and unconscious on the mat, letting even more blood flow to satisfy the cruel, bloodthirsty desires of the spectators.
But Number 17 merely crossed his hands in a stopping gesture, then removed his gloves and mouthguard. He pushed open the door of the octagonal cage and returned backstage through the fighters’ passage. Many people shouted and threw bottles and cigarette butts into the cage, landing them around Owen or on his back. Before long, however, someone carried a stretcher inside and took Owen away.
The venue was cleaned up, new fighters entered the cage, and a new match began.
He Wei returned to his seat. The chewing gum in his mouth had already lost most of its flavor, but he was still chewing. “That was really something. Number 17’s abs and chest muscles are pretty damn good-looking. That waist, those legs.”
“Not just those,” Lu Heyang said.
“What?”
“His back muscles are pretty good too.” After saying that, Lu Heyang stood up and walked outside.
“You’re not watching anymore?” He Wei asked.
“I’m going out for some air.”
A little after eleven that night, the two of them left the underground club. He Wei was driving when he suddenly said, “Since Number 17 is an S-rank, if there’s a record of him in the files, the preparatory school should have contacted him. Even if he couldn’t afford school, the school would waive his tuition and give him a stipend. Why would he come here to fight underground?”
Lu Heyang leaned back in his seat. “Maybe he’s desperately short of money.”
“Actually, you can’t make that much money in a place like this. If you really want to make money, fighting professionally would definitely earn more. The commercial value is completely different,” He Wei said. “Judging from Number 17’s appearance, he probably received professional training before. I wonder why he’s hanging around here.”
“Maybe—” Lu Heyang looked at the road ahead, his right hand resting on his knee as his index finger lightly tapped against it a few times. He continued, “Number 17 is already in the preparatory school.”
He Wei froze, turned to look at him, and then laughed. “No way. How could that be?”
“Yeah.” Lu Heyang acknowledged it. “I think so too.”
On Monday, after the last class ended, Lu Heyang went to the swimming pool to wait for He Wei. The sky was overcast, as though it were about to rain, and the oppressive air made it difficult to breathe. Lu Heyang walked around the flower bed and headed up the steps to the swimming pool, just as an alpha came out from inside. He was carrying a plastic bag, his head lowered, his steps somewhat hurried.
Xu Ze had already taken a step down before realizing someone was there. By then, it was too late to avoid him. The moment they collided, the other person’s cold, indifferent face flashed before his eyes at close range. They were too close. Xu Ze could even see his clearly defined eyelashes, long and black. His pupils were also very dark, and when he looked up, there was hardly any warmth in his gaze.
He felt a hand clasp his upper arm for a moment. Logically speaking, after being steadied like that, he should have been able to regain his balance—but Xu Ze instead stumbled even more frantically. One foot stepped onto the grass beside the stairs, and the things inside the plastic bag fell out, making the sound of glass clinking together.
The dark clouds hung low, as if they were about to press down upon them. Xu Ze looked up at Lu Heyang for a brief, hurried glance, then quickly shifted his gaze away and bent down to pick up the things on the ground.
“Sorry,” he said as he gathered them.
His ears were a little red, and he genuinely looked extremely apologetic.
“It was my fault. I didn’t move aside in time.” Lu Heyang bent down to help him pick things up. Xu Ze’s voice was hoarse, and his breathing was somewhat labored, naturally giving the impression that he was sick and had come to the infirmary for treatment.
But Lu Heyang also noticed that Xu Ze had gauze taped across his nose, with a small patch of purplish-blue skin showing at the edge. The corner of his mouth was slightly swollen too. Looking only at his appearance, he seemed even more like someone who had come to get medication after a fight.
However, the items scattered on the ground were neither cold medicine nor medication for bruises and injuries. They were several disposable syringes and vials of medication. When they picked up the last vial, both reached for it at the same time, and their fingertips accidentally touched. Xu Ze immediately pulled his hand back, so Lu Heyang picked up the vial and saw the words “Alpha Inhibitor” printed on it.
Lu Heyang was not very familiar with alpha inhibitors. S-ranks had an innate advantage in controlling their pheromones. Unless subjected to severe stimulation, they generally would not enter rut. Even if they happened to experience one or two heats during the year, the symptoms were usually no more than a mild fever and would not become particularly serious.
For an S-rank, needing to use an alpha inhibitor was an extremely rare situation.
Lu Heyang said nothing. He handed the vial of inhibitor over, and Xu Ze took it, immediately stuffing it into the plastic bag.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“You’re welcome.” After saying that, Lu Heyang stepped up the stairs and entered the swimming pool.
As he walked, he adjusted his wristband to a higher setting, completely blocking out the unfamiliar, oppressive pheromones of an S-rank alpha.
Xu Ze’s pheromones.
An alpha’s pheromones became more intense when rut approached, and Xu Ze’s old wristband was clearly no longer capable of suppressing pheromones of this concentration.
Xu Ze had left through the special passage. His pheromones had already begun spreading, and if he walked among the students, he would affect the other alphas and omegas. As he hurried forward, he took a suppressive patch from his pocket, bit off the coating with his teeth, then raised his hand and pressed the patch against the back of his neck.
At the end of the special passage was a private rest room. Xu Ze completed facial recognition at the door and pushed it open. He was breathing heavily. He did not even have time to reach the sofa before sliding down the wall and sitting directly on the floor, emptying the contents of the bag.
His hands were trembling. Xu Ze used his teeth to pry open the bottle of iodine swabs and pulled one out. His movements were too hurried, and when he set the bottle down, it tipped over. Xu Ze merely glanced at it and had no time to care. He gripped the swab and rubbed the inside of his arm forcefully several times. Then he tore open the syringe packaging, snapped open the vial, drew up the inhibitor, and injected it directly into his vein.
He should have been able to endure until he got home before doing all this. But intense emotional fluctuations over a short period could stimulate pheromone secretion, thereby causing rut to arrive rapidly.
And the reason for his intense emotional fluctuations in such a short period—
Xu Ze closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and forced himself not to remember.
[Lu Heyang: Suspects Number 17 is at the preparatory school, but isn’t completely convinced.]
[The setting is that the higher the wristband’s level, the better it is at blocking other people’s pheromones and suppressing one’s own pheromones.]