Chapter 13: The Showdown of Aces
The crimson laser lights flashed overhead, pulsing like a beating heart. “Rusty Bone” Sally stared up at the domed ceiling, his consciousness hazy and blurred.
It took him a second or two to snap back to reality. Scrambling to his feet, he frantically dodged an incoming attack. A grey-eyed youth smashed a fist right into the canvas beside Sally’s head. Even though the stage absorbed most of the kinetic impact, a gaping hole was ripped through the canvas surface and the rubber padding underneath.
Sally spat a mouthful of saliva, thinking to himself: What an absolute monster!
He twisted the signet ring on his finger, activating a hidden mechanism that pricked his skin. Blood flowed rapidly into the ring’s reservoir slot. The moment Sally unleashed a forward punch, the blood shot out toward the youth’s face like a high-velocity arrow. Passing through the mechanism, the metallic ions within the blood aggregated under an intense magnetic force, hardening into arrowheads sharper and stiffer than solid steel.
The youth evaded the projectable with effortless grace, immediately settling into a classic boxing stance. His movements were incredibly light, nimble, and packed with an underlying sense of devastating power—resembling a beautifully fluid, lethal automaton. Sally instantly shifted from offense to defense. As the youth’s fist whistled toward him, Sally twisted his ring again; a torrent of blood gushed out, instantly coating his own fist to form a rigid, crimson armor.
Right at that moment, however, the youth unleashed a colossal rear-swing punch that shook the entire arena. Not only did the stage fracture, but even the spectators in their seats felt a collective shudder ripple through their chests. The blood armor shattered into fragments, and Sally’s left arm popped completely out of its socket.
This kid—he might be even more troublesome than the real Hearts! An alarm blared frantically within Sally’s mind. Abandoning all caution, he triggered the mechanism once more. Fresh blood poured from his severed wrist pulse, whipping through the air like a venomous serpent. The blood-whip thrashed and danced in a chaotic blur, carving out a defensive wall of crimson around his body.
The youth’s brow furrowed slightly. The blood-whip left microscopic, invisible needles of congealed blood suspended in the air, scraping bloody lacerations across various parts of his body. Sally burst into a manic howl of laughter, driving forward step by step as he controlled the thrashing whip.
Just as the youth was pinned against the very edge of the ring, a sudden clamor erupted from beneath the stage.
“Catch it, you grown-up dummy!”
It was a group of children dressed in tattered burlap sacks and old rags. Working together, they hoisted a long-handled hatchet up onto the stage.
The youth caught the weapon, his grey eyes flickering with a momentary tremor, as if silently asking where on earth they had scavenged such a thing. Over the past few days, these children from the scrap yards had frequently snuck into the Poker Bar to visit the wounded Hearts, developing a massive interest in his well-being. Over time, the youth had grown quite familiar with them.
One of the kids smirked, placing his hands proudly on his hips: “Take it, dummy! We found this weapon near the scrap yard. Once you’re done with this match, we’re taking it back to sell for cash!”
The moment the long-handled hatchet settled into the youth’s palm, he felt a profound sensation—as if a missing piece of a puzzle had finally clicked into place. Gripping the smooth white-wax wood handle, it felt as though the weapon itself was letting out a joyful, resonant hum.
Sally’s pupils dilated instantly. He watched a god of death raise an axe blade right before his eyes. Head, neck, chest, abdomen—the tip of the blade sliced through the air, emitting a sharp, fabric-tearing sound as it pointed directly at his vitals. The overhead laser lights swept across the arena. The youth’s silhouette glided forward like a drifting dark cloud.
Everything transpired within a single, fractions-of-a-second window. The cleaving hatchet carved out a chaotic blur of silver arcs in the air, resembling a firework exploding in a brilliant flash! A moment later, the crimson lights of the dome reflected in Sally’s clouded irises as his body collapsed. No one could tell exactly what had occurred in that final millisecond; they only saw Sally drop heavily to the canvas like a marionette whose strings had been cleanly severed.
No blood, no redundant gestures—it was a clinical, flawless victory.
A profound silence draped over the blood arena. A heartbeat later, a deafening wave of cheers, resembling a localized earthquake, erupted from all sides of the colosseum. Everyone roared with absolute fanaticism:
“Hearts! Hearts!”
The youth stood in the center of the ring, entirely expressionless. Securing the victory felt as though it had been entirely within his calculations all along. He was none other than Quicksand, disguised under the alias of Hearts.
Clutching the long-handled hatchet tightly, a deep tremor resonated within Quicksand’s chest, feeling exactly like a reunion with a long-lost companion.
A group of Corporation robots rolled forward, preparing to drag the unconscious Sally away. Quicksand turned to them and said:
“Don’t kill him. And that Clubs Cat from earlier—you are not allowed to touch her either. Once we win this whole event, we are setting them free.”
“Haha, that is entirely subject to debate.”
Suddenly, a cold voice echoed from the rear entrance.
The audience turned their heads. One by one, the red neon tubes lining the corridor flickered to life. A silhouette stepped forward through a dense cloud of dry-ice fog—featuring a sharp, gaunt face and massive, skeletal arms resembling rigid steel rebar. It was Monkey Face, the Chief of the 2030 branch.
The heavy metal background music abruptly surged to a deafening crescendo as Monkey Face stepped onto the ring, his metallic gauntlets gleaming with a hazardous luster. This was the primary culprit who had shattered Hearts’s original body. The electronic display embedded on his gauntlet blinked with his remaining lifespan balance: 491 years.
In an instant, all ambient noise died down, leaving nothing but the rustling, heavy thud of Monkey Face’s footsteps echoing through the ring, radiating immense pressure. Everyone held their breath, their hearts skipping a beat, until he planted his two feet firmly onto the canvas like an immovable vice.
“Young man, you are not Hearts,” Monkey Face let out a sinister sneer. “But your performance was magnificent. You single-handedly spiked our viewership ratings for this month’s event, so I will grant you my forgiveness. Step down; the next match is about to begin.”
Quicksand stared back at him with a frigid gaze: “And what if I refuse to step down?”
“Then you will be penalized for a rules violation, and the rewards promised to you previously will be completely forfeited.”
“Didn’t you violate the rules yourself when you took down our fighter earlier?”
Monkey Face let out a series of dry, raspy chuckles, his dark eyes locking onto the youth. He lowered his voice to a whisper:
“‘Our fighter’? Scavenger Quicksand… whose side are you actually on?”
A sudden, stabbing pain flared behind Quicksand’s eyes. He clutched his forehead as those words branded themselves into his temples like a white-hot iron. Monkey Face had called him “Quicksand.” During his previous raid on the 2030 branch, he had indeed assumed the identity of the Chief Scavenger—but why did his brain react with such violent, agonizing resistance the moment he heard that name?
Suddenly, a grotesque smirk split across Monkey Face’s features. A fist materialized out of nowhere, the metallic gauntlet radiating a frost-like chill as it lunged straight for Quicksand’s face. Still reeling from the intense headache, Quicksand jerked his head aside. The blow grazed his cheek, drawing a line of fresh blood. Monkey Face instantly shifted his fist into a claw, lunging for the side of the youth’s head.
But right at that exact microsecond, a powerful fist intervened from the side, striking Monkey Face squarely in the jaw!
The carbon-fiber helmet shattered violently, scattering internal foam padding across the canvas. Monkey Face crashed heavily against the ring ropes, staggering backward. As his vision spun, a thunderous roar erupted from the audience below, thousands of voices merging into a single, unified cheer:
“Hearts—Hearts!”
Monkey Face scrambled to his feet, a furious face filling his field of vision. The newcomer’s brows were knitted tight, his facial features crumpled like a sheet of wrinkled aluminum foil, and his broad shoulders stood like a solid stone wall. His limbs appeared to be an eclectic assemblage of various cybernetic parts—one arm supported by a carbon-fiber exoskeleton, the other consisting of an Eastern Lowland Gorilla cybernetic limb.
This was Hearts, bursting with absolute fury.
The genuine, unadulterated Hearts—once known as “Anvil the King of Boxers,” and now the supreme leader of the Clepsydra resistance.
Monkey Face squeezed a dry, forced laugh from his throat:
“Haha… so the real deal finally decides to show up.”
Hearts remained silent, merely making a brief hand gesture. Understanding the cue, Quicksand flipped over the ropes and stepped down from the stage. His rebellious streak was reserved solely for Diamonds; when it came to his idol Hearts, he was entirely compliant.
“You certainly recovered quickly. It’s only been three days, and you’ve already scavenged a matching set of body parts from the trash bins?” Monkey Face taunted. “I recall unleashing this exact fist against you a long time ago. Back then, it took you an immense amount of effort just to patch up your mangled frame. It seems you’ve grown entirely accustomed to being my defeated foe.”
Hearts spoke, his deep voice churning with an anger as scorching as molten iron:
“Who gave you permission to lay your hands on our employee over and over again?”
His voice sounded like a volcano on the verge of eruption, causing a primal shiver to run through anyone who heard it. Monkey Face burst into laughter:
“Please, don’t lose your temper, Brother Anvil. My apologies, I misjudged the situation earlier—I assumed this fine employee of yours was just you after a botched plastic surgery. But now that you’re here, let us—the aces of both sides—commence the final match.”
In a best-of-three tournament, with the first round a victory and the second a defeat, everything would be decided by this third and final round. Monkey Face discarded his luxurious sable coat. Hearts planted his feet, slightly raising his right heel. The overhead lights whirled across the venue, casting shadows that tangled across the stage like venomous serpents. The air grew completely stagnant.
At this exact moment, the fifty thousand spectators inside the arena, along with the millions of eyes watching via the live network broadcast, focused entirely on the two figures.
Suddenly, the buzzer sounded, letting out a crisp ring like fracturing ice. The mechanical referee barked: “Fight!”
In a fraction of a second, their silhouettes crossed. The sharp crack of fists breaking through the sound barrier felt powerful enough to shake the foundations of the building. This was a genuine duel between the absolute aces of both factions; every onlooker forgot to breathe. Monkey Face quietly tucked his thumb between his middle and ring fingers, extending a tiny, poison-tipped steel blade from his knuckles.
However, Hearts’s punch was faster. Bypassing the opponent’s guard, his fist smashed heavily into Monkey Face’s scapula. A powerful kinetic shockwave rippled through the air; beneath the iron fist, Monkey Face’s bone snapped as easily as a disposable wooden chopstick. Retreating in a panic, a needle extended from the interior of Monkey Face’s metallic gauntlet, injecting lidocaine and medical nanobots beneath his skin to forcibly stabilize the fractured bone.
Simultaneously, facing Hearts who was charging directly toward him, Monkey Face seized the opportunity to swing his fist, triggering a mechanism within his gauntlet that deployed a massive cloud of microscopic, light-blocking nano-powder.
The powder rapidly diffused into the air, creating a dense mist that distorted the trajectory of light waves. Within a heartbeat, Monkey Face’s silhouette completely vanished from the ring.
A life-and-death duel permitted any weapon and any underhanded tactic; the single absolute rule was that no harm must come to the spectators. Having hidden his physical form, Monkey Face’s smug voice echoed through the empty air:
“Brother Anvil, just throw in the towel. The audience might not see it clearly, but I know you’ve barely recovered from your severe injuries. Your newly installed cybernetics are completely uncoordinated. I haven’t even revealed my trump card yet, and you’re already panting like a dog!”
Hearts was indeed breathing heavily, a thin layer of sweat coating his face. Yet his eyes remained completely unyielding. Taking a deep breath, his cheeks and chest expanded fully before he unleashed a deafening, thunderous roar! A portion of the light-blocking powder was displaced by the sheer acoustic force, exposing a sliver of Monkey Face’s silhouette. Seizing the opening, Hearts drove another fist forward. Like a crumpled rag, Monkey Face was sent flying backward across the ring.
Crashing heavily to the floor once more, spots danced before Monkey Face’s eyes. Gnashing his teeth as he scrambled up, fragments of his past flashed uncontrollably across his mind.
Years ago, when they were both active competitors in the blood arena, he had clashed with Anvil in private duels multiple times. Without exception, every single encounter had concluded in his utter defeat. Anvil was an insurmountable mountain blocking his path.
Monkey Face harbored a secret. He was not Anvil’s junior; he was his senior.
A long time ago, Monkey Face had also been a slave inside the arena. After claiming countless lives on the canvas, he had amassed immense popularity. Eventually, the Chrono-Entropy Corporation recruited him, assigning him the cushy position of Chief of the 2030 branch.
When he was a slave, Monkey Face’s entire mind was consumed with earning enough lifespan to escape the lower districts. But once he became a branch chief, he lived in a massive VIP lounge overlooking the spiral city, complete with mechanical assistants managing his daily affairs—effectively separating himself from the filth of the lower world. The luxurious lifestyle softened his sharp edges, until a new star materialized before his eyes.
That star was Anvil.
Anvil was a talent he had personally scouted. Initially, commissioned by high-ranking executives, Monkey Face was tasked with cultivating Anvil as fresh blood for the arena. He never expected Anvil to possess such genuine, terrifying talent, quickly rising to prominence among the fighters. His body and consciousness appeared naturally engineered for combat. From the very moment Anvil stepped onto the stage, Monkey Face became nothing more than a shadow lurking in his background—unable to break free from his eclipse, no matter how hard he chased.
The seeds of intense jealousy sprouted within his heart. Monkey Face devised countless lethal schemes, yet none could stop Anvil from shining brilliantly. He had expended a total of 60 years of his own lifespan to scatter Anvil’s four limbs across disparate dimensions, yet Anvil always returned before him like a superhero in a film. And now, standing on the stage of the blood arena, Monkey Face staggered to his feet, watching his rival stand perfectly composed opposite him—resembling an indestructible divine monument. The flames of jealousy consumed his mind, and Monkey Face bellowed:
“Anvil—Anvil! Why won’t you just fall?”
Losing all control, Monkey Face swung his fists wildly, the air detonating with sharp cracks under the barrage of blows. He screamed at the top of his lungs: “What kind of wicked trick did you use to repeatedly steal everyone’s attention away from me?”
Hearts’s voice was frigid and steady: “Monkey Face, this old man has looked into your past. You once belonged to the lower districts, yet the moment you gained an ounce of authority, you stood on the opposing side of the resistance, turning your blades against innocent people. To deliver your punishment, this old man had to trudge through the fires of hell multiple times just to stand before you and land a single punch!”
Suddenly, Monkey Face’s expression twisted into a manic grimace. Lunging forward, he drove a fist with earth-shattering force straight toward Hearts’s heart. Hearts intercepted his arm, triggering a mechanism on his own cybernetic gauntlet that fired several laser beams straight into Monkey Face’s eyes. Letting out an agonized shriek, Monkey Face clutched his face and stumbled backward, his throat swelling as if he had swallowed a handful of coarse sand.
Hearts unleashed another follow-up punch. His gauntlet shattered upon impact, scattering cold, sharp metallic shards through the air. Gritting his teeth, Monkey Face lunged into a desperation tackle, violently slamming Hearts to the canvas. Having barely recovered from his prior injuries, Hearts was actually caught off guard, the metal fragments burying themselves deep into his back.
At that moment, the overhead spotlights swept past, plunging the stage into a fraction of a second of absolute darkness. Capitalizing on the blind spot, Monkey Face extracted a loose, long spike from his broken gauntlet, straddling Hearts’s torso as he drove the weapon down toward his throat. Right at that critical juncture, a broken tooth spat from Hearts’s mouth like a bullet, striking the spike off course and puncturing a bloody hole right through Monkey Face’s cheek. Exploiting Monkey Face’s cry of pain, Hearts rolled to his feet and smiled:
“Thanks to your prior hospitality, this old man’s entire body consists of detachable components—including my teeth. They double quite nicely as throwing darts.”
Monkey Face viciously spat out a mouthful of dark blood. Meanwhile, his hand quietly pressed against a hidden switch located near the ring’s corner post—an activation trigger known to almost no one but himself. Instantly, a transparent gravity field expanded outward, covering a ten-meter radius centered around the ring.
Hearts suddenly felt his body become completely weightless, as if he were stepping across ocean waves, throwing him entirely off balance. The metal shards on the canvas floated into the air, propelled like shooting stars by the kinetic force of Monkey Face’s punches. Sinking his shoulders and dropping his elbows, Hearts threw a series of phantom punches. The floating fragments collided in mid-air, erupting into a continuous cascade of silver sparks that resembled crashing ocean foam. The spectators, entirely oblivious to the gravity manipulation, could only watch the spectacle with wide, open mouths.
Realizing that none of his underhanded tactics could subdue Hearts, Monkey Face ran entirely out of options. His brows locked in a fierce furrow, his teeth grinding with a sickening crunch as he let out a cold sneer: “Brother Anvil, you truly are a persistent cockroach. If it were possible, I preferred not to resort to this final measure.”
“From the very beginning, you’ve known nothing but deceitful tricks. Whatever trump card you have left, lay it on the table.”
Monkey Face let out a sinister laugh: “You said it yourself—don’t you dare regret it later!” Stepping his left foot forward and pivoting his right heel outward, his posture resembled a tightly wound bow string. The electronic display on his metallic gauntlet flashed brilliantly, his remaining lifespan balance suddenly plummeting drastically. Hearts’s pupils dilated instantly; Monkey Face was unleashing that catastrophic fist once more—the punch that required a sacrifice of 30 years of lifespan.
During their very first encounter, Hearts’s original body had been shattered into pieces by this exact punch, his limbs scattered across different dimensions, barely surviving through sheer luck. During his subsequent raid on the 2030 branch, he had been heavily crippled by this move once again.
This was undoubtedly an exceptionally lethal attack. Hearts’s hairs stood on end, yet he advanced resolutely to meet it. The overhead red lights flickered erratically, pulsing like a failing heart. His eyes remained locked on Monkey Face. The opponent’s front foot was extended too straight, making his ankle highly vulnerable to a sweep—this was a critical flaw Hearts had deduced over the course of the previous rounds. Tens of thousands of eyes watched the center of the ring in absolute suspense. Suddenly, Monkey Face charged forward, the stagnant air tearing open as that world-shattering punch was unleashed once more!
In that exact fraction of a second, Hearts ducked his torso, delivering a sweeping kick to Monkey Face’s ankle. Monkey Face stumbled, managing to stabilize his footing, but his attacking posture had been forced off-center. Blood vessels map-lined across Monkey Face’s sclera. The gauntlet’s electronic display flashed again, expending an additional 10 years of lifespan to accelerate the punch’s velocity. Right at that exact moment, however, Hearts intentionally threw a counter-punch, his left hand colliding directly against Monkey Face’s oncoming fist.
In the next instant, Hearts’s left fist exploded violently! A brilliant flash of fire illuminated the entire arena, eliciting a massive wave of gasps from the audience.
Monkey Face’s attack was forcibly disrupted. Hearts’s cybernetic limbs contained miniature, sealed containers storing ammonia and iodine elements—elements capable of reacting to produce nitrogen triiodide. Once exposed to the air without its protective solution, the slightest kinetic vibration would trigger a violent detonation. Hearts had effectively converted his own cybernetic limb into a series of compact bombs.
Even with his left arm completely obliterated, Hearts roared as he continued to unleash a barrage of punches with his remaining limbs, striking Monkey Face like a torrential storm. Monkey Face attempted to trigger his gauntlet’s lifespan-sacrifice switch multiple times, but each attempt was violently interrupted by the localized explosions of Hearts’s self-detonating components. Knuckles, right fist, forearm, left leg, right leg—the flames leaped meters high into the air as fragments of cybernetics rained down amidst columns of thick black smoke. The atmosphere appeared completely warped, and the spectators began fleeing their seats like autumn leaves swept away by a gale.
One punch. Two punches. Three punches! The sonic cracks and concussive blasts felt powerful enough to rip the sky apart. Monkey Face resembled a crushed tomato, his body completely shattered, blood and mechanical components pooling across the floor. Hearts’s own frame disintegrated amidst the furious torrent of punches; he had sacrificed his own physical structure to secure the opportunity to break Monkey Face’s offensive line.
A short moment later, the detonations ceased, plunging the stage into an absolute, dead silence.
Monkey Face lay spread-eagled on the canvas, looking entirely eviscerated. His limbs were charred black, his joints twisted at impossible angles, resembling a broken mannequin. Hearts lay collapsed directly opposite him, his four limbs entirely destroyed by the explosions. It was a brutal, cataclysmic engagement where both sides had sustained mutual destruction.
“You lost, Monkey Face,” Hearts panted, a faint smile gracing his features. “And this old man is still breathing. I still exist within this era—you failed to erase me.”
Monkey Face’s voice was raspy, sounding like a rusty handsaw cutting through raw wood. “But you aren’t the winner either, Brother Anvil… You are the supreme leader of the Clepsydra resistance, while I am merely a minor branch chief of the Corporation. Trading your life away in a place like this will only cause the resistance to fracture and collapse.”
“It won’t,” Hearts smiled. “The Morning Star once fell, yet Clepsydra did not disband. They are no longer loose iron filings that require a magnet to cluster together.”
Monkey Face gnashed his teeth, his jaw muscles tightening as blue veins throbbed beneath his skin like decaying roots. Suddenly, he rasped: “Don’t you dare think… that everything is over. This match… counts as a draw. I haven’t run out of cards yet.”
Hearts remained silent, his brow furrowing deeply. Monkey Face let out a wheezing chuckle: “A draw means the life-and-death duel continues. I have prepared a magnificent gift, just waiting for you to unwrap it.” He suddenly raised his voice, shouting: “Guard robots, release him—the true ace of the 2030 branch!”
The heavy iron gates slowly ground upward. A deafening series of footsteps echoed through the facility, sounding as though a thousand subterranean dragons were shifting beneath the earth. Hearts’s heart leaped into his throat as he strained his neck to look toward the entrance.
A massive silhouette squeezed out from the waiting room. As the figure stood tall, the iron gateway itself appeared entirely too small to accommodate his frame. Boulder-like muscles hung across his body, pulsing with their own cadence alongside his breathing. In stark contrast to the colossal muscle tissue, the entity’s core torso was constructed from hundreds of interlocking mechanical gears, reflecting a cold, blue-grey metallic sheen.
Hearts’s pupils dilated to the size of pinpricks. “Monkey Face… you…”
The wrinkles on Monkey Face’s face clustered into a manic grin:
“You recognize them, don’t you, Brother Anvil? Those are your original limbs. I went to an immense amount of trouble to retrieve your four limbs from various timelines, injecting them with high-potency testosterone to grant them a muscular force comparable to an African elephant. Your enemy is your own flesh. Does your precious Clepsydra have any trump cards left to play?”
Suddenly, the colossal body fused with machinery bent slightly forward, emitting a grinding sound reminiscent of an excavator crushing a paved road. It leaped high into the air, landing heavily onto the canvas, sending metal fragments and high-density foam debris flying in all directions. The thick, heavily modified knuckles clamped around the immobilized Hearts, hoisting him high into the air before slamming him brutally into the floor.
Witnessing the scene from below the stage, Quicksand snatched up his long-handled hatchet and charged up the steps. But as he swung the blade toward the massive frame, a momentary hesitation locked his muscles. That was Hearts’s original body; once destroyed, it could never be recovered.
Capitalizing on that split-second hesitation, the biomechanical monstrosity curled its fingers into hooks, raking them viciously across Quicksand’s torso! Quicksand was sent flying backward. Guard robots swarmed forward to form a solid wall, their rifle barrels spitting bright flashes of fire as bullets tore up the concrete floor. In an instant, the resistance found itself backed into a desperate corner.
Monkey Face burst into a fit of psychotic laughter, his Adam’s apple bobbing rapidly beneath his skin like beads on an abacus:
“Brother Anvil, the fourth round has commenced! My faction has deployed its combatant—which of your fighters is going to step up to the plate?”
Suddenly, a wave of static feedback crackled over the PA system, a distorted voice echoing through the speakers:
“Isn’t your combatant right here?”
A brilliant pillar of white light cascaded down from the ceiling, slamming directly onto the stage and illuminating an uninvited guest. The newcomer wore a heart-patterned jacket paired with denim jeans, his silhouette standing perfectly straight. His face was concealed beneath an Ace Joker mask plastered with heart stickers.
Still locked in combat with the guard robots below, Quicksand stared blankly up at the stage. The individual’s voice was intimately familiar, the trailing cadence rising lightly like a bubble drifting on the wind, radiating a distinct, flippant tone. Hidden behind the mask was a head of platinum-blonde hair.
The whites of Monkey Face’s eyes flared with sudden shock: “Who… are you?”
The newcomer chuckled: “Are your eyes just for decoration? I am Hearts.”
“Absolute nonsense! Hearts is the one lying broken on the stage right now. What is wrong with you resistance lunatics—every single fighter you deploy claims to be ‘Hearts’!”
“Because we happen to be triplets. Isn’t that right, Big Brother Hearts?”
Hearing the newcomer’s voice, Hearts suddenly let out a low chuckle: “That’s exactly right, Monkey Face. We still have one final card left in our deck. A long time ago, this old man crossed blades with him. Three matches, three defeats—even the former King of Boxers, Anvil, was no match for him.”
The ambient noise across the arena appeared to be instantly severed, leaving nothing audible but the distinct, frantic thumping of heartbeats against the eardrums. Quicksand stared at the figure bathed in the spotlight, his chest tightening completely. In a vast, overflowing ocean of darkness, that person felt like the sole guiding beacon.
Lying shattered on the canvas, Hearts burst into a genuine laugh, his gaze brimming with absolute trust and gratification as he looked upon the silhouette, murmuring:
“He is our true Ace.”
