Capítulo 15: chapter 15: I’m just going to dance with him
What is the difference between an animal and a human?
I've come across many online discussions, a few of which took a deep and complex turn. This question was one of them.
I scrolled through the comments and found no answer that received unanimous approval except for one.
It consisted of a single word, which left me stunned:
"Order."
I wished I could meet the person who wrote that comment, just to show them the scene unfolding before me and ask, Have you changed your mind?
Deafening noise filled the air, accompanied by profanity so vile that even the master of obscenity himself would apologize and retire, leaving his throne to these savages.
A mob of people who had left any sense of civilization at home—assuming they even had one to begin with.
They shoved and pushed, using their hands and feet to clear a path for themselves, disregarding any concept of seniority and ignoring a human invention called "the queue."
All eyes were fixed on a single point.
The moment one of the mob reached the front, he slammed his hand violently on the desk, his eyes blazing with fury.
A single glance was enough to tell you that if his demand wasn't met, someone would surely die.
"Hurry up! Change my bet to the Monkey Man!"
The clerk trembled in fear at his appearance and demeanor, her movements clumsy with panic.
"S-sir, it's against our p-policy to ch-change—"
As if he cared. He slammed the desk repeatedly and hysterically.
"Move it, you useless bitch! The next round is about to start!"
His outburst solved nothing and didn't encourage the clerk.
All it did was escalate her fear, impairing her thought process further.
Tears began streaming down her face as her trembling hands struggled to respond.
Her pitiful state, coupled with the mob pushing from behind, escalated the situation.
"Bam!"
A slap landed on the clerk, paralyzing her.
Her tears stopped, not because the slap was effective, but out of sheer shock. She froze in her seat, unable to process what had just happened.
No matter what the mob did, it was useless.
Time was running out, and the pressure on his shoulders mounted.
He knew there was only one solution: find the person in charge.
He left the front desk, his gaze landing on an office with a sign that read "Manager."
He charged toward it, leaving the clerk to endure the same situation with just a different face, a different mob.
Sora sat relaxed in his chair, a cup of coffee on his desk. The aroma was still fresh, indicating it hadn't been long since it was prepared.
Amid the chaos outside, the calm inside the office had a distinct charm—one that was shattered by the sound of frantic knocking on the door.
Sora opened his eyes.
"It's starting."
Sitting upright, Sora picked up his cup, pretending to take a sip, and spoke with lethargic boredom.
"Enter."
The bell rang, finally announcing the start of the last round.
The Monkey Man wasted no time, charging at Cobra after noticing Cobra's intent to repeat his defensive strategy to protect his back.
Light, rapid punches rained down on Cobra's body. With each hit, the Monkey forced Cobra to retreat step by step.
But this time, the Monkey stayed vigilant, rolling to Cobra's retreating side to prevent him from escaping. Cobra was now cornered, unable to attack or retreat, while the Monkey refused to let him catch his breath.
"Cobra, you bastard, don't lose! My family is counting on your victory!"
"What's wrong with him? He seems different—didn't he get enough sleep?"
"I bet all my savings on him. He'd better win, or I'll be waiting for him outside."
The curses from the crowd poured down on Cobra, eliciting a twinge of pity.
Was he supposed to deal with the enraged crowd or the relentless Monkey Man, who refused to stop punching and kicking?
The fight continued in the same fashion, and just as boredom began to set in, everything suddenly changed.
Without warning, Cobra raised his arms to shield his head from the incoming blows, leaving his chest, ribs, and stomach completely exposed.
The Monkey's strikes, though moderate in strength and sometimes even playful compared to Cobra's resilience, still had an effect.
Repeated attacks on the same spot would inevitably take their toll.
It was as if Cobra was telling the Monkey: Take your time.
"What's with this guy? Has he gone crazy from all the hits he's taken?"
"Is this fight staged or what?"
"Now that I think about it, doesn't this explain his inconsistent performance in the second round?"
The crowd's minds finally began to piece things together, but their thoughts didn't last long before they were disrupted again.
Punches rained down on Cobra. A reddish hue spread across his ribs and stomach.
With every punch to Cobra's arms, which were guarding his head, a tremor indicated that his endurance was nearing its limit.
Cobra abandoned any attempt at offense, focusing entirely on defense, while the Monkey gave up evasion in favor of an endless onslaught.
Seconds passed—two, three—and Cobra's entire body began to falter.
His legs and arms trembled, and sweat poured down like a waterfall. But he wasn't the only one showing signs of exhaustion.
The Monkey's once-fast but weak strikes began to slow and lose power.
Recognizing this, the Monkey shifted his focus to Cobra's head, aiming for a knockout blow to end the fight.
As if fate had heard his plea, a narrow opening appeared, painstakingly created over the course of the fight: a direct path to Cobra's chin.
The Monkey didn't waste the opportunity.
He took a step forward, crouching slightly, and delivered an upward punch aimed squarely at Cobra's chin, slipping through the gap between Cobra's elbows.
The closer the punch came to its target, the more the Monkey straightened his back, adding power to the blow.
Just as everyone thought the fight was over, Cobra finally moved—and how he moved left everyone in stunned silence.
Cobra abandoned his defense.
Instead of avoiding the punch, he moved his head toward it.
Yes, you heard that right.
Using his abdominal muscles, Cobra leaned into the punch that was meant for his chin, redirecting it toward his forehead.
"Boom!"
The sound of something shattering echoed—the unmistakable crack of a bone breaking. But whose bone? The question was quickly answered as the Monkey clutched his hand, screaming:
"Aaaah!"
Overwhelmed by pain, the Monkey spun twice and dropped to his knees.
His hand was a mangled mess, with fingers bent at odd angles, pointing in all directions.
But was the fight over? Why turn your back on your opponent?
As these thoughts crossed the Monkey's mind, it was already too late.
Cobra's arms seized the Monkey from behind, lifting him into the air. And then—
"Boom!"
The Monkey's head smashed into the ring floor with devastating force.
The world turned upside down for the Monkey. Seeing the inverted crowd, he realized he had lost.
But once again, he found himself airborne, wondering: Is it not over yet?
"Boom!"
Once again, the world was upside down, but this time, his vision seemed blurry.
Was it over? No. Once more, he found himself soaring into the air, only to crash down again.
"Boom!"
Cobra gripped his waist, lifting him like a sack of flour, and moved as if to toss him backward, yet without letting go.
"Boom!"
The Monkey's head and neck smashed against the ground, but it wasn't enough.
Cobra adjusted his stance, realigning the Monkey to repeat the process.
"Boom!"
I lost count of how many times he did it. Was the Monkey still conscious? No. Was he even alive at this point?
Cobra didn't seem intent on stopping, which forced the referee to intervene, declaring Cobra the winner.
The crowd was frozen in place, mouths agape, faces plastered with shock as they questioned: What the hell just happened? Wasn't the Monkey winning just now? Wasn't Cobra completely exhausted?
For a moment, I thought their consciences had awakened, disturbed by the brutal scene they had just witnessed.
But my dreams shattered when I heard their cheers:
"Cobra! Cobra! Cobra! Cobra! Cobra!"
They couldn't care less about the defeated Monkey being carried out of the ring on a stretcher, unconscious.
This is life—so long as you're victorious, people care about you. But once you fall, no one gives a damn.
I stood after the fight, carrying with me a mix of emotions and a tinge of confusion.
The fight was... simple, yet it left a strange taste in my mouth.
It felt theatrical one moment, then painfully real the next.
A strange feeling overwhelmed me, prompting me to leave the room.
"Sir, do you need anything?"
One of the guards, massive as the doorway, greeted me.
The way he stood gave the impression that I was a prisoner, his body language reinforcing the notion.
As if what had just happened wasn't enough, I was bound to explode on someone today.
"What if I don't need anything, What will you do??"
I stepped closer, every dark thought forming in my mind about what I could do to him to vent the frustrations of the past few days.
"Have you lost your mind? How dare you speak to the Sir like that?"
Zoe, the maid, intervened just in time, snapping me out of it.
Damn it, what's wrong with me?
The guard stepped back, bowing in apology and opening the path for me to pass.
"I apologize if I offended you, sir. That wasn't my intention."
I glanced at Zoe with a look full of admiration.
She was sharp, unlike some of the idiots around here.
From her actions, she understood that her master worked under me.
Now that I think about it, why did he give me the mask until we reached the room? Because he didn't want his men to know he was under someone else's orders.
Fine. The fewer people who know, the safer it is.
I walked down the corridor, deep in thought.
"Sir?"
I turned toward the source of the voice—Zoe.
"Sir, I can guide you to wherever you want to go."
Was she trying to monitor me or earn points with me? It didn't matter.
I continued walking, extracting some information from her along the way.
"How many floors are here?"
"Six floors, sir."
"And Floor 6 is for the stands, correct?"
"Exactly, sir."
"What about the other floors?"
"Floor 1 is for betting. It's also where President Sora's office is located."
He wants all transactions under his watchful eye, though naturally, this makes it a high-risk location.
Floor 0 is the parking area, making it the first target for police or anyone looking to cause trouble. Confidence or arrogance?
"Floor 2 is for security guards, and Floor 3 is for the fighters."
To keep the fighters contained in case they decide to act up—smart.
"And Floors 4 and 5?"
"Those are for VIP guests."
So I'm either on Floor 4 or 5.
"Are there any other VIP guests now?"
I looked around. All the rooms were closed, and there was no sign of anyone else on the floor.
"No, sir. Both floors were reserved entirely for your comfort."
We stopped in front of the elevator, which hadn't opened yet.
I turned toward Zoe.
"Is there a problem, or am I trapped here?"
Without meaning to, a chillingly cold tone escaped me.
I was still suppressing my anger, but the smallest things irritated me now, and my eyes searched for any outlet to release my frustration.
Was I evolving into the archetypal young master?
"I don't know, sir. It should open as soon as we—"
Finally the elevator opened, but contrary to my expectations that it would be empty, there was a girl inside.
At first glance, you'd think she was a boy, dressed in men's clothing and a green jacket, with a black cap trying to obscure her face.
As soon as she appeared, Zoe rushed toward her.
"No entry is allowed today!"
Suddenly, it hit HER—it was impossible for the staff managing the elevator to make a mistake. How had she managed to get down here?
"Are you the sponsor?"
The girl ignored Zoe's questions and stood before me, her face stern.
What was her problem? Could she be with the police?
"What do you want with the sponsor?"
"So, you're him. I'm Roger's sister."
"Roger the pirate? Wait, who's Roger?"
Confusion swept across the girl's face.
She seemed to expect me to know her brother.
Did the body's previous owner know him? Was I supposed to? Her expression shifted as if realizing her mistake.
"I mean, I'm the Monkey Man's sister."
The Monkey Man's name was Roger? Zoe intervened, her instincts clearly kicking in.
"It's not permitted for competitors' families to—"
"Shut up. I'm not talking to you."
The girl cut her off, refocusing her attention on me.
"Sir, you're being deceived. The match results are being manipulated. My brother lost on purpose because President Sora pressured him."
"What are you talking about?—"
I raised my hand, silencing Zoe before she could finish.
From my analysis, the body's owner sponsored this competition to discover and recruit talent.
Why? I didn't know.
I had my suspicions.
If what this girl said was true, it meant that bastard Sora was disobeying orders and jeopardizing the plan.
Logic dictated that I should remain calm, verify the facts, and proceed with caution.
But, but, but—I hadn't slept.
Pressure from the old-looking Young man and his superior on one side, my wife and her family on the other—everything was closing in on me.
I needed something to vent my frustration on.
And unfortunately for him...
I stepped into the elevator, gesturing for both girls to follow.
"Can you control this box?"
The girl pulled a laptop out of her bag.
"Yes, sir. Which floor?"
I answered calmly, for the first time since waking up, determined not to hold back.
"Floor 1."
She started typing on the keyboard, closing the elevator doors as it began ascending.
"S-sir, this might just be a misunderstanding."
"Zoe, stay behind me and don't interfere."
My tone made her bow her head, deciding not to say another word.
"Sir, what are you planning?"
The girl's question piqued Zoe's interest as well.
I answered with my eyes shining, unfortunately they couldn't see them because they were standing behind me.
"Nothing too drastic. Sora and I are just going to have a little dance."
************A word with anger************
Author: What kind of dance are you planning?
Emiric: Not now, parasite.
Author: I was just trying to offer some suggestions. How about Zumba or breakdancing?"
Emiric: I'll breakdance on your head if you don't shut...
Author: Alright, alright, seems like you're not in the best mood today. Anyway, folks, what kind of dance do you think he'll show us?
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