The Association debrief room felt like a courtroom. Harsh lights reflected off monitoring crystals embedded in the walls. Leon sat stiff-backed, medical tape binding his ribs, while Elise remained silent beside him.
Across the metal table, Brock shifted uncomfortably. Maris stared at her hands. Trenton avoided eye contact entirely.
"Explain the separation," the lead official said.
Brock cleared his throat. "Goblins forced us apart. Combat situation. No choice."
"Leon wandered off," Maris added quickly. "We couldn't find him."
Trenton nodded. "The healer slowed everyone down. We had to prioritize survival."
Three different stories. Three different lies.
The official's expression never changed. He gestured to the monitoring crystals. "Standard dungeon recording. Let's review."
Blue light projected the tunnel junction. Crystal-clear images showed Brock's deliberate hand signal. The coordinated sprint. The triggered collapse that sealed Leon and Elise behind tons of rubble.
Evidence. Undeniable.
"Abandoning teammates is grounds for immediate failure." The official's voice carried no emotion. "Collect your belongings and surrender your temporary licenses."
Security escorted them out in silence. Brock's face burned red. Maris looked ready to cry. Trenton kept muttering about unfair treatment.
Leon felt nothing. They'd made their choice.
The official turned back to him. "Your tactics were exemplary. Especially for F-Rank." He slid a leather pouch across the table. "Qualification bonus. Well earned."
Heavy coins clinked inside. Leon pocketed the pouch without counting.
"Thank you, sir."
Outside the Association building, Elise paused on the marble steps. "What now?"
"Medicine first."
The pharmacy sat three blocks away in a better district. Leon paid premium prices for treatments that might buy his mother a few more weeks. Half his bonus vanished into glass bottles and paper packets.
Still not enough. Never enough.
Elise watched him count remaining coins. "There has to be another way."
"Like what? F-Ranks earn copper. My mother needs silver."
Night fell as they walked through the Shadow Quarters. Torchlight flickered off broken windows. Desperate voices haggled over scraps.
A mud-stained flyer caught Leon's attention:
UNDERGROUND TOURNAMENTMedical Elixir Grand Prize!Entry: 50 SilverWinner Takes AllNo Rules. No Mercy.
An address in the deepest slums followed. Leon memorized it.
"You're not thinking—" Elise started.
"My mother's dying."
"That's suicide."
Leon folded the flyer. "Maybe. But it's a chance."
The hidden markets operated after midnight. Weapon dealers hawked modified gear from card tables. Potion sellers mixed questionable brews in dirty beakers. F-Ranks traded everything they owned for one more day of hope.
Leon asked questions. The tournament was real. Dangerous. Most fighters never made it past the first round.
"Entry fee's steep," an old woman warned. "Only one winner walks out with the prize."
Leon visited his mother at the hospital. She looked smaller than before, pale skin stretched tight over sharp bones. The medicine helped her breathe easier but couldn't stop the underlying decay.
He sat beside her bed until dawn. Made his decision.
The remaining coins covered tournament entry exactly. No backup plan. No safety net.
Leon registered under his family name only—"Graves." The clerk didn't ask questions.
Hark ran an equipment stall near the tournament entrance. The elderly dealer recognized Leon's mana gun immediately.
"Need tuning for the fights?" Hark's hands were steady despite his age. "Crowd loves a dark horse. But dark horses die quick without proper gear."
Leon paid for ammunition upgrades. Specialized rounds designed for close combat. His remaining silver disappeared into Hark's palm.
"Rules are simple," Hark explained while working. "Single elimination. Fight until surrender or death. Magic's allowed. Healing between rounds costs extra."
Other competitors gathered in the shadows. Scarred veterans with haunted eyes. Desperate F-Ranks willing to risk everything. A few mid-tier hunters fallen on hard times.
Leon recognized the type. People with nothing left to lose.
"First match," the tournament coordinator announced. "Graves versus Korren the Bonecrusher."
Leon's opponent stood seven feet tall. Muscle layered on muscle beneath crude tattoos. Former military, judging by his posture. Discharged for something violent.
The crowd erupted as odds flashed on betting boards. Twenty-to-one against Leon. Easy money for anyone stupid enough to back the skinny F-Rank.
"Place your bets," the matchmaster bellowed. "This one's going to be quick!"
The fighting pit was carved from stone beneath the city. Torches provided flickering light. Blood stained the sand from previous matches.
Leon stepped through the entrance gate. His mana gun felt heavy in his grip. His zombie waited in the shadows, invisible but ready.
Korren cracked his knuckles. "Nothing personal, kid. But I need that prize money."
Leon checked his interface one final time. Full mana. Elite Grave Mage ready. Everything he'd learned in the qualification dungeon would be tested here.
The crowd's roar faded to background noise. Leon focused on his opponent's stance. Weight distribution. Weak points.
The matchmaster raised his hand. "Fighters ready?"
Leon nodded.
"Begin!"