by J D Astra
“Do you?” Mae asked sarcastically, and I contained my grumble, but only just. Woong-ji waited, as if she knew I had something else to say.
“There was something I wanted to ask,” I finally said. She nodded for me to go on. “I have a personal project I’m working on. I was hoping you had spare parts I could borrow and pay you for later?”
She quirked her brow. “I’m sure you know the rules about first-year students having personal projects at Bastion.”
“I promise it’s not within the bounds of the academy,” I offered, and her eyebrow came up to a critical point. “Please, it’s important to me.”
She hummed in thought. “What kind of spare parts are you needing?”
“Alloys or metal, preferably something lightweight like reinforced aluminum, magnesium, titanium, or beryllium.”
“Beryllium!” she barked the word with a laugh. “Pretty picky list for scraps. What else?”
“Copper wiring, PVC plastic... gold?” I winced as I asked, and Woong-ji’s face shifted from surprise to suspicion.
“This project wouldn’t happen to be a battle-bot, would it?”
I smiled innocently as the nerves tightened in my chest. “If it were, would that make you more or less likely to help me?”
She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. “You’re a good young man. I know it. As a Bastion instructor, I must inform you that sport combat of any kind is frowned upon but will not get you outright expelled. As your mentor, I would advise you look for other options.”
My brow pulled together in frustration. “What other options? I have no way of raising the money my family needs in the time they need it.”
“If you see no other choices, then they must not exist.” Woong-ji looked at me with a sarcastic shrug.
My cheeks burned. “If you see another path forward, would you please illuminate it for me, Master?”
“You’ve made well-off friends since coming to the academy—”
“Are you implying I should take a loan from my friends?” I cut her short, then at the look of annoyance in her face, I bowed. “I apologize, Master. I cannot take another loan to pay a loan.”
She spoke slowly, and I resisted the urge to interrupt again. “Taking a loan is another option before you. You implied there were none, so I showed you there was, as you asked.”
“But not one I’m willing to take,” I said.
She shook her head. “You didn’t specify whether or not the option would compromise your values or morals. I’m certain this isn’t the only other option you have.”
“It’s all I can see. I would rather do something—even if it’s not the perfect choice—than sit in indecision doing nothing.”
She hummed in amusement and rose from her pillow. “Follow me.”
We left the classroom and headed back toward Grandmaster Min-hwan’s office, but when we reached his doors, Woong-ji turned down the left hallway. The ceiling dropped as we walked until it was only a meter overhead. She led me through the dimly lit halls where other instructors passed us with a nod and sometimes a, “Good evening.”
We took a flight of stairs up to the next level, and then up to a third, which appeared to be the top floor. Another long hallway brought us to a door engraved with a large depiction of a munje core and snaking bands. The core and bands were painted with gold and silver, and a fat, black crystal sat at the center.
She turned the handle and invited me inside. “This is my office.”
The walls were lined from top to bottom in dark shelves littered with glowing bottles, tiny machines, and a few sparse books. There were light displays like Min-hwan’s hanging from the walls and ceiling, but the most interesting thing in the room was the bronze cylinder that poked out through the open glass skylight.
“Is that a telescope?” I asked as I pointed to the massive metal construct. It came down to a small eyepiece that rested on a stabilized pedestal next to her desk.
“Very astute,” she remarked as she stepped in. “At the back is my workshop; you’ll find everything there. Take what you need, but be warned, you will be indebted to me.”
I swallowed hard as my heart hammered and I bowed deeply. “I will pay you back tenfold, whatever you ask of me.”
She smiled. “I have no doubt. Get to work.”
Chapter 30
THE CONTROLLED STREAM of lightning from my finger served well to fuse the copper wires together as I worked on Tuko’s underbelly. His trapdoor was too slow, the wiring too long. With Woong-ji’s materials, I was able to increase the size of his reservoir by removing the singular, large location and crafting five new reservoirs that sat in different locations around his body. One next to the trap door, two at the rear where the razor wire sat, and two at the front next to each grip-claw joint.
The extra space from where his main reservoir used to be allowed me to add more to his belly trap, increasing the capacity from three shots to seven, which would be invaluable. There was titanium—far more than I was expecting—to improve his grip-claws and add a new plate to his back where his leg joints were vulnerable.
I expanded his smoke bomb capacity as well and crafted several different rounds I could swap in and out along his claw barrel. He was twice as deadly now and at least that much better in defense as well.
I cut off the soldering stream and moved on to the tiny bit of plastic I had left. I heated it just to the point of malleability but not so much it burned, then covered the new copper wire until nothing showed. I sat back and marveled. He was going to own the gauntlet.
I flipped him over and pushed a bit of ma munje into his new reservoirs before setting him down. The panel responded to my touch, and Tuko flexed his front claws, then took a few steps forward, skittered sideways, and hopped backwards. He was more agile than ever.
“You done yet?” the bartender, Ryni—such a strange name that I assumed was only for work—walked up beside me to inspect the bot. “It looks good; you’re a pro. You could ask the boss for a job here at our shop in the Rabid Rabbit? We did just lose a craftsman.”
“Could he give me an inner-city work visa?” I looked up at her, hopeful. It would be great to repair bots over the summer instead of working at the arborum... if I didn’t get an apprenticeship with Woong-ji or the Guild of Historians.
“She, and I dunno. Maybe.” Ryni shrugged and headed toward the door to the bar. Boss—the owner of the establishment who didn’t give out her name lightly—had agreed to let me use the backroom for my repairs since I couldn’t bring Tuko back to Bastion. They were being a little too welcoming to me, and I was growing worried about their intentions.
I pulled Tuko up under my arm and followed Ryni to the noisy bar. “So, when’s the next gauntlet?”
She turned to the device at the back wall and scrolled through the list, selected the “Bot Gauntlet” option, and roved through the schedule. “I’m assuming you need a rest day slot?”
I nodded. I couldn’t skip class to fight.
“Six weeks.”
“Six?” I cried. That was too far out. “What about fights tonight, any slots open?”
She scrolled again. “There’s one zo battle open in ten minutes, someone dropped out, but all the bot fights are full for two weeks. If you come back every night, you might catch a dropout slot for the bot fights.”
I couldn’t afford to sneak out every night; I’d surely be caught, not to mention the exhaustion from sleep loss. No, I couldn’t swing that. Two weeks was just far enough out that Eun-bi’s debtor would be knocking for his money.
“Who’s the brawler tonight? What are the stakes?”
Ryni looked at me with shock. “Do you really want a zo battle? You’re not really, uh”—she gestured to my lean body—“cut out for it. Plus, I’m not sure regulations will allow someone so young to fight.”
I crossed my arms. “Can I have the slot or not? What’s the payout?”
Her eyes shimmered purple for the briefest of seconds. “Boss doesn’t want a
teen in the ring with this guy. Sorry, Jiyong.”
She turned away, and I grabbed her arm. “Ryni, please. I need the money now. It can’t wait.”
She gave me an incredulous glare. “Why not?”
I looked around the room and tried to keep my voice down. “My little sister will be sent to a work camp for incurring debt to pay my mother’s bills while I was in a coma. If I can’t produce some money to hold off the debtor, they’ll take her within the week. I can’t come out every night looking for a dropped bot slot. I need this fight.”
The color returned to her eyes in a flash, and then she nodded. “Okay. It’s a flat payout for wins and losses on the brawler side. Win will get you eighty percent for your round, and a loss will get you five. The brawler pot for the final round is sitting at six-hundred and eighty guli, and not for no reason. This guy is a monster, Jiyong.”
“This doesn’t sound like a good idea,” Mae whispered through my mind.
I had no illusion of my chances of winning, but five percent of six-eighty would probably be enough to keep the debtor at bay for a few extra weeks.
Mae pipped up again. “Jiyong, I hate to be rude, but I live here too. If you get hurt, I get hurt.”
‘What about Eun-bi getting hurt? Or killed? Does that matter to you?’
“Of course it does...”
‘We can take a little pain to save her life.’
I felt her resolve give way. “Okay. Do your best.”
“I’ll take it, and the six-week gauntlet slot, and the two-week bot fight slot.” I nodded to Ryni.
She cringed and shook her head with disappointment, then scheduled me in.
“Your reservoir is empty, Jiyong. You’ve been blasting out en munje all night,” Mae chimed in my ear.
I shifted my breathing to recycle the old munje. I’d get as much of that converted to zo as I could, then pull in new energy.
“Get down there,” Ryni shooed me with annoyance. “You have six minutes.”
I took the steps slowly to keep my breathing in sync as I made my way down. The rowdy patrons were lined up for the bathroom between fights—as usual—and so it was a tough squeeze down the hall. The bouncer held his hand out for payment at the door.
I infused my voice with a bit of suggestive ry. “I’m the next fighter. I’ll pay after the round.”
The door guard groaned and rolled his eyes but let me pass. I trotted down the stairs to the check-in station and nodded to the attendant. “Here for the last zo brawl.”
The attendant looked me up and down. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said with a determined growl. All of them questioning me only made me more upset. I knew what I was doing.
Mae sighed in my ears, and I ignored her.
The man scribbled in silvery ry on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “The fight is to knockout. No surrenders. Best of luck kid.”
I sucked down a breath and took the sheet. That was unfortunate.
“Jiyong, what if you go into another coma?” Mae asked with worry.
‘What’s the likelihood of that?’ I queried her as the door slipped back and the same gate guard gave me a nod.
He patted me on the back as I passed. “Good luck.”
Mae grumbled. “Low probability, but still... you could end up missing out on the rest of this school year. You could have to repeat, and I know how impossible you think that is.”
‘What are my options right now, Mae? Walking away from this fight and letting Eun-bi get taken to a work camp is not an option.’
“Like Woong-ji said, you could ask Hana or Yuri for some money and tell them that you would pay them back soon.”
I scoffed as I stepped down to the waiting room. “You want me to ask kingdom pungbahn for a loan?”
Mae was grave. “Your friends aren’t pungbahn, Jiyong...”
“Hana made it clear we’re not friends anymore,” I muttered below the noise of the roaring patrons.
I stepped around the fence and observed the hulking man at the center. He was twice or even three times as wide as me. His muscles shimmered with sweat, and he flexed for the cheering crowd. He only wore small black shorts and nothing else, with his long, curly black hair tied on top of his head in a loose bun.
He shouted up at the sky and turned so I could see his face. Blood crusted his thick, black mustache and there was a fresh cut over his left eye. Sweat gleamed in his short beard as he laughed. “This is it? This is the last contender?”
I stepped up to the metal gate, and it swung open. I took two steps in and put my right fist to my left palm, then bowed. “I’m Jiyong, your next opponent.”
The massive man put his hands on his hips and looked to the audience. “This isn’t going to be a challenge for me! Who wants to see me fight this boy?”
The crowd booed, and heat filled my cheeks. “The fight will begin, and I will do my best. If you don’t fight back, I suppose I’ll go home with the winning pot.”
The hulk looked back to me with amusement. “Ho ho, you’re going to do your best, eh?” His expression shifted from amused to wild madness, and he whispered, “I’m going to destroy you.”
I swallowed hard and took a fighting stance. “Of that I have no doubt.”
Chapter 31
MAE SPOKE QUICKLY IN my mind. “He’s mostly top mass. Go for his legs and stay agile. If you take a hit to the head from those beef slab arms, you’ll be out for sure.”
‘Anything else you see?’
“The gauntlet champion, Furious Fist versus Jiyong! Fighters, at the ready!” the announcer boomed over the stadium. Multi-colored lights danced across the bloodied arena floor as the drums beat a deadly rhythm.
I stepped into the arena until I was only a few meters from Furious Fist. He flexed his muscles in a showmanship kind of way, and I felt the need to as well. Better conserve the flexing for the actual fight. How the hell was I going to get out of this without being annihilated?
“His body temperature is significantly elevated. He’s not recycling properly.”
‘If I can outmaneuver him, maybe he’ll overheat himself?’
The drums came to a crescendo, then halted. “Begin!”
Furious Fist moved in fast, as if he could win by bulldozing me. I faked dodging left, and he went for it, swiping his right arm in a heavy swing. I ducked and rolled right out of the way, then kicked the back of his leg. Furious’ joint caved, and he dropped to one knee.
I scrambled to my feet, and he looked over his shoulder with a deadly smile. “So, you’re gonna dance with me? Is that it, little ballerina?”
“I’ve never danced before, but I’ll give it my best try,” I said with a smirk, trying to take every second of downtime I could to cycle energy into zo and recycle my used ma from ten minutes before.
Furious laughed and spun around as he shot back up to standing. “This might be fun.”
He charged again, cleaner than the first time, and I watched his posture, which foot he led with, and which side his body twisted to. He was coming in for a haymaker, and he’d expected me to try to dodge.
I stood my ground and redirected zo to my left arm and right knee. He roared as he swung in hard. I lifted my left arm to block the side of my head and darted in. His fist missed my head by mere centimeters, but the power of his forearm hitting mine still knocked my brains around.
He was much too close to slow himself down. I used his momentum to wrap my arm around the back of his neck and pull him into my right knee. The blow landed squarely on his chest, and I gave him another knee for good measure. I directed more zo to my right elbow, ready to let him have it, when suddenly I felt myself lifting from the ground.
Furious grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me into the air, then leaned backwards. I struggled fruitlessly to free myself from my opponent’s iron grip as the colorful ground flew up toward my face. There was nothing else to do but brace for impact as Furious threw me to the ground.
I reinforced my skull and
spine with zo as my head met the concrete with heavy thud. Everything was dark for a flash, and then pain radiated around my ribs and stole the breath from my lungs.
“Keep cycling, Jiyong!” Mae yelled in my head, but I couldn’t even breathe, let alone cycle.
I rolled out of the way as a fist barreled down at my head, then scrambled back until I found my footing. My tight lungs refused to let more than a mouthful of air in, but I took it, panting shallow and fast. I’d have to change the cycling tactic from long, big breaths to tiny bursts. I wouldn’t be able to save or store any zo with this method, but it seemed I needed to use all of it anyway.
Furious was on his feet just as fast, coming for me again. I deflected another punch, dipped under a jab, and gave him a little one-two of my own to the side, but it wasn’t worth it. Black sparks shot away from where I hit him, and my fists ached. His skin was as hard as iron every time I went in for a strike.
Furious hammer punched down onto my left shoulder, and pain lanced through the joint as it snapped out of place. I hopped out of range, but he stayed with me, swinging madly. I gritted through the pain as my left arm dangled uselessly at my side. The announcer shouted something about it, but I was too concerned with the constant stream of hooks, jabs, and uppercuts to notice.
“You can’t run forever!” Furious laughed as he caught me in the gut with a blow that felt like it hit my spine. My eyes blacked out again, and I pitched forward as all the air left my lungs.
There was another heavy strike to my back, and my head hit the concrete. I gasped in the taste of iron and dirt. Blood coated my lips as I sputtered for air. I cracked opened my eyes to starry gleams of color that swam around and around. I could hear the far off shouts of the crowd and the announcer declare, “Furious Fist wins!” Breathing felt impossible, and I closed my eyes against the pain, willing it to stop.
“Jiyong,” Mae sounded panicked. It was fine. Yes, I’d lost, but I was still going to get paid. Everything was fine.
“Jiyong!” Mae screamed, and I opened my eyes with a painful gasp. My head throbbed over and over like the death drums from the fight. I sat back and rubbed my eyes with a groan.
