Author: Mai Xiang Ji Ne
Volume: 3
Age Rating: Mature
Translator: Golden Pavilion
Editor: Jian

Synopsis

At the Academy, only a handful of students rank as S-class alphas or omegas, and Lu Heyang shines brightest among them. A top student from a distinguished family, he was born with the path to success already laid at his feet.

Xu Ze shares the same rare rank, but little else. Quiet and often covered in bruises, he seems to belong to a world far from Lu Heyang’s. Few know that after dark, he enters the underground ring as the legendary fighter No. 17.

Everything about them suggests their paths should never have crossed.

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Preview

After dinner, He Wei ordered someone to bring over a change of clothes so they could get out of their school uniforms. Then, they hopped back into the car and headed west. Compared to other parts of the capital, the western district was far less orderly. The buildings were dilapidated, and the roads were riddled with potholes. Neon signs above shopfronts almost always had a couple of blown-out letters.

“I can see why you didn’t want to drive the other car,” Lu Heyang remarked as he gazed out the window.

“Driving a fancy car here is like asking to be mugged,” He Wei replied.

The car turned into a narrow alley, bumping along until it arrived in front of a building plastered with tattered posters on its external walls. There were no lights coming from the windows, but they still heard faint voices from the entrance, despite the fact that they were still a distance from the action within.

They climbed up the steps and stepped inside, pushing aside the stiff, yellowed rubber curtain at the entrance. The lobby was empty and dimly lit, looking almost like an abandoned building. They walked through the lobby and stopped in front of the elevator, which was still functioning despite the rundown state of pretty much everything else they’d seen so far. There, the indistinct voices they’d heard earlier grew louder, and they were coming from below them.

The elevator doors opened with a dull chime, and they stepped in. He Wei pressed the button for basement two. As the elevator descended, the noise grew sharper, the sounds of the world below rising to meet them.

When the doors slid open, it was as if a heavy curtain had been pulled away—the once-muted cacophony erupted into a piercing, thunderous roar that crashed against their ears.

“This used to be a mall,” He Wei spoke into Lu Heyang’s ear, his voice barely audible over the noise. “It was abandoned, so someone connected the basement parking and supermarket, B1 and B2, and turned it into an underground club.”

The air was thick with a cocktail of scents: pheromones, perfume, smoke, alcohol… As they walked in, an omega in a scant bikini sidled over to Lu Heyang, pressing her soft chest against his arm.

Lu Heyang glanced down. The omega was holding a pack of cigarettes, with a lit one resting between her lips. She exhaled a puff of blueberry-flavored smoke, her long lashes fluttering over violet contact lenses.

The dim pink lights above cast a suggestive hue onto the venue. Lu Heyang smiled at the omega, taking the pack of cigarettes from her hand, then he pulled out a few bills from his back pocket, which he tucked under the strap of her bikini.

“Calm down, Mr. Suave.” He Wei whistled and took a swig of the beer he had just bought off another omega.

All eyes were on the two young and striking newcomers, but He Wei didn’t mind the attention. He draped his arm over Lu Heyang’s shoulder and led him down a dim corridor. A short walk later, they emerged in front of a circular arena.

The small arena was packed, its tiered stands crowded with all sorts of people, from drunken vagrants to businessmen in shirts and ties. There were also some wealthy-looking patrons watching from the VIP section perched above everyone else.

After their tickets were checked, a wiry alpha scurried over, bowing as he approached. He Wei leaned down to exchange a few words with him. The man nodded quickly, leading them to seats in the third row.

Once seated, He Wei handed over a few more bills while Lu Heyang passed him the pack of cigarettes. The alpha attendant accepted both without a word and disappeared swiftly.

Seconds later, the lights in the arena went out, plunging the space into total darkness. Then, a single beam of light descended from above, illuminating the octagonal cage in the center of the room. Simultaneously, the screen overhead flickered to life, displaying the names of the fighters: Owen and No. 17, accompanied by rows of betting odds.

“Seventeen is the youngest fighter here. He’s an S-class alpha. He fights every Friday,” He Wei commented, leaning back in his seat. “But he wasn’t here last week—I heard he fought on Thursday instead, and it was brutal, apparently.”

“Doesn’t he have a name?” Lu Heyang asked, looking at the screen.

“No, he’s just number seventeen. He’s good, but he doesn’t win often. It’s underground fighting, so you know the matches are rigged. They tell him to lose, and all he can do is follow. It’s that simple,” He Wei explained. “People die in these cages all the time, but Seventeen is smart—he doesn’t aim to win, and he doesn’t draw too much attention to himself. He may not make as much as some of the other fighters, but at least he lives to see his money.”

The crowd erupted into cheers as another spotlight flashed down. An alpha swaggered out, throwing mock punches toward the audience. His muscles were grotesquely large, almost cartoonish in the way they bulged out. Once he climbed into the cage, Lu Heyang caught sight of the figure behind him—No. 17.

In contrast to Owen, Seventeen’s tall, slender frame was defined by muscles that were well-built but lean. He looked sharp under the lights, but with a few scars and bruises scattered across his otherwise clear skin.

The crowd’s screams reached a crescendo as Seventeen bit down on his mouthguard and slid on his gloves. He raised his head, his expression calm as his gaze swept over the audience. Warpaint over the top half of his face concealed his identity.

The referee entered the cage and shut the door behind him. The two alphas stood face-to-face, encased in the dark, oppressive steel mesh of the cage.

Here, there were no judges, no rules, no weight classes, no medals—only raw, primal violence, just like the gladiatorial arenas of ancient Rome. The crowd was roaring before the fight had even begun.

He Wei’s eyes gleamed. He leaned forward, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. “Tell me this isn’t more exciting than fencing or martial arts.”

Lu Heyang was silent. He fiddled with his wristband, adjusting its settings to block out the noise. His gaze was fixed on Seventeen.

When the trip-gong sounded. Owen lunged forward with a straight hook, but Seventeen reacted near-instantly, raising an elbow to block the punch before sidestepping out of range.

“His gloves are thin,” He Wei remarked, still chewing his gum. “Not even eight ounces—probably six. He’ll break his fingers with that.” He leaned closer to Lu Heyang. “Some people hide shards of glass in their gloves and aim right under the rib. If they get them on the liver,  their opponent won’t be getting back up.”

No tricks were too dirty for underground fighting, and the audience didn’t care. They even reveled in the violence. They came for the blood and excitement, so why should they complain about being given more?

In just a moment, Owen had gained the advantage over Seventeen. Owen’s lightning-fast jabs, simultaneously focused on his head and ribs, messed with Seventeen’s rhythm, causing the latter to stumble back, inching closer and closer to the edge of the octagon. Spectators jumped to their feet, roaring, “Fight back, damn it! Crush him!”

Leveraging his weight, Owen switched to heavy blows to whittle down Seventeen’s defense. After a final right hook that dissolved his opponent’s guard, Owen immediately launched a straight cross that landed on Seventeen’s face. Bright red blood spurted out, splattering onto the gray mat beneath their feet.

Screams and shouts filled the air. Some of the audience members pressed right up to the cage like swarming wasps, yelling at the fighters inside. Cheers or insults, it didn’t matter. These fights existed solely to fuel the audience’s adrenaline, offering an outlet to vent their emotions, be it anger, excitement, or euphoria, with the fighters’ sweat and blood.

“How many rounds are there?” Lu Heyang’s eyes were fixed on Seventeen, who’d leaned back against the edge, wiping the blood off.

“Just the one,” He Wei answered as he leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, eyes glued to the octagon. “It ends when one of ’em can’t get up anymore. Sometimes, they do it tournament style.”

Inside the arena, Seventeen slowly straightened up. He raised his gloves, tapped them together, and strode back to the center.

Owen rolled his neck and resumed his fighting stance. When Seventeen approached him, Owen stuck out his tongue mockingly, and the crowd erupted once more with boos and cheers.

Seventeen remained calm as always. He drew his arms in, resetting his guard, and hunkered down slightly.

Another round of quick jabs. Seventeen took a second hit to the nose; blood trickled down his jaw, mixing with the face paint on his cheeks and creating a chaotic mask. There was no reprieve for him. Owen kept advancing cockily, hitting him in all the right spots, once again forcing Seventeen back to the edge.

The fans who’d bet on Seventeen complained that he couldn’t even take a newbie, but all of a sudden, those curses turned to gasps, then cheers—Seventeen made a successful defense, slipped past his opponent, and spun around, landing an uppercut on Owen’s chin.

It was a clean hit that made Owen see stars. When he recovered and charged back, Seventeen dodged every punch.

Seventeen feinted a punch to Owen’s rib, then followed up with a right hook that connected perfectly with Owen’s left cheek.

Before anyone could process the move, Owen’s head snapped to the side. His mouth guard, slick with blood and saliva, flew out of his mouth.

Seventeen moved as swift as a leopard. Every punch was sharp, every strike landing true. Bit by bit, he forced Owen into a corner. His unwavering, icy aggression manifested as a barrage of punches that set the whole venue ablaze. The crowd’s cheers grew so loud that it made one’s ears throb.

“Good stuff.” He Wei jumped to his feet. The muscles over his body were tense with excitement. “He really knows how to feed the crowd.”

In the final moment, Seventeen threw a solid backhand punch that landed dead-center on Owen’s face.

Owen spat up another mouthful of blood and crashed backward into the wire mesh before bouncing off, only to crumple onto the floor. Blood pooled beneath his head. He tried to push himself up, but failed. He was done.

“Get up and keep fighting!”

“Come on, fight back already!”

“Keep going! Kill him!”

More. The crowd needed more, and the referee didn’t stop the match or start the knockout count, which meant Seventeen could keep going.

Rules meant nothing here. If he wanted, Seventeen could beat Owen until he convulsed, until he passed out, until blood flowed all over the ground—all to feed the crowd’s hunger for blood and violence.

But Seventeen just stood there and crossed his arms, calling for the match to end. He pulled off his gloves and mouth guard, exited the cage, and walked down the tunnel to the backstage area.

The crowd howled, hurling beer bottles and cigarette butts into the octagon. Some landed on Owen’s back, and some around his body. Soon, medics carried Owen out on a stretcher.

After a brief pause to clean up the ring, the next fighters entered the stage.

He Wei sat back down, still chewing on the piece of gum that had long lost its flavor. “Fuck, that was good. Seventeen’s abs and those pecs? Nice.”

“His back,” Lu Heyang said.

“What?”

“His lats are nice too.” Lu Heyang stood up.

“You’re leaving already?” He Wei asked.

“I need some air.”

***

It was almost midnight by the time the two of them left the club. He Wei glanced at Lu Heyang from the driver’s seat. “If he’s an S-class alpha, the Academy should’ve approached Seventeen by now. Even if he’s too broke for the tuition fees, they’d still offer him a scholarship. I wonder why he’s doing these underground fights.”

Lu Heyang leaned back against the seat. “Maybe he’s desperate for money.”

“What can he make in a place like that? If he really wanted to earn money, he should go pro. Judging by how he moves, he’s probably had professional training at some point. I just don’t get why he’s stuck in a place like that.”

“Maybe…” Lu Heyang rapped his knees thoughtfully. “Seventeen is in the Academy with us.”

He Wei shot a surprised glance at him before breaking into laughter. “No way. That’s impossible.”

“Hm…Maybe you’re right.”

***

On Monday, after the last bell rang, Lu Heyang left for the swimming hall to wait for He Wei. The oppressive dark clouds hanging in the air signaled that rain was imminent.

As he walked past some flowerbeds, he saw an alpha coming out of the infirmary. The alpha was carrying a plastic bag and walking with his head down. It looked like he was in a hurry.

Xu Ze had just stepped down the stairs when he noticed someone in front of him, but it was too late to dodge, and he crashed into them. For a brief moment, the face of the other alpha flashed close to his own, so close that Xu Ze could see every detail: the long, dark lashes, the pitch-black pupils, and the cold gaze that carried no warmth as it locked on him.

A hand gripped Xu Ze’s upper arm briefly, steadying him. He could have taken the opportunity to regain his footing, but he stumbled back awkwardly, only to slip on the grass beside the steps. The plastic bag he was holding fell to the ground, its contents clinking as they collided.

Under the gloomy clouds, Xu Ze shot a fleeting glance at Lu Heyang before lowering his gaze. He bent over and picked up his things, murmuring, “Sorry.” His ears were slightly red, and his expression looked genuinely apologetic.

“It’s my fault for not moving away,” Lu Heyang said as he bent down to help.

Xu Ze’s rough voice and hastened breaths made it easy to assume he was sick, especially since he had just emerged from the infirmary, but when Lu Heyang got a closer look at him, he noticed the bandage on Xu Ze’s nose, the faint bruise peeking out from its edges, and the slight swelling of his cheek—this wasn’t the look of someone recovering from an illness. It seemed more like he had just been in a fight.

It wasn’t cold medicine that fell from the bag, but several disposable syringes and vials of medication.

As they both reached for the last vial, their fingertips brushed briefly. Xu Ze flinched and shrank back.

Lu Heyang picked up the vial and read the label: alpha suppressants.

Suppressants weren’t something Lu Heyang was particularly familiar with. S-class alphas had a natural advantage when it came to controlling their pheromones. Unless under extreme physical or emotional stress, they rarely lost control of themselves. Even during their ruts, the symptoms were usually limited to mild fevers—hardly severe enough to warrant suppressants.

For an S-class alpha to need suppressants was rare.

Lu Heyang said nothing. He simply handed the vial back to Xu Ze, who practically snatched it from his hand before stuffing it back into the plastic bag.

Xu Ze whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Lu Heyang replied. He stepped past Xu Ze and went upstairs to the swimming hall. As he walked, he adjusted the settings on his wristband, increasing the suppression level to block out the unfamiliar, oppressive S-class alpha pheromones lingering faintly in the air—Xu Ze’s pheromones.

During an alpha’s rut, their pheromones became more intense and difficult to suppress. Xu Ze’s old wristband clearly wasn’t capable of handling the potency of his pheromones anymore.

…

_{Proofreader: Annie}

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