Chapter Thirty: The Boxer’s Contract

"You little brat, what the hell are you trying to do? I told you to watch the ground—be careful with the ground! And yet you dragged him down there yourself?" Matsuyama Iwa’s voice was thick with discontent.

"Heh, is my ground technique really as terrible as you say?" Arlong’s voice was tinged with both anger and defiance. "I was just about to finish the rear naked choke. If you’d waited just a little longer to end the first round, I would’ve TKO’d him right then and there."

"Bullshit! He knew the first round was almost over, so he didn’t bother wasting energy with you. He was conserving his strength! When are you going to grow up? How do you expect to participate in the Rising Star Tournament like this? Standing is your advantage, but you must be out of your mind to insist on fighting him on the ground!" Matsuyama Iwa, furious, slammed his fist into a locker in the changing room. The resounding bang shocked Aoki Tsukasa, who had been watching quietly—the metal locker was actually dented from his punch!

Arlong fell silent for a moment, then sneered, "Yeah, I’m useless, right? Why don’t you get that bald guy to fight for you instead, huh?"

Matsuyama Iwa stared at him in disbelief, taking a step forward and fixing Arlong with a deadly glare. His towering frame was like a monstrous brown bear. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Arlong hesitated, but still held his head high. "Isn’t it obvious? You think I can’t tell? You’ve already decided I’m not worth your time. You want to prop someone else up, isn’t that right? You were pretty impressed with that bald guy yesterday, weren’t you? After he left, you talked about him for half an hour. You think I don’t know what’s on your mind? Just because you’re my uncle doesn’t mean I have to do everything you say. Why is it that, in your eyes, my ground technique is so worthless?"

"So what if it is?" Matsuyama Iwa’s eyes blazed. "You couldn’t even break out of a rookie’s ground hold, and you took Spider to the ground on purpose. Do you still think you’re something special?"

"Damn it!" Arlong shoved Matsuyama Iwa aside, his teeth clenched and rage burning in his eyes. "I told you, he just got lucky! If we went again, there’s no way he could lock me up a hundred times!"

"You!" Matsuyama Iwa’s face twisted with shock and bitter disappointment. "When did you become like this?"

Arlong’s fists were clenched tight, his eyes bloodshot. "Why do you look down on me?"

"I don’t look down on you!" Matsuyama Iwa fought to control his temper, trying to calm his tone. But Arlong was already beyond reason, his anger boiling over. "Fine! You think he’s better than me, right? Hell, you think everyone’s better than me! Other than my kickboxing, you don’t value anything else I do. If that’s the case, why should I bother with MMA? Wouldn’t it be better if I just went and boxed?"

A loud slap echoed through the room. Matsuyama Iwa glared at Arlong, panting, his face contorted with rage. "Don’t you dare use that language with me!"

Arlong spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, grabbed his bag, not even bothering to change out of his gear, and shot Matsuyama Iwa a look of pure hatred before heading for the door.

When he saw Aoki Tsukasa standing by the entrance, Arlong glared at him with murderous intent for several seconds, drew a finger across his throat in a silent threat, then shoved past him and strode out.

Aoki Tsukasa watched his retreating back with a hint of irritation but said nothing. He entered the changing room, where Matsuyama Iwa was slumped on a chair, his massive hands covering his head, his imposing figure suddenly looking defeated.

Aoki Tsukasa was at a loss for words; it was clear this was a family dispute, and as an outsider, getting dragged into it was more than a little awkward. All he could do was take a cold bottle of water from his bag and hand it to Matsuyama Iwa.

Matsuyama Iwa accepted the water in silence, unscrewed the cap, but didn’t drink. After a long pause, he took a deep breath and finally looked up. "Sorry you had to see that."

Aoki Tsukasa shook his head with a bitter smile. "Did I come at a bad time today?"

Matsuyama Iwa exhaled slowly, forcing himself to settle down. "It’s not your fault. The problem is with him. That damn kid wins a couple of matches and suddenly forgets who he is."

As he spoke, his phone rang in his track pants. He glanced at the screen; his eyes widened in disbelief, then twisted with fury as he dialed back.

But all he got was a busy signal.

"Damn it!" Matsuyama Iwa hurled his phone aside. The expensive smartphone shattered under the force.

Aoki Tsukasa felt stuck—leaving would be awkward, but staying was just as bad. He began to regret having lingered at the door to watch. Matsuyama Iwa paced back and forth like an enraged bear. Then he stopped, fixed his gaze on Aoki Tsukasa, and spoke through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with anger. "Kid, do you want to fight?"

"Huh?" Aoki Tsukasa pointed at himself, utterly baffled. "Me?"

Matsuyama Iwa looked at him intensely, still flushed with anger, his face a little frightening. "You saw everything just now, so I won’t explain. That brat isn’t coming back. I have a ticket to the Rising Star MMA Tournament two months from now. Are you interested in participating?"

Aoki Tsukasa forced a laugh and waved his hands. "I just wanted a part-time job..."

"I’ll sign you as a fighter. You can train here for free; I’ll coach you myself. And I’ll pay you 5,000 yen an hour!" Matsuyama Iwa locked eyes with him. "As long as you train seriously, I’ll pay you 5,000 yen an hour. The grand prize for the Rising Star Tournament is two million yen. If you have what it takes to win, I won’t take a single yen from it! You’ll just need to train at least four hours a day. I’ll pay you daily, so you don’t have to worry about being cheated."

Being stared down by such a muscular, tattooed, bald brute was not a pleasant experience by any means.

Aoki Tsukasa hesitated for a long moment before sighing and replying calmly, "To be honest, I don’t exactly want to turn down an offer like that. But, if I may be frank..."

"I really am just a beginner. I think you shouldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgment, Matsuyama-san. I don’t know much about the Rising Star Tournament, but I’m sure it’s a major event for professional fighters. I’m just an ordinary high school student. Do you really believe I can reach a professional level in two months?"

His words were sincere, but Matsuyama Iwa only paused briefly before nodding decisively. "Whether or not you can, I’ll judge that for myself. But my offer stands. Originally, I planned to have you spar with that brat Arlong. Now that he’s out, even if you want to keep working as a sparring partner, there’s nothing available at the moment. With your current skills, you’re barely qualified as a junior sparring partner. Training with ordinary clients, I could only pay you the junior rate. Unless your skills improve, you won’t get a higher wage. And even with the sparring job, you only get paid if there’s someone who wants to train with you."

[Please note: although the objective has been fulfilled, the host is still not allowed to participate in any part-time jobs paying less than 5,000 yen an hour—except for entrepreneurial ventures and other profit-making activities.]

The system even threw in a timely reminder.

That made Aoki Tsukasa realize: if he refused, he’d be stuck as a junior sparring partner—and the 3,500 yen hourly wage didn’t meet the system’s standards!

Well, if someone is willing to give me a 5,000 yen per hour contract, how could I possibly turn it down? It’s just training, after all. Even if I only train for a month, and Matsuyama Iwa decides I’m not cut out for it or changes his mind, I’ll still have made plenty of money with the daily pay.

Let’s see—four hours a day is 20,000 yen, thirty days is a whopping 600,000 yen! That’s about 35,000 to 40,000 yuan in Chinese currency...

Just think: Masao Haruhino, the department head, works at least ten hours a day for a monthly salary of 400,000 yen...

"I’ll do it!" With visions of stacks of cash dancing in his head, Aoki Tsukasa nodded enthusiastically.

He’d have to be crazy to turn down such a sweet deal, and besides, he rather wanted to learn to fight—and he’d already learned the skills, after all.

Matsuyama Iwa nodded. "Go change into your training gear. Training starts today. I’ll print out the contract. If you’re not yet eighteen, you can take it home for your parents to review."

Aoki Tsukasa scratched his head. "Uh, my family’s not home these days..."

"Then just bring it back signed whenever you can," Matsuyama Iwa said, waving tiredly. "That’s all for now. Change into your gear and start training; I’ll have someone show you the basics. I have some things to take care of. We’ll start formal training tomorrow."

"Alright," Aoki Tsukasa replied, seeing the look on his face and not pressing further.

With the skills system backing him, who’s to say he couldn’t make something of himself in two months?

The prospect of so much money dangling before him filled Aoki Tsukasa with boundless motivation.

----------

This novel contains no underground fights—only legitimate fighting competitions and the occasional brawl. That’s it. Personally, I never bought into the myth of those so-called black-market champions. After all, how much can you really earn fighting underground? A professional match pays far more. Why would a true expert risk their life for less than one percent of a pro’s salary? There’s also no absurd supernatural nonsense like inner energy here—I’ll keep it as realistic as possible. That’s all.