The next morning, still brimming with excitement, Jason Luo got up at six o'clock sharp. He quietly opened the door and slipped out for his morning run.
To improve his stamina, he had expanded his usual route to include several neighborhoods he rarely visited before—some of Chicago's most chaotic areas, especially dangerous at night.
But Jason Luo wasn't afraid. At six in the morning during winter, the air was at its coldest and most biting; it was also the time when most people were still deep in sleep. The streets were completely empty.
As he ran, he thought to himself, Since I'm in good form today, maybe I can pass the stamina test. I've got to make the most of this chance. Otherwise, without getting into matches, my progress will be way too slow...
Lost in thought, he suddenly heard the roar of engines behind him. A large SUV and a minibus sped up, screeching to a stop in front of him. Within seconds, twenty or thirty burly men jumped out, their expressions menacing as they advanced toward him.
Holy shit! A gang?
Jason quickly looked around. No alleys to escape into, and with their cars, there was no chance of running away. Damn it. No choice but to fight!
Even as a boxer, facing so many at once gave him almost no chance of winning. But Jason didn't hesitate. He'd hit hard and take down as many as he could. Clenching his fists, he took his stance, eyes locked forward, ready for a brawl!
Suddenly, a laugh echoed from inside the car. "Ha ha ha... Not bad, kid. You've got guts."
A white man, not very tall but with a cruel face, stepped out, a cigar clamped between his teeth. "Relax, little brother. We've got no beef with you. Don't even know you. But someone's not too happy with you, and they paid me to send a message."
So they were here specifically for him. "Oh? Can I at least ask who it is?"
"That won't do. We've got our rules." The man smirked. "Listen, kid, I know your name's Jason. I know where your family lives. I know you're a boxer. I'm Jeff. And if I really wanted to deal with you, you wouldn't be able to run."
Jason's heart sank. If these gangsters decided to target him, it'd be bad. If they went after his family—especially Grace—the consequences would be unbearable...
"Hmph. Since you've got your eyes on me, there's nothing left to say. Let's settle it with our fists!"
Jeff gave him a sideways glance, then smiled faintly. "Put your fists down, kid. You think we make a living just by fighting?"
No sooner had he said that than a few of his men pulled out smoking guns. Jason's heart went cold. This was America—getting a gun was easy. Looked like taking a beating today was unavoidable.
He lowered his fists. "Alright, I admit defeat. Whatever I did, I'll take responsibility. Kill me or beat me up, I won't make a sound. A man doesn't whine."
Jeff suddenly laughed. "Interesting. You're young but tough. I like that. Tell you what—I've got another option for you. Think of it as doing me a favor. What do you say?"
Jason frowned. What, he wants me to smuggle drugs for him? Not a chance.
"Sorry, I don't do anything illegal."
Jeff blinked, then chuckled. "Relax, it's nothing like that. I just need you to fight a match. I've been unlucky—lost two nights in a row at the underground fights. I can't swallow it. Help me win one back, and the prize money's yours. From then on, you've got my protection in this area. Deal?"
Jason was surprised. "You mean fight in an underground ring? Isn't that illegal?"
"Yeah! What, you scared? You were ready to take on all these guys, and now you're worried about one opponent?"
"It's not that. I've never fought underground before. I don't know how it works."
Jeff snorted. "There's nothing to know. You just fight. Come on, let's go. If we're late, the show's over. I'll explain on the way."
He grabbed Jason by the shoulder and half-pushed him into the car. Inside, two heavily made-up women lounged in the backseat. Jeff, clearly impatient, started explaining the underground fight rules as they drove.
There weren't many: no hitting vital spots, no eye gouging, three-minute rounds, and whoever stayed down lost. Simple.
As for the opponent, Jeff didn't know much—just that the guy called "Wildcat" was ridiculously fast. None of Jeff's men could beat him; they'd all been humiliated.
The car twisted through backstreets until it reached a warehouse district on the city's edge. It drove straight into a huge storage building, and after getting out, they entered a smaller warehouse nearby. The moment Jason stepped inside, it was like entering another world.
People of every kind filled the space—street racers still in their suits, hip-hop punks with piercings everywhere, tattooed gang members leaning against walls.
The air reeked of alcohol, smoke, and perfume, while shouts, curses, and laughter crashed together in a noisy mess.
In the center, there wasn't even a ring—just a circle formed by the crowd. Inside, two men were fighting bare-knuckled. One was tall and muscular but was getting beaten badly by a smaller man whose movements were shockingly agile.
The smaller guy moved like he was breakdancing—hopping, spinning, ducking, striking with blinding speed. The big guy couldn't land a single hit, his face already swollen and bruised.
It was Jason's first time seeing a match like this. He noticed the smaller fighter's strange footwork—it wasn't normal stepping but more like dance moves. When he threw a series of quick jabs, one foot pivoted sideways, heel down then toe up, then toe down and heel up. It looked fast—and damn stylish. The crowd went wild.
Jeff leaned over the railing. "That's Wildcat—the little guy. Cocky as hell, right? Yuri from East City's been using him to beat me ten times straight. So? Think you can take him?"
Jason didn't answer right away. He watched carefully. Bare-knuckle fighting didn't scare him, but this wasn't boxing. Who knew what kind of style this was? Wildcat didn't punch much—he kicked a lot, and his moves were weird, flashy. Look—he was attacking low using a handstand Thomas loop spin!
Jason frowned. Low attacks were his weakness as a boxer. But things had already gone this far. Seeing Jeff's anxious look, he knew if he refused, these guys might do anything.
Besides, he wasn't entirely opposed. He was curious—and it didn't look too dangerous. With his current Toughness, that small guy didn't seem like much of a threat, even barehanded.
Still, the guy was fast. It'd be tricky...
"Alright, Jeff, I'll give it a shot. But just one fight. Win or lose, we're done. And even if I win, I don't want the money."
Jeff grinned. "No problem. You've got my word. But you'd better win—I'm putting a lot on this one."
Jason gave a helpless smile. Jeff quickly asked, "What's your nickname? You can't use your real name here."
Jason wasn't in the mood to think. He just gave the name from his system.
"Greedy Wolf."