By Zephyria 
Asher unwound the blood-stained bandages and tossed her discarded clothes into the metal locker. After taking out a fresh set of bandages and a towel, she gave the locker door a light flick with her fingertip.
Slam—!
Contrary to the light gesture, the scrap metal door shut with a force that seemed ready to shatter it. Leaving the wreckage behind, she slumped onto the bench with a weary expression.
She poured water from a rolling canteen over her head and roughly wiped her face and neck with the towel. Then, narrowing her fierce, ash-gray eyes, she stared straight ahead. Though her expression was naturally menacing, she was clearly not in a good mood.
And for good reason; rumors had been rampant lately that Asher might fail to advance to the finals.
This mess had occurred because the organizers, unlike in previous years, had drastically increased the weight of team battles to maximize Team Joker’s marketability. It was even more frustrating because the rules were cumbersome, requiring participants to understand the specific regulations of each match and cooperate with their team rather than simply snapping the opponent’s neck.
Since her newly formed team was dragging her down rather than helping, she felt a surge of rage—setting aside her pride, she wanted to beat them into submission immediately. They were such a disorganized rabble that she suspected the opposing teams’ backers were intentionally selecting and pushing in lunatics.
As she wrapped new bandages from her forearms down to the gaps between her fingers, she slowly lowered her gaze. After ruminating on the failures of today’s match for a moment, she spoke curtly without looking up, just as she finished the knot on the back of her hand.
“Come out.”
Her bleak voice echoed throughout the locker room. However, there was no sign of a response.
Not at the sinks, nor in the showers. Only the occasional sound of dripping water and the rattling of the ventilation fan filled the space.
Without a hint of caution or tension, Asher raised her palm and leisurely scanned the area. Then, she shifted her gaze toward a shadowed spot beyond a pillar. Leaning her upper body back loosely against her arms, she murmured in a low, heavy voice, as if giving one last chance.
“Come out, before I find you and kill you.”
A silence of about ten seconds followed. In that instant, even the white noise seemed to fade, as if time had stopped.
Soon, as if the threat had worked, a shadow slowly emerged from the spot she had been watching.
A participant shrouded in a cloak and a plague doctor’s beak mask, emanating a damp and creepy aura.
Wearing metal gauntlets with thorn-like claws, he stepped out of the shadows, leaning on a cane and swaying sluggishly. The beak-masked figure, hunched over, opened the conversation with the frail voice of an old man.
“As expected of Lady Asher. I simply cannot compete with you.”
Asher had anticipated the creature’s presence to some extent. She had noticed him circling around her since the beginning of the league. And after a certain point, those actions had become blatantly obvious. Likely around the time she fought her first qualifying match.
Staring intently as if peering inside the cloak, Asher replied coldly.
“Get to the point. Cut the pathetic acting.”
At that, the beak-mask chuckled and straightened his hunched back. His form shifted, like a larva undergoing metamorphosis, transforming from a frail, bent old man into a tall figure who looked to be at least seven feet.
Since a suspicious giant had suddenly appeared after hiding in a corner of the dressing room, any ordinary person would have felt threatened. However, despite being dressed only in a light chest band and drawers, Asher acted with boldness.
Sitting arrogantly with her shoulders wide, she radiated her characteristic bloodlust and spirit. Her gaze, searching for prey that had entered her radius, quietly pressured the opponent, tightening around his throat.
The beak-mask spoke, seemingly pleased by her unwavering reaction.
“I have come to propose a deal. I assume you’ve already noticed?”
This time, the voice changed again. It was the refined voice of a middle-aged gentleman.
Asher’s pale eyes slanted upward. It was a sign to continue.
“In the next two matches before the finals, you simply need to join the team I’ve created and eliminate ‘Ryan’.”
“Why should I do that?”
“Is that not what you desire as well? Since you’ve been watching him every single match.”
Setting aside the absurdity of following her into a dressing room like a stalker to propose a deal, Asher showed her discomfort at the man’s certainty that she had been watching Ryan.
“Were you tailing me?”
“Tailing? Let’s call it… fan-sim.”
“What do you gain by eliminating him?”
“I cannot disclose that. It is confidential. Much like how the investors backing you would refuse to reveal the details of your deals.”
Asher’s brow furrowed. She had entered the competition under the name ‘Asher’ with numerous back-alley deals attached. Naturally, money always gathers where attention is focused, and businessmen flock to where money is made.
No matter how strictly the Council cracked down on illegal trading during the league, it was impossible to perfectly identify and exclude heavy-weight participants who had entered with the push of a syndicate from the registration stage. In the first place, such participants were necessary for the entertainment value of the matches, and since they climbed to the upper brackets through their own skill and received a portion of the dividends from bets placed under multiple names, they were difficult to stop.
Most of the deals Asher carried on her shoulders were of that nature. It meant it wasn’t some unsightly match-fixing, such as intentionally eliminating someone or sabotaging a specific person.
Clenching and unclenching her palm while gauging the weight of the wet towel, she spoke softly.
“If you know about my deals, this will be a quick conversation. I don’t do deals where I don’t know the objective. Especially not match-fixing.”
“My, my. This should be a favorable condition for you as well. Wouldn’t the subsequent matches be smoother if you removed a bothersome competitor? Moreover, if you accumulate any more losses, even you will be in danger.”
The beak-mask was telling the truth. Asher had already experienced a defeat in a team battle and had gone through the Losers’ Revival Match. While she had managed to hold on through her superior skill, if she were to encounter another strange teammate and enter a death match, she might find herself on the threshold of elimination depending on the match format or rules, even considering her high individual performance score.
This wasn’t mere anxiety; it was a matter of probability. Since the tide had shifted toward Ryan, rumors were even circulating that the Council would use her—a similar competitor—as a mechanism to recover betting amounts by catching the crowd off guard. Because of this, ‘Asher’s’ market value was trending downward by the day.
However, Asher replied without blinking.
“If Ryan is eliminated, I’ll be the next target.”
“Are you afraid?”
The voice, laced with laughter, was clearly intended as a provocation.
Asher did not answer. The beak-mask, curling the corners of his mouth, continued.
“Do not worry. Once Ryan is eliminated, I will no longer interfere with you.”
“How can I trust that?”
“Whether you twist another participant’s neck, break their arm, or win the championship—my investor isn’t particularly interested. By then, it will have moved to the finals and proceed as individual matches, so there would be no point in hindering you with a team battle.”
For a moment, Asher’s pupils contracted rapidly.
“How about it? If you agree to the deal, I will give you three times the amount you are scheduled to receive—”
K-BOOM—!
It happened in an instant. A violent gust of wind swept through the room, scattering clouds of grey dust.
The fedora resting on the beak-mask’s head was blown backward by the wind.
His rambling, as he calculated the profits while gesturing with the index finger of his gauntlet, came to a halt.
“…….”
The stiff eyes behind the mask rolled toward the bottom left. At his feet, shattered stone fragments lay scattered alongside the fallen hat. As he slowly shifted his gaze vertically, a piece of white cloth embedded in the center of a pillar caught his eye.
It was the wet towel Asher had been holding just a moment ago.
No matter how much the weight had increased from the moisture, logically, a mere towel could not pierce a solid pillar.
The beak-mask shifted his gaze back to the person who had made it possible.
The moment he turned his head, the smell of burnt ash filled his nostrils. The pale eyes that had been at a distance were now standing right in front of him. Simultaneously, her ash-gray hair fluttered like a living creature, winding around his neck.
She was the White Night Demon of the league, who had already sent numerous participants into comas in previous matches. He doubted she would kill him outside the ring, but it was only natural to feel a threat to his life.
Though the beak-mask swallowed hard, he smirked with his eyes narrowed. Then, Asher, her whites bloodshot, asked in a voice dripping with bloodlust.
“Was it you? The one interfering with me?”