-Fame opened a door. Power kicked it wide open.
Saturday Night – Post-Fight Locker Room, MR Promotions Arena
The black folder lay open across my lap.
Silver embossing on heavy stock paper, stamped with a seal—a snake curled around a coin.
Pan-American Combat Consortium.
I ran my fingers over the invite slowly, my hand still red and bruised from the fight. Klay's blood hadn't fully dried on my wraps yet.
Carlos Mendoza stood across from me, arms folded, smiling like he just found a lottery ticket with legs.
"So? You gonna stare at it all night, or you gonna ask what it means, chico?"
I looked up, voice dry. "Is this a contract or a threat?"
He laughed. "Both. Depends on how you play the game."
Carlos Mendoza wasn't just another suit. He was an emissary—one of the many faces behind the Pan-American Combat Consortium, a shadowy syndicate that brokered power between major corporations and old-world crime families.
They ran an underground circuit not just for money, but for leverage. Whenever two high-value players needed to settle a dispute without lawyers or bullets, the Consortium arranged a fight.
Rules? Minimal.
Winners walked away with money and influence. Losers... if lucky, just scars.
Carlos' job? Find the hungry ones. The wolves.
Tonight, he'd found one.
'Pan-American Consortium. I'd heard of it. In whispers. In bloodied locker rooms overseas.
'You don't get invited unless they see value in your fists.'
I leaned back and nodded slowly. "Speak."
Carlos' grin widened. "You've got potential. Not just the way you fight, but how you think. Cool under pressure. Surgical. The kind of guy who doesn't just hit hard—he hits smart."
"Flattery's cheap."
"So is silence."
He slid another document across the bench.
"Private exhibition. One week from now. Win, and a corporate sponsor signs you permanently. You enter the real circuit."
"And if I lose?"
Carlos paused. "Then you walk away with a few broken ribs and some hush money."
I stared at the paper.
Fight location: Confidential.
Opponent: Unlisted.
Payout: $15,000 minimum. Bonus for performance.
[VALKYRIE COMBAT PROTOCOL – ACTIVE]
Risk Analysis: High Opportunity Rating: 92% Mental Status: Focused Tactical Advisory: Proceed with Caution
I signed.
Carlos didn't look surprised.
Sunday – College Campus Dorm Room
Eli nearly spat out his orange juice. "You WHAT?"
I shrugged. "Consortium match. A real one. The match is a week from now."
"Dude, what is this, Fight Club meets Shark Tank?"
"Something like that."
He rubbed his forehead. "So let me get this straight: You fight a guy, go viral, fight another guy, almost break his face, and now you're being scouted by a secret underground league that does combat deals for corporations?"
"You forgot the part where I made three grand last night."
"Jesus Christ, Kai."
He dropped onto the couch beside me, staring at the contract.
"You really think you can win this thing?"
I looked him in the eye.
"No don't 'think' I can win."
He blinked.
"I know I can."
Training Montage Begins
[VCP Schedule Sync - Custom Module Activated]
Objective: Prepare for Unlisted Opponent (7 Days) Daily Training Simulation Activated: Sparring Replays (Adaptive) Nutritional Optimization Engaged
Morning jogs turned into sprint drills. My arms ached from pad work. Knees screamed during Muay Thai sessions.
I watched footage of pros, amateurs, and legends. Studied how they moved. Tracked their mistakes.
Jess dropped by the gym on Tuesday. She watched from the corner, with a sketchbook in her hand.
Thursday – Campus Cafeteria
I sat with Jess and Eli.
Across the table, Eli opened a folder. "I did some digging. This Consortium thing... It's real, but it operates in the shadows—sealed lawsuits, vanished fighters, and no media presence."
Jess looked at me. "You sure this is worth it?"
"No," I said. "But it's necessary."
"For what?"
"For more than money. For a seat at the table. For power."
She reached for my hand under the table.
I didn't pull away.
Saturday – Private Location (Undisclosed)
The warehouse looked like it was nothing special. But inside?
Red velvet seats encircled a towering steel cage. The glass floor pulsed with light from below. High rollers in designer suits with bored expressions.
The air reeked of money.
Carlos met me at the door.
"You ready?"
"Does it matter?"
He grinned. "Not really."
The crowd hushed.
An announcer stepped up, voice echoing.
"Ladies and Gentlemen. We welcome a new prospect to our private blood court. Representing no one—yet. A wild card. Kai Mendoza."
Scattered murmurs.
Then I saw him.
My opponent.
Lean. Quick. Cold eyes.
The name on the board lit up:
[Lucian "The Viper" Kael]
A pro Muay Thai killer with 21 underground wins.
My pulse slowed.
[VCP COMBAT MODE: ENGAGED]
Threat Level: D+ Prediction: 47% Win Chance
The bell rang.
And the real war began.