#026. Hatred and Anger (3)
Ray opened the door to a small container inside the hotel and stepped in.
Creak──
The smell of disinfectant alcohol and medicine wafted in as soon as he entered. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with medications and medical tools.
“Here.”
At the voice, Ray turned his gaze inward to see Philip sitting up on the bed.
Thud. Thud.
Ray approached, sat on a chair, and scrutinized Philip from head to toe.
“You look better than I expected.”
Bandages and gauze wrapped around his limbs. Yellowish bruises mottled his skin. Ointment glistened over raw wounds. Though his face remained swollen from repeated blows, his eyes had regained some clarity.
“Thanks to you. The kids told me you carried me back.”
Philip’s voice was hoarse as he added that he’d nearly lost consciousness in the container.
“Still foggy. Probably won’t move without a wheelchair for a while.”
“Being alive is enough.”
Philip snorted at Ray’s dry tone.
“You’re right. Alive is enough.”
It wasn’t wrong. Street orphans with tenacious spirits survived like weeds—crushed yet reborn as long as breath remained.
Ray continued, “Didn’t expect to find you getting beaten by Cedric there.”
“Unplanned. Cedric never comes out during black rains. Sends lackeys instead.”
Philip wore genuine surprise as he explained,
“I meant to scout first. If you took the street, I’d send hotel kids to the shops immediately.”
“Bold. Thought you were cowardly.”
“Right. Usually am. Timid too. But I push past fear when needed.”
Overcoming fear.
Ray’s interest sharpened.
“When?”
“Money-making chances. Like meeting you. Today. And...”
Ray’s gaze dropped to Philip’s vessel.
‘Golden mana seeps in when people crave wealth. But his...’
The golden hue was faint. Instead, pink mana dominated—the color of longing for someone unreachable.
‘Same as last time. Pink overpowering gold.’
Outwardly a miser, yet money itself wasn’t his true drive. Another motive lurked beneath.
Ray lifted his gaze.
Personal curiosity could wait. Clearer priorities demanded attention.
“So I think—”
“You and Cedric go way back.”
Philip’s mouth snapped shut. After gathering thoughts, he sighed.
“Sharp as ever. He wouldn’t have told you himself.”
“...”
“Wasn’t hiding maliciously. Just... if you knew we were friends, you might hesitate in the duel. Even if unlikely.”
Ray nodded understanding.
“Tell me everything. Any detail helps.”
Originally, Ray had assumed Cedric would be easy to crush. But after seeing the ring’s enhanced mana today, caution was warranted. Every possible advantage mattered.
“Where to start... Cedric was a hotel resident.”
“A resident?”
“Yeah. Childhood friends. We were always at the bottom before the hotel.”
Beaten. Robbed. Starved. Surviving daily brushes with death.
“Only found stability after building the hotel.”
No more beatings. No hunger. No freezing nights.
Yet Cedric simmered with discontent.
“Angry, really. Obsessively trained after work.”
Ray nodded, recalling Cedric’s compact but muscular frame.
“Six months ago, he left. Started picking fights everywhere.”
“Training doesn’t suddenly make you win street brawls.”
“Right. Street fights favor size over skill—you’re the exception. Cedric’s small. Training only helped so much.”
Cedric lacked technique too—just wild swings empowered by the ring.
Philip’s voice turned bitter.
“He kept losing. Too fundamentally outmatched by the street’s bullies.”
“Then things changed.”
“Huh?” Philip’s eyes widened.
“Two months ago, Cedric started winning. No—gaining strength. Lifting men one-handed. Knocking them out cold.”
He’d challenged and overthrown a gang leader, rising to power.
“No one understood, but... had to accept it. Assumed he’d hidden superhuman strength.”
Pieces clicked in Ray’s mind.
“Did Cedric have the ring back then?”
“Ring? The flashy one he wears now? No. Probably looted it as leader. Always liked showing off.”
‘If the basement man gave Cedric the ring while he wandered...’
The timeline fit. But why? The man had promised gang recruitment if Cedric gathered members, yet seemed expelled from his own organization.
“Cedric wasn’t always this violent?”
“...Spot on. Changed after leaving. Especially recently.”
Philip fell silent, then continued heavily,
“After leaving, he avoided me. Ignored calls. Sometimes... contempt. Today he tried to kill me.”
His face darkened as the reality sank in. Eyes reddened but tearless.
“He rejected your business offers.”
“Yes. Hates all hotel kids. There’s... reasons.”
Ray paused.
“I have a proposal.”
Philip’s eyes rounded.
“Want to talk with Cedric?”
“Talk...?”
Ray studied the emotions in Philip’s vessel.
“Old friends should mend things.”
“I... If possible.”
“Come to the duel. After I win, I’ll arrange a conversation.”
Ray’s plan was simple: win leadership but install Cedric as manager, leveraging his fear factor.
‘First, take the ring.’
Without the red mana’s influence, Cedric’s aggression would fade. Philip’s persuasion skills would seal the deal.
“I want your reconciliation.”
“...”
As Ray strategized, Philip spoke hesitantly,
“Even if we talk... I can’t enter the arena. Only gang members allowed.”
“Already handled. Cedric agreed—if he wins, he executes you publicly there.”
“So entry’s possible...” Philip trailed off.
“Execute me? As in... kill?”
“Yes. Standard execution.”
“...”
Blinking rapidly, Philip arrived at the only logical conclusion.
He forced a smile.
“Haha, Ray, you’re joking—”
“No jokes. If I lose, you die. Brutally.”
“You’re joking...”
“No.”
“Joking...”
“No.”
Silence.
Philip adjusted his cracked glasses, middle finger pressed defiantly to the bridge. His timid glare had no effect.
“Scared?”
‘More like realizing my rescuer might be another predator.’
“You won’t die. Execution requires my loss.”
“...”
“I’ll win. You said so too.”
After a throbbing pause, Philip conceded—Ray’s confidence hadn’t wavered.
If Cedric could be subdued into talking...
‘No reason to refuse.’
Yet—why wait until post-duel?
Philip shook his head internally. He wanted to witness this clash.
“I’ll go. To the arena with you.”
Before he could continue, Ray struck again:
“Second proposal. Bet all your savings on me.”
Philip short-circuited.
“Bet... everything?”
Ah! A Sector 50-style joke! Ray’s got hidden comedic talent!
“You said you overcome fear for money.”
Philip’s body twitched.
“This is a business proposal. A major opportunity.”
‘My own words trap me.’
The duel wasn’t some back alley scrap—Cedric had orchestrated a spectacle. Three major gangs attending. Fortunes pooling.
‘Ray will win. But claiming the money...’
Mobbed by enraged losers?
As if reading his mind, Ray stated,
“Beat Cedric, and the rest can’t touch me.”
Philip looked up into unshakable eyes.
After minutes of silent calculation, he rose and extended a hand.
“Honored to collaborate, President Ray. Let’s draft a contract.”
Two days later.
Sun blazed over Sector 49’s southern junkyard.
Clang. Clang.
Cedric’s gang surrounded a car nestled in scrap metal.
Knock. Knock.
The window lowered, revealing Ray.
“Escort committee?”
“Capture squad. Can’t have you fleeing cold feet.”
No reaction.
“Could you stop me if I ran?”
Jaws tightened. Fury simmered.
“Quit the act. Heard you sprained your ankle yesterday. Can’t fight crippled. Today you die.”
They laughed, thinking they’d struck a nerve.
‘Rumors spread well.’
Ray pocketed clinking red stones and exited, deliberately limping.
“Look—he really is hobbling!”
“What a joke!”
Ignoring jeers, Ray straightened and met their eyes.
“Lead the way. To the arena.”
