"Sun will next face—Mira Solenne of the Crimson Ember Sect!"
The arena loved it.
Crowds always loved fresh danger.
They roared louder than before, thrilled by the idea of the city's rising underdog being fed directly into sect talent.
Sun stood in the center of the ring, bleeding, half-breathing, and deeply betrayed by scheduling.
"I have concerns."
Brin shouted from above:
"Have them while walking!"
Rhea yelled:
"Try not to die before I collect!"
Samira called down:
"If you die, return borrowed money first!"
Sun pointed weakly upward.
"This household is emotionally bankrupt!"
Nyra leaned over the railing and shouted only one thing:
"Bathe!"
The crowd laughed.
Sun stared.
"That was personal."
Her face turned pink instantly.
She vanished backward from the railing.
Brin nearly collapsed laughing.
Back in the recovery chamber, healers surrounded him with the enthusiasm of debt collectors.
The older healer snapped fingers.
"Sit."
Sun obeyed immediately.
Wisdom through trauma.
She inspected cuts, bruises, swelling ribs, and his nose.
"You continue solving problems with your face."
"It's versatile."
She slapped medicine paste onto his side.
He screamed.
She nodded.
"Responsive patient."
The younger healer reset two fingers on his left hand.
Sun saw white.
Then the curtain opened.
Mira Solenne entered.
The room temperature rose slightly.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
The younger healer nearly dropped tools.
The older healer barely glanced up.
"Wait your turn."
Mira inclined her head politely.
"I only came to speak."
Her gaze settled on Sun.
Amber eyes calm, unreadable, bright as banked coals.
Up close she carried no perfume, no jewelry, no wasted movement.
Even stillness seemed disciplined around her.
Sun raised one bruised hand.
"If this is about your bet on match duration, I apologize for efficiency."
The corner of her mouth moved.
Tiny.
Dangerous.
"I won money."
"Then welcome."
She stepped closer.
"You fight badly."
Sun blinked.
"That sounded rude."
"It was observation."
"People keep doing that lately."
Mira continued.
"You waste openings. Overcommit emotionally. Protect others while exposed. You smile when hurt."
Sun frowned.
"You catalog flaws as flirting?"
Rhea's laughter exploded from outside the curtain.
Mira ignored everyone.
"Rest well," she said. "I dislike defeating damaged opponents."
Then she turned and left.
The room remained warm for several seconds after.
Sun looked at the older healer.
"Did she insult me attractively?"
"Yes," said the healer.
"Clear diagnosis."
By evening, Blackstone had already transformed the next match into legend.
Street boards read:
FIRE GIRL VS SPOON KINGUNDERDOG MEETS EMBERCAN SARCASM BURN?
Sun stared at one while limping home.
"I hate literacy more each day."
Rhea was delighted.
"I sold twelve copies of your confused face sketch."
"You sketched me?"
"Poorly, but profitably."
At the warehouse, training was forbidden by medical authority.
Brin objected.
The healer threatened to break her thumb.
Brin respected strength and complied.
Instead, strategy council began.
Mira's name replaced Arden's on the table.
Samira spoke first.
"Crimson Ember Sect disciple. Trained since childhood. Excellent discipline. Wealthy sponsors. Popular."
Rhea added:
"Beautiful. This matters to betting."
Nyra's ears twitched sharply.
Sun noticed.
Stored it for later survival.
Brin tapped the board.
"She uses heat qi through palms, feet, and weapon contact. Don't let prolonged clinch happen."
Sun nodded.
"Meaning if she hugs me, I'm cooked."
Nyra threw a grape at his head.
He caught it.
"Violence noted."
Varen finally spoke.
"She is the first opponent here who knows herself."
The room quieted.
Sun frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Lucan fought for approval. Harok for wage. Arden for standard."
"And Mira?"
Varen's silver eyes narrowed faintly.
"She fights because she chose to."
That sat heavier than technique.
Later, Sun found Nyra alone in the courtyard sharpening a small knife.
He sat beside her carefully.
"Did you really yell 'bathe' in front of thousands?"
"You smelled like blood."
"That is not the same accusation."
She kept sharpening.
After a while she said quietly:
"She watches too much."
"Mira?"
"Yes."
"She studies opponents."
Nyra's jaw tightened.
"She looked at you like inventory."
Sun blinked.
"That sounded jealous."
The knife stopped.
She turned slowly.
"I can stab through your cheek."
"So yes."
She lunged.
He fled immediately.
Progress had speed.
Near midnight, Sun climbed to the roof to think.
Blackstone glowed below.
Tournament chants drifted from taverns.
Somewhere music played badly.
Somewhere gamblers ruined marriages.
Somewhere Mira Solenne likely meditated in perfect posture while flames admired her.
He lay back on the tiles.
Tomorrow would be different.
No arrogance to exploit.
No noble pride to bait.
No brawler rhythm to interrupt.
Just a focused opponent with power and purpose.
That frightened him more honestly than anything yet.
Footsteps approached lightly.
Nyra sat beside him.
No words at first.
Then she held out a cloth bundle.
He opened it.
Fresh soap.
He stared.
She looked away.
"For tomorrow."
He laughed so hard his ribs hurt.
"That is the cruelest gift I've received."
"You're welcome."
He set it aside carefully.
Then softer:
"Are you worried?"
She took too long to answer.
"Yes."
"For me losing?"
"For you burning."
Fair concern.
He looked at the stars.
"I'm worried too."
She nudged his shoulder.
"Good."
"Why?"
"Fear makes you listen."
He smiled slowly.
"And what makes you stay?"
She froze.
Then muttered:
"Temporary mistake."
Same answer as before.
Much less convincing now.
Below them, the city celebrated tomorrow's fire.
Above them, two people sat close enough to feel warmth before any flames began.
To be continued...