Harem Quest: From Trash to King

The sound in the room hung heavy, like metal left out in rain. Everyone's ears were tuned to the place the voice had come from, but Arthur did not stop. He kept hitting Warren like a metronome, each blow tight and exact.

There was no grand flourish to his moves. No shouting. He just moved his feet and threw punches the way a craftsman uses a chisel, every strike meant to finish the work clean.

Warren tried to answer back. He moved differently now, not like a boxer but like someone who had learned to fight on streets where rules were suggestions.

He used capoeira moves, wide circular steps and low spinning kicks that looked almost dancelike until they landed. The thing about capoeira is the rhythm, the way the body turns and hides power in flow. Warren spun like water, trying to make his hits miss and his counters find a place.

For a while they matched. Muscle hit muscle; timing met timing. Both fought like men who had measured the cost of every blow. But Arthur had a habit Warren did not expect. He did not only fight. He watched. He studied.

The pattern in Warren's capoeira revealed itself in small repetitions, a little twist of the hip, a set up for a roundhouse, an overbalance after a spin. Arthur's footwork shifted the smallest fraction and the next time Warren spun, his foot found air where an enemy had been. Arthur began to thread his counters in without thinking, like someone whose body remembered more than his head could.

Slowly, almost with the ease of someone turning a key, Arthur took control. Where the fight had been equal it slid. Arthur's punches found soft spots. His footwork pinched space off and Warren found himself forced backward, feet chasing balance.

The capoeira moves still had beauty to them, but beauty alone does not win a fight. Arthur's boxing had weight and intention behind it. He pushed. Warren's grin flickered.

Then, just as Arthur readied a clean, finishing sequence, a shape moved from the dark back of the room. The voice had come from there. The shape was quick and cold. It ran like a thing that had practiced every shortcut in a dim gym. He dashed straight at Arthur, no hesitation, blade of speed drawn and ready.

But Leon was already there.

Leon's body came out of the shadow like a hand snapping shut. He did not shout. He did not pause to think. The newcomer's step aimed for Arthur and Leon met it by moving his own body into the line with a single, solid block.

The attacker slammed into Leon's shoulder and was stopped as if he had hit a wall. Leon did not kill him. He controlled him. The man skidded, surprised, and fell back on his heels like a dog who had expected to get food and was handed a belt instead.

Leon's voice was even, cold with a kind of satisfied anger. "You think I will let you get to their fight that easily, Liam? What are you doing here, Liam of North High?"

Liam pushed himself up, face red from the collision. He spat something sharp and threw his hands up, as if to say he had the right to be there. The way he looked at Leon was equal parts contempt and fear. "You're here too, fraud," he snapped.

Leon's face hardened. The vein at his neck throbbed like a small drum. "Fraud? From a guy who hides behind tricks, attacks from behind, and does everything to win? That's rich."

Liam cracked his neck in a slow, annoyed way. He did not have time for the back-and-forth. He had orders, or ambition, or a grudge; something had pushed him through the shadows. Before he could charge again, someone else's voice cut the air.

Daniel leaned forward with his hands on his knees as if watching a show. He grinned like a kid looking at fireworks. "Ohhh… West High crew and North High crew made a treaty, huh? They had a backup plan ready?" His voice was teasing and too loud for the tension. He loved the drama and wanted everyone to know the stakes had gone up.

Aiden's eyes were on the door Liam came through. He watched, calm and steady, like a man waiting for a pattern to repeat so he could time his break. Two more men stepped into the light behind Liam. Not random goons.

They wore a kind of lean confidence and the way they moved told Ryan that these were not guys you wanted to trade punches with. Daniel instantly recognized them and his face lit up like a kid calling roll.

"Noah and Oliver too?" Daniel said, loud and excited. "Oh man, this is getting fun."

Ryan's stomach dropped a little. He had heard the names before in whispers. Daniel answered a question before Ryan could ask it.

"They're one of the main six executives," Daniel said with the smug kind of pride you see in someone who loves trivia. "Liam is number three, Noah is number four, and Oliver is number five."

That knowledge sat heavy on Ryan like a stone. His throat tightened. He swallowed and tried to make his voice steady. "Can we take them down easily?"

Daniel shrugged like it was already decided. "Don't worry, Ryan. Look to your right."

Ryan turned. Arthur had knocked Warren down. He was on the floor, breathing hard. Arthur stood over him like someone who had delivered a sentence. Warren clutched his right arm and hissed.

Something in the way he held it told Ryan what Daniel had not had to: the arm was broken. Maybe not fully snapped, but there was no way Warren could use it in the fight. He had been finished by Arthur before the backups even reached the room.

Ryan felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. "It hasn't even been two minutes since we took our eyes off the fight and he already took him down," Ryan said, half to himself.

Aiden looked at Arthur, respect clear in his tired eyes. "What did you think Arthur was? He is the best among the schools. West High's influence around the school? That's because of Arthur. And Leon backed it up. Those two are the strongest. I hate to admit it, but Daniel is in that range too."

Daniel glanced at his own hands like a kid who had found a new toy he actually liked. "One day I'll be up there," he said, half joke, half promise.