Read Novel Full Chapter 434: Violence Is Cheaper Than Therapy
Chapter 434: Violence Is Cheaper Than Therapy
Stupid! Stupid!
Looking back at it, I was stupid.
I know, it’s always easy to spot your mistakes in hindsight. Still, I was far too confident.
I didn’t get blindsided because I lacked leverage.
It was because I utterly underestimated Casey’s agency as a living person rather than a predictable game character.
As I mentioned, I already knew she was smart.
But I also knew she was desperate. Time was something she couldn’t afford to waste. She was dying a little more with every passing moment.
With no way out of her predicament, with all of her inheritance withheld from her by her uncle, I had expected her to jump at the first hand extended to her. Especially when that hand was holding fifty fucking million Credits.
Instead, she slapped that hand away and spat in my face.
Stupid! Stupid!
It was the worst negotiation I ever initiated.
Carelessness wouldn’t even begin to describe the disaster. Even if I wasn’t ready for her to record our conversation, there could still have been cameras inside her apartment.
Actually, meeting her in her home was my first mistake.
I should’ve caught her somewhere else, somewhere outside of her comfort zone like a café or a public transit stop to thoroughly unsettle her.
Oh, but no! I gave her the home-turf advantage.
And in a familiar environment, she was able to quickly shrug off the shock of my sudden appearance and prepare a countermeasure.
What a fucking genius I am!
A big aspect of any negotiation is psychological.
If the opposing party isn’t uncomfortable enough, there’s always a chance they’d be able to think on their feet and spot gaps in your armor.
When you’re in your own space, surrounded by your own things, your heart rate naturally sits lower.
Your brain functions at full capacity because it isn’t wasting energy scanning a new environment.
I had walked into that room expecting a cornered animal, forgetting that a cornered animal in its own den is still far too dangerous to be a weak prey.
But if I had intercepted her at a crowded market, on a busy street under some bright neon signs with thousands of strangers walking by, she wouldn’t have had the mental luxury to analyze my syntax.
She wouldn’t have been able to quietly fish out her phone, ensure the cloud-sync was active, and turn my own hubris into an extortion piece.
She would have been hyper-aware of her surroundings, paranoid about my sudden proximity, and terrified that a random passerby would eavesdrop on an important secret.
In public, she would have been a refugee.
In her apartment, she was still nobility.
‘Snow doesn’t fight to reach the top. It just falls, and still ends up above everything else.’
“God, she is so extra,” I cringed, then sucked my teeth. “And the worst part is, it actually sounded so cool!”
I wanted to kick something. Or someone.
A part of me wished I were down there fighting in that arena right now.
Ah, yes. After sullying my mood to irreversible levels, I decided a distraction would serve me well. So, I took an Airbus to one of the Orbiting Islands that housed hundreds of coliseums.
Each of these ginormous stadiums was specifically engineered to withstand the full cataclysmic fallout of high-tier Awakened combat.
And up here, in these dueling grounds, the Ace Tournament was going on nearly 24/7.
Every single arena was booked solid, flashing with holographic sponsor billboards and surrounded by swarms of media drones broadcasting the violent matches to a global audience of billions.
I, naturally, wouldn’t have been able to secure a ticket on such short notice. All the seats had been sold out for months to foreign dignitaries, scouting agents, and other wealthy Cadets.
But I had a cheat code. Her name was Vereshia Morrigan, the esteemed Cadet Council President.
I had dialed up her personal number while stepping off the Airbus with my hood pulled low… and immediately began crying.
I’m talking full-on whining and mithering, even threatening to personally start a protest right in front of the Apex Tower if she didn’t heed my request, until she finally snapped and arranged a private luxury lounge pass just to make me shut up.
…Hey, don’t judge! Throwing a tantrum works. If the system is going to exploit you, you might as well exploit the system’s desire for peace and quiet.
So anyway.
Now, I was comfortably lounging behind the one-way tinted glass of a private viewing box in Coliseum 04, a bottle of chilled sparkling water in hand, watching a high-profile match-up that had the entire stadium vibrating with excitement.
Down on the white sands of the arena floor, two Top 30 Cadets were actively trying to paint the ground with each other’s gray matter.
On the left was Marcus Vance. Rank 22, he was a powerful Brawler of towering height and bulging muscles. His tactical vest was littered with cuts and holes but not a single drop of blood was yet spilled.
His skin was hardened to a literal metallic sheen, making it seem as if he was a moving statue of steel. Sparks kept flying off his body whenever his opponent’s weapon grazed him.
Opposite him was Sylvia Noname. Rank 26, a Sentry-Brawler whose weapon moved so fast it looked like a flickering ribbon of silver light.
Her main power was some kind of wind manipulation, her strikes accompanied by mini-sonic booms that shattered the stone pillars scattered around the arena floor like they were made of cheap porcelain.
The commentators over the stadium PA were screaming themselves hoarse, analyzing every micro-movement as Sylvia blurred across the arena.
According to the rumours, there was a bit of history between the two combatants. A petty lover’s quarrel.
Apparently, Marcus had ghosted Sylvia right after the midterms. Later, she found out Marcus was cheating on her with her sister. Sylvia responded by summoning a localised tornado inside their apartments.
Someone recorded the whole thing and the incident went viral on social media.
Classic Apex romance. You really gotta love the emotional maturity of high-tier Awakened teenagers.
And to think people were mad at me for burning down my sister’s dorm. That wasn’t even an overreaction.
Anyway, since then, both Marcus and Sylvia documented their own sides of the story online, turning a messy breakup into a full-scale public relations war.
I’m talking about dozens of text-heavy callout posts, dramatic video explanations with somber background music, and leaked chat screenshots from both parties.
The internet took sides, of course.
And now, the rivalry was fueling the hype for their match to a disgusting degree.
Gods, I swear. The Academy could’ve started a reality TV show on these idiots and easily reaped more profit than whatever they were making through this tourney broadcast.
“Hmm,” I touched my chin in deep thought. “Maybe I should do it if I ever become the Cadet Council President in the future.”
Down below, Marcus capitalized on a moment of overextension and threw a vicious straight punch right into Sylvia’s face.
I really thought she was done. The girl was slender and supple, not nearly enough muscle mass to absorb a blow like that from a metallic juggernaut.
Unless she was going to put nearly all of her Essence into her defenses, I didn’t see a way out. Even then, she’d be disoriented long enough for Marcus to end her struggle.
BOOOM—!!
But I was proven wrong the next second when Marcus’s steel-plated fist struck a compressed, microscopic barrier of pressurized air millimetres away from his opponent’s nose.
The kinetic shockwave violently rippled outward, blasting the white sands of the arena floor into a blinding desert storm that completely obscured the broadcast drones.
The crowd roared a deafening swell of bloodlust and excitement so loud that the vibrations reached me even up here in this VIP box.
Through the dust cloud, a brilliant flash of silver light erupted once again.
Sylvia had used the absolute pressure of the compressed barrier to create a rebound effect. Her weapon — a whip-like segmented sword wrapped in a howling gale — lashed outward like a striking viper.
Marcus tanked the blow, but still stumbled a step backward, gasping. Yet, that would not nearly be enough to put him down for the count. His armored skin was impenetrable.
It was a battle of attrition, and sooner or later, Sylvia’s winds were going to run dry.
However, watching them made me realize something.
No matter what kind of drama they were engaged in, they were strong. And not just these two. Every single match that I had watched of this tournament proved that the baseline standard of the Academy had really shifted.
These were not the same weak, helpless Cadets that lived through that night of the Massacre. They had worked their asses off.
As a result, the new transfers also had to adapt to keep up.
That competitive friction was a crucible — exactly what I wanted to achieve with my one-versus-ten title match.
Shame so many Cadets had to die to achieve this result.
I was lost in such musings when the door to my private skybox slid open.
I didn’t turn to look, partly to appear cool because I was already expecting them to show up, and partly because Marcus had just managed to grab Sylvia’s segmented sword.
The fight was getting interesting now.
“Welcome,” I said mock-cheerfully, leaning back on the sofa but still not turning my head. “Your royal highnesses.”