When their shift at the Pyata ended, Youri and Leo headed for the underground. Above them, the city still pulsed with neon and noise, but the air grew heavier as they went down, thick with anticipation, because tonight was not just another fight night. Tonight was personal.
Youri had asked Boris for a rematch, and against all the odds, Boris had accepted. Word had spread fast. The memory of their first fight — brutal, one-sided, unfinished — had lingered in the underground scene like an open wound. Curiosity had turned into obsession, and obsession into money. A great deal of money. So the fight wasn't just on the card tonight; it was the card. The final bout. The main event.
Leo had warned him more than once to wait — to train more, to get more fights under his belt, and not to go rushing back into the jaws of a monster twice his size. But Youri was set on it. Something in him refused to let the past stand unchallenged.
The deeper they went, the louder it got — voices overlapping, bets being shouted, boots echoing off the concrete. The smell of sweat, iron and stale alcohol clung to the walls. This place never pretended to be anything other than what it was. As they reached the locker room corridor, Mia appeared from a side passage and fell into step beside them.
Leo raised an eyebrow. "Surprised to see you so early," he said with a grin. "What is it — worried about someone?"
Mia smirked and adjusted the strap of her bag. "I want to see how this one goes. I might even place a bet tonight. My first."
Leo stopped walking for half a second and stared at her. "You? Betting?"
She gave him a sideways look. "I told you before. I have my reasons."
Toney was already in the locker room, pacing near the benches with his cap pushed back, and the moment he saw them he pointed at Youri. "Hey, kid. Don't go pulling any miracles tonight, yeah? People will go broke. Everyone's betting on Boris. Every last one of them."
Youri chuckled and set down his bag. "Don't worry, Toney. Whatever happens, happens. Either way, you walk out rich — or even."
Toney paused, then laughed and straightened his cap. "You've got a point." And he left.
Youri began to get ready — wrapping his hands, stretching slowly, steadying his breathing — and across the room, on a bench in the far corner, Zeus sat quietly watching him. For a long time he said nothing. Then he stood and slung his bag over his shoulder and walked toward the door. Just before he went out, he stopped.
"Would you bet on yourself tonight?" he asked, without turning around.
Youri closed his locker and looked up. "Lately I've started to like gambling," he said calmly. "The lower the odds, the better it feels when you win." He paused. "So yes. I'd bet on myself. It might be the ticket I need to a better life."
Zeus nodded once and went out. The door swung softly shut behind him.
Outside, the hall was packed shoulder to shoulder, every seat filled and every inch of standing room claimed, every eye hungry. All of them were there for one reason. Toney stepped into the octagon slowly, soaking it in, before he lifted the microphone. "Gentlemen, I hope you're enjoying yourselves tonight." The crowd roared. "As you all know, tonight's fight is special. Because this is a rematch. A novice against a specialist. Fate against brutality. Only destiny can decide how this one ends." He flung out an arm toward the tunnel. "So make some noise for — Youri Kronos!"
The crowd exploded in cheers and boos together. Youri walked out without hesitation, his face calm and focused, and stepped through the cage door and took his corner. Toney winked at him before turning back to the crowd. "And now — vicious, relentless, a force of nature — make some noise for Boris the Monster!"
The lights shifted. Boris came out of the shadows, massive and confident, every step carrying weight, and climbed into the octagon and rolled his shoulders with his eyes fixed on Youri. The bell rang once, sharp and metallic. The noise of the crowd collapsed into a single roaring breath.
For a moment the two men stood looking at each other under the harsh lights, sweat already gleaming on their skin, with the memory of their last fight hanging between them like a ghost — Youri overpowered, thrown aside, broken. Boris grinned faintly, certain history would repeat itself.
Then he charged like a freight train with his fists already swinging. Youri barely got his guard up before a heavy hook slammed into his forearms and rattled his bones. Boris followed it with a knee aimed straight at his ribs. Youri twisted just in time to make it glance off rather than crush, but pain still exploded through his side. Boris pressed at once, cutting off the cage and driving Youri back under a rain of punches, brutal and efficient, each one thrown with the certainty of a man who had done this countless times before. Youri ducked, slipped, stumbled. A body shot landed clean and drove the air out of him, and his back hit the cage.
"Stay up, Kronos!" someone shouted.
Boris grabbed him, drove a shoulder into his chest and slammed him against the fence. He leaned in close with his breath hot on Youri's face. "You don't belong here." He lifted Youri and threw him to the mat. The whole octagon shook. He was on top of him at once, raining down fists and elbows. Youri covered up and blocked what he could, but cracks were appearing in his defense almost immediately.
"Finish it!" the crowd roared.
At the fence, Leo's hands were clenched into fists. "Move, Youri! Move!"
Youri twisted too slowly. A fist slipped through his guard and smashed into his cheek, and blood spilled into his mouth. The taste of iron snapped something inside him. No. Not again.
He bucked his hips just enough to unbalance Boris and jammed a forearm under his chin, not to choke but to make space. Boris snarled and drove an elbow down that caught him on the shoulder instead of the face. Youri seized the moment. He twisted, rolled and scrambled out from under him, pushing himself up onto his feet while the referee hovered close. The crowd went wild. Boris rose more slowly this time, with irritation flashing across his face. He hadn't expected that.
They circled again. Youri's breathing was ragged now, every breath burning, his ribs screaming at every movement and the edges of his vision blurring — but he stayed focused. He remembered Zeus's words, Mia's warnings, Leo carrying him up five flights of stairs, and the feeling of being powerless. And when Boris lunged again, this time he didn't back away. He stepped inside the punch, letting it glance off his shoulder, and drove his knee up into Boris's stomach with an ugly sound. Boris grunted, more surprised than hurt, but it slowed him. Youri followed with a quick jab, a cross and a low kick, not powerful but precise. When Boris roared and swung a wide haymaker to end it, Youri ducked under it by inches and drove an elbow into his ribs.
The crowd felt the shift. "Holy shit!"
Boris staggered half a step, more shocked than hurt, and came back harder, dragging Youri into a clinch and driving knee after knee up into him. One landed clean, and Youri cried out as his leg buckled and he dropped to one knee. Boris raised his fist to finish it. Youri caught his leg as the next knee came up and twisted hard, and both men crashed to the mat. They scrambled and rolled with their limbs tangled. Boris ended up on top again, but this time Youri had his legs locked around Boris's waist, and when Boris tried to sit up, Youri dragged him back down. Short, brutal punches still got through. Youri's head snapped back and stars burst behind his eyes. He could feel himself fading.
Somewhere in the haze he heard Mia's voice, from the night she had warned Zeus in that locker room. It will fail you one day.
Not today.
With what little strength he had left, he shifted his hips and slid his arm around Boris's neck. It wasn't clean. It wasn't perfect. But it was tight enough, and Boris noticed too late. He strained to pull free with his veins bulging and hammered his fists into Youri's side once, twice, three times. Youri didn't let go, though his ribs were on fire, the black was creeping in at the edges of his sight and his arms were trembling. The whole crowd was on its feet. Boris's punches slowed and lost their power. His body grew heavy. Youri tightened his grip one fraction more, and Boris's arm went limp.
The referee dropped to the mat, lifted Boris's arm and let go. It fell. He waved his hands. "It's over!"
The bell rang wildly, over and over. The hall exploded. Youri let go and collapsed onto his back, gasping, staring up at the lights with his whole body shaking. He had won. By the skin of his teeth — but he had won. Leo was screaming at the fence and jumping like a madman. Mia had both hands pressed over her mouth with relief flooding her face, and Toney came rushing into the cage with the microphone, barely able to contain himself.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have an upset! Against all the odds — Youri Kronos wins!"
And now the crowd was chanting his name. "Kro-nos! Kro-nos!"
The referee helped him up and raised his arm. Youri swayed and almost fell again, with blood running down his face and his body screaming in protest. But he was smiling. Across the octagon, Boris was sitting up and breathing heavily. He looked at Youri, not with anger, but with something close to respect. Slowly he nodded once. Youri nodded back.
Tonight, destiny had made its choice. And it had chosen him.