Chapter 243: Day Of The Fight

Kalon and Thea cleaned up and sat together on the couch afterward with ordinary clothes pulled back into place.

They eventually went on to talk about Kalon’s fight tomorrow against Oliver Moniqart, the Eighth Dragon.

The man was Low Platinum with a pure fire focus, and a heavy public following. Not only that, but his martial arts was incredible, as he was well trained in practical karate disciplines.

Thea asked what Kalon expected from the first exchange.

Kalon said that he wouldn’t say. He didn’t like making predictions before fights anymore.

He also explained to her that he wouldn’t be travelling that day, in order to preserve his energy to the maximum.

...

Before she left she kissed him once at the door, harder than a casual goodbye, and told him to make sure that he won.

She left before evening.

Kalon ate, checked the contract details one more time, and slept without using Dreamwalk or any travel function.

...

He woke early the next morning.

The city outside the high-rise was already moving.

Kalon washed, dressed in the black kit Atlas had sent over the day before, and ate a light breakfast while his phone stayed on silent except for one message from Thea wishing him an easy win.

He sent back a short confirmation and finished the last of his water before he was called by the concierge to say his car had arrived.

Two Atlas Entertainment private drivers were waiting at the curb in black suits, standing by a dark car with no obvious sponsor boards on the doors.

One opened the rear door without small talk. Kalon got in. The moment the door shut, the car pulled into London traffic and stayed in the priority lanes all the way west.

The drive gave him time to sit and think about today’s fight.

Oliver was not an academy rival and not a readiness-camp veteran. He was a named Dragon with a real professional record and a crowd that already believed he would handle an Atlas prospect without trouble.

Kalon watched the city thin and thicken through the window and did not bother with nerves. He had fought worse things than a man in a cage for cameras.

He was not nervous.

...

Wembley Stadium rose into view long before they reached the gates.

Even from the approach road Kalon could see the crowd density and the media platforms set up outside the main entrances.

Dragon colours mixed with Atlas flags in the stands already filling along the outer concourse. People held signs. Drones hung over the outer barriers.

The drivers took him in through a secured vehicle ramp and stopped inside a closed loading corridor where arena staff and Atlas officials were waiting with badges and timed schedules.

Kalon was signed through and walked deeper into the backstage area.

His assigned room was plain and functional.

Bench. Lights. Water. A private screen looping muted footage of Oliver Moniqart’s last three matches. Kalon watched enough to confirm what he already knew: Oliver was a pressure fighter.

He wrapped his hands, checked the fit of his gear, and sat forward on the bench with his elbows on his knees while the noise of the arena slowly built beyond the walls.

Officials passed in the corridor. Someone laughed too loudly near the media compound. At that moment, Kalon felt so locked in, that he felt he could sense the exact weight of each footstep outside.

Eventually, Atlas arrived.

The man closed the door behind him and looked Kalon over once, the same measuring way he had used in every important conversation since the contract.

"You look calm," Atlas said.

"I am."

The man showed him a slight smile.

"Oliver will come out hot. He likes the first exchange to decide the story of the match. Do not give him that chance."

Atlas’s eyes stayed on him.

"I’ve never seen Wembley so ecstatic. The odds are against you, as Oliver is clearly one of the strongest in the country. A lot of people have come here to watch you lose..."

"They won’t get what they’re expecting." Kalon responded calmly.

"Good. You have more tools than he does. That only matters if you use them with a brain. Fight smart Kalon, this will be a difficult fight, but I know you can win."

A difficult fight?

Kalon didn’t say his true thoughts.

"I will."

Atlas held his gaze for another second, then nodded once.

"Then the rest is on you, kid."

With that, the man left.

Kalon stayed on the bench a little longer after the door shut, then stood when an arena official knocked and opened it again.

"Manchester. You’re up."

...

The tunnel to the main floor was loud long before the light hit him.

Kalon walked until the tunnel mouth opened into the full bowl of Wembley Arena.

The sound hit him at once. The stands were packed edge to edge. There were screens suspended over the reinforced central cage. Chants for both atlas and the dragons were loud.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena.

"Introducing first, fighting out of Atlas Entertainment, the multi-affinity prospect who tore through the academy and has not stopped climbing since: Kalon Manchester!"

Kalon raised one hand once in acknowledgment and kept walking toward the cage.

Camera drones tracked him. Atlas Entertainment fans screamed. Kalon remained calm and collected.

On the opposite side, the second tunnel was already lit.

"And his opponent, the Eighth Dragon of Ten Dragons Corporation, the flame specialist with over a million followers and a professional record built on pure destruction: Oliver Moniqart!"

Oliver came out to a harder surge of noise from the Dragon sections, blonde hair with red streaks visible even from distance. He had a slight smile on his face, and confidence in his walk.

He did not look at the crowd for long. His eyes found Kalon across the arena floor and stayed there all the way to the cage.

Both men entered.

The door shut.

It was time for Kalon’s biggest fight to begin.