Chapter 245: Kalon’s Idea

The morning broadcast started by displaying the event that was showing on every social media platform available.

It was the scene of the Eighth Dragon Oliver Moniqart having practically no chance at fighting back against Kalon’s overwhelming flames.

The results of the battle was so graphic that they didn’t show the aftermath of Oliver’s body. They would only show that on the nighttime broadcast, once all children were asleep.

As the broadcaster was speaking, he didn’t bother to mince his words at all.

"Kalon Manchester did not just simply beat a Dragon last night. He erased the idea that Ten Dragons still own flame combat in England. Oliver Moniqart is ranked, sponsored, experienced, and publicly treated as top-tier domestic fire talent. Manchester put him away in a single attack in front of a full arena. What does that say about the professional scene?"

Another channel had their broadcasters out on the streets, asking the public what they thought of the showing.

The reactions were as you would expect. Most were in absolutely disbelief at this newcomers power, and also losing respect for the ten dragons as an organisation based around fire.

Outside Ten Dragons facilities, fans argued despite wearing the merchandise of the organisation. Some defended Oliver and called the matchup reckless scheduling, or even rigged.

More of them asked the same question with less patience: if the Eighth Dragon could be removed that easily by a newcomer, what exactly was the corporation still ruling?

If they did not have domination over the fire affinity in England, then what did they have?

By midday the backlash had almost become uncontrollable.

Ten Dragons had spent years marketing themselves as the centre of serious fire combat in the country.

Their ranking culture, their internal titles, their public talk of hierarchy all depended on that image holding.

Manchester was not one of theirs, and had even once turned them donw.

He fought under Atlas, used fire as only one tool among several, and had still walked into Wembley and ended a named Dragon almost before the first minute began.

Commentators who usually protected corporate reputations were suddenly willing to say the quiet part. If Ten Dragons were still the rulers of flame in England, last night would have looked different.

Many interviewers were begging for an interview with the ten dragons, any of the members that might accept, but they didn’t get any. The ten dragons were holed up in their headquarters with the doors locked and the curtains drawn.

They had no intention on giving any words to the public, not even through a social media post.

All that they had confirmed was that his health was in good condition. As for his mental health, nothing was said.

And above all else, Kalon’s name was being spoken about in all sorts of manners.

That day, he was easily one of the most spoken about figures in the entire world.

...

Kalon sat in his high-rise apartment with the city under the glass and a confirmed payment alert on his phone.

He had just been sent One hundred thousand pounds. The money first went into Atlas’ account, and then after the man took his cut, he sent Kalon what was left.

For a long minute Kalon only looked at the number, thumb resting on the edge of the phone, and tried to place it against the version of himself who had still been counting ordinary student money not that long ago.

He could buy almost anything ordinary people stretched years to afford.

He could move again. He could ignore half the small problems that used to sit on his shoulders.

It felt strange sitting on this amount of money. Yet what he found crazy was that he was still early into the game. Someone like Atlas would have amassed millions from the amount of professional fights he had, and also the people under his organisation.

Kalon’s social media following had climbed to seven hundred and ninety thousand and was still moving.

His phone buzzed with more notifications that it ever had before. They came from a mixture of social media message requests, fan pages, interviewers and new networks, students from the academy trying to latch onto him now that he had clout, and a hundred sponsors trying to claim him as their own fighter, snatching him away from Atlas.

There were also a bunch of people trying to send him free gifts and merchandise.

He left most of it unanswered.

Atlas had sent a short note of approval and a reminder that the board would want a meeting once the noise settled, and he was ready.

Thea had messaged once, direct and pleased, with no need for theatre. Ruby had sent another short congratulations that he read and did not answer immediately. Sun had tried again. He ignored that one the same way as before.

Kalon put the phone face down on the counter and looked out over London City.

The professional scene had a structure, he had come to realise. For most people, they would spend years trying to get to the position that he was in.

They would fight small fights on undercards of more popular fighters. They would have to face the best in their town, then their city, and so on, before being able to even have a chance at facing one of the greatest in the country.

This confirmed one clear thing to Kalon. The structure of the professional fighting world was just too easy for him, due to his advantage with the space seducer system.

No one could match as SSS+ rank fighter. No one on earth, at least.

If ordinary professional fights were going to look like that, then the scene itself was the wrong scale.

He could keep taking contracts, keep collecting payouts, keep letting Atlas book him into fights and taking a cut for himself.

Or, he could stop fitting himself into other people’s hierarchies and build one that belonged to him.

Kalon turned the phone back over, opened the notes app.

His mind began working.

...

Why don’t I start my own organisation?