“How much do I get if I win one fight?”

Ethan Caldwell looked at the bald boss in front of him. The man had a gold chain around his neck so thick it looked heavier than a dog collar.

“Two grand if you win,” the bald man said lazily, one hand still groping the thigh of the woman in the micro skirt beside him, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Two grand?” Ethan glanced down at the crude ring below. Two fighters were going at each other like wild animals, fists flying, blood splashing, nobody holding back. His voice stayed flat. “That’s too little. Got any way to make more? The more, the better.”

The bald man gave him a dismissive look. “Think it’s too low? Sure, there’s a way. You fight two by yourself. Win, and I’ll give you twenty grand for one match. That is, if you’ve actually got the skills.”

“Cash?” Ethan asked at once, clearly more interested now.

“Of course it’s cash.” The bald man pointed at the stacks of hundred-yuan bills piled on the table in front of him, thick and real enough to make anyone’s eyes heat up. Then he added, “But let me make one thing crystal clear, kid. If you want the money, first ask yourself whether you’ve got the life to spend it. This is underground boxing. Once you step into that ring, it’s life or death, no rules, no mercy. Nobody’s gonna go easy on you.”

He paused, looking Ethan over from head to toe, then snorted.

“And the guys fighting here? They’ve trained since they were kids. Real pros. Since I opened this place, not a single person has beaten two alone. If you can pull it off, I’ll give you thirty grand. But if you die in there, don’t come crying that I didn’t warn you.”

Ethan kept watching the ring. One of the fighters below had already dropped into a pool of blood, motionless, dead or alive—hard to tell. The crowd around the ring exploded with cheers, like they were watching fireworks instead of a man being ruined.

Then Ethan finally spoke, calm as ever.

“I’ll fight five.”

He turned his head slightly and looked at the bald boss. “If I win, you give me three hundred thousand. Cash. Immediately.”

The bald man froze for half a second, then shot to his feet. “What? One against five? You messing with me, kid?”

“Am I messing with you?” Ethan’s tone didn’t change. “You’ll know when I get in the ring.”

He looked down toward the betting boards, then continued evenly, “I had a look. You make money off odds. One against two has never happened here, right? So one against five? The odds on me winning would be insane. If I win, you cash in big. If I lose, you lose nothing. The one who dies is me. Either way, you don’t get burned. So tell me, why wouldn’t you take this deal?”

The bald man stared at him, like he was trying to figure out whether this guy was fearless or just flat-out crazy.

After a long moment, he reached for the cash on the table, counted it out himself, and set down three hundred thousand in front of Ethan.

“If you win, this money is yours. You take it right away.” He leaned in and spoke slower this time. “But I’m warning you again. This is underground black boxing. Life and death are on your own head. Most of the people here are retired pros. You’d better think this through.”

Ethan didn’t even look at the money. He just asked, “When do we start?”

The bald man blinked. “When do you want to start?”

“Now,” Ethan said. “The sooner, the better.”

Ten minutes later, Ethan walked down from the ring step by step.

His pace was slow, but steady.

He turned back and glanced at the makeshift ring behind him.

Five heavily built fighters were sprawled across the canvas, not one of them moving.

The whole venue had gone weirdly quiet.

No one was cheering now.

No one was shouting.

It was like the whole place had been hit with a mute button.

Ethan knew exactly how hard he had struck. He had pulled his punches. Those five looked wrecked, but they wouldn’t die from it.

He walked up to the bald boss and asked in a low voice, “My money?”

The bald man snapped out of his daze and almost shouted at the people behind him, “Go! Hurry up and get the cash! Three hundred thousand! Move, move, move!”

A bag of money was quickly brought over.

“Thanks,” Ethan said.

He took the bag and headed toward the exit, though his steps had a slight stagger now. Up close, it was obvious he hadn’t come out untouched. There was blood at the corner of his mouth, and his breathing was heavier than before, but his eyes were still cold and clear.

The bald boss hurried after him, his attitude completely different now.

“Bro, leave me your number. Next time we can set up something even crazier. Higher difficulty, higher stakes. You name the price.”

As Ethan walked through the hall, the crowd instinctively moved aside and opened a path for him.

No one dared get close.

Every pair of eyes on him carried the same look—shock, fear, disbelief.

Like they weren’t looking at a man.

Like they were looking at some monster that had just climbed out of hell.

Ethan wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and replied without stopping, “No need. I’m not coming back.”

Then he broke into a run and left the underground fight club behind.

Ethan Caldwell was hurt too. He’d taken a few solid punches.

Just like the bald boss had said, the boxing matches people saw on TV might have some fakes mixed in, maybe a little showmanship, a little acting. But the ones who dared step into an underground ring like this? Those guys were the real deal. No skill, no strength, no edge—you didn’t last here. You died here.

The five fighters Ethan had just faced were all monsters in their own right. Pick any one of them at random, and he could’ve flattened several ordinary men without even breaking a sweat. And Ethan had gone in alone against all five.

The difficulty level was obvious. It was no wonder the bald boss had set the odds at a ridiculous one to a thousand.

But for Ethan, the hardest part had never been how strong those five men were.

It was the ring.

Too small. Too cramped. No room to move, no room to circle, no room to pull them apart and break their rhythm one by one. That boxed him in.

More importantly, everything he had learned was meant to kill.

That was the problem.

If he had wanted those five dead, it honestly wouldn’t have been that hard. But knocking them all down without taking their lives? That was trickier by far. He had to hold back at every turn, keep pulling his punches at the last second, rein in the instinct carved into his bones. That was why he got hurt.

The second he ran out of the underground fight club, Ethan turned his head and spat out a mouthful of blood.

Then he broke into a sprint toward the main road.

This place was way out in the suburbs. Anyone bold enough to run black-market fights here obviously picked the spot for one reason: it was remote as hell. On top of that, it was already late. There were barely any cars on the road, let alone a taxi.

That part had caught Ethan off guard.

Time was running out, and he didn’t have the luxury to wait.

So he simply started running down the road toward the city.

Fast.

His breathing stayed steady, but his chest still burned from the hits he had taken. The night wind scraped against his face. The empty road stretched ahead like a strip of dead silence.

Then, while he was running, a beam of light suddenly swept toward him.

Ethan slowed and stopped, eyes narrowing.

Taxi?

A second later, two more sets of headlights appeared behind the first.

When they got closer, he saw it clearly.

In front was a red Maserati.

Behind it were a van and a business minivan.

Then, right in front of Ethan, the van suddenly surged forward, overtook the Maserati, and cut sharply across its path, forcing it to a stop. The business minivan closed in from behind and blocked the rear.

Clean move. Coordinated too.

Ethan’s brows drew together.

The doors of the van and the minivan flew open at once. Five or six men in masks jumped out, rushed to the Maserati, yanked the door open, and dragged a woman out from inside. She struggled, but there were too many of them. In just a few seconds, they lifted her up and carried her straight toward the business minivan.

Ethan stood there, expression darkening.

He was in a huge hurry. Like, no joke, urgent as hell. He genuinely did not want to get dragged into this mess.

But the whole thing was happening right in front of him.

And with his personality, there was no way he could pretend he hadn’t seen it.

He stopped where he was, took out a cigarette, and lit it.

The flame flickered briefly in the dark.

He took one drag, then started walking straight toward the business minivan.

His pace wasn’t fast, but there was something cold and steady about it.

Just as the driver climbed back into the minivan and reached to shut the door, Ethan appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the door with one hand.

The man inside froze.

“Get the hell out of here,” someone in the vehicle snapped at him. “This has nothing to do with you. Don’t go looking to die.”

Their tone was fierce, but the rush in their voices gave them away. They were panicking. They wanted out, fast.

Ethan held the door, cigarette between his fingers, and said flatly, “Let her go, and you can leave. I’ll act like I didn’t see anything. Hurry it up. I’m pressed for time.”

The air went still for a beat.

Then someone inside cursed, “Damn it, you wanna die?”

A man jumped out of the vehicle with a knife in hand and lunged straight at Ethan, blade first.