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He had been brutal and efficient, clearly a crowd favorite. The crowd was chanting what had to be his alias. "Brute! Brute! Brute!"

The man roared into the sky before raising a fist into the air, still panting from the fight.

Ezra turned back to Veran. "I won\'t lower myself to fight with an ant. When one squashes a bug, we don\'t call it a fight."

Veran laughed loudly, the sound mixing with the roars and cheers of the crowd.

"Why would I ever want you to that?" Veran chuckled. "That\'s a nice way of setting myself up for failure, don\'t you think?"

Ezra sat calmly, not saying a word.

Veran turned to him, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Do you know the quality I value the most in my partners?" He didn\'t wait and answered the question himself. "Luck."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Luck?"

Veran nodded, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "Yes, luck. Are you lucky enough to work with me, Ezra Matten? This test would be a test of luck."

"And how would this test be conducted?" Ezra drawled. "I flip a coin? I tell you which hand you hid the coin?"

Veran laughed again. "No, no, no. The test is quite simple, really. Brute just won his match." Veran gestured to the fighter. "For the next fight, you need to choose who will win. The reigning champion or his new opponent."

"Do I get to see the opponent?" Ezra asked.

"And what would be the fun in that?" Choose now, Matten. Brute or his next opponent."

Ezra turned to the arena to study Brute. The man was clearly exhausted from his fight and judging by the quality of his previous opponents, his next opponent would be just as brutal.

Ezra smiled to himself. "I choose the new opponent," he said firmly.

Veran chuckled, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Interesting choice, my good man. Now, let\'s see how your luck fares."

He motioned and as if waiting on his signal, the door opened.

Ezra held in his groan as a scrawny teenager stepped out.

The crowd\'s reaction was immediate. A mixture of laughter and boos. The teenager looked out of place, his thin frame and nervous demeanor different from the hulking champion.

Odds were called and bets were placed quickly as money changed hands all over the club.

Veran roared in laughter. "Is this your luck, Ezra Matten?"

Ezra silently studied the boy, noting the determination in his eyes despite his apparent disadvantage. "The match is not over yet, Veran." He said firmly.

Contrary to his words, he doubted that the teenager would even win. But he had to keep the appearance of confidence. This was a dog eat dog world.

They all turned to look at the arena as the commentator\'s voice boomed through the speakers, barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a surprise challenger tonight! In this corner, our reigning champion, the Brute! And in the other corner, his daring challenger, the Kid!"

Brute sneered at the scrawny teenager, clearly unimpressed. The Kid, for his part, looked around nervously but steeled himself, fists clenched at his sides.

"Let the fight, BEGIIIIIIIIIN!!!!" The commentator roared and the crowd cheered.

The bell rang, and the fight began.

The Brute charged forward, his massive fists swinging with deadly force. He was still vigorous in spite of his exhaustion.

The Kid dodged the first blow, his movements surprisingly quick. The crowd gasped, some laughing, others shouting encouragements or jeers.

"Come on, Kid!" someone yelled. "You\'re gonna get squashed!"

Ezra watched intently, his muscles tensed as if he were in the ring himself.

Veran leaned back, looking amused. "You like to root for the underdog, Ezra?"

"Sometimes the underdog has more fight in them than you\'d expect," Ezra replied, his eyes never leaving the ring.

The Brute swung again, but the Kid ducked and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow.

The crowd\'s reaction was a mix of awe and ridicule. The commentator\'s voice cut through the noise, full of dramatic flair. "Look at the Kid go, ladies and gentlemen! He\'s quick on his feet, but can he land a hit on the Brute?"

The Brute, frustrated by the Kid\'s agility, began to taunt him. "Come on, little man! Stand still and take your beating!"

The Kid circled the Brute, looking for an opening.

He darted in, aiming a quick jab at the Brute\'s midsection. It connected, but it was like hitting a wall. The Brute laughed, swatting the Kid away like an annoying fly.

The crowd\'s reactions varied wildly. Some cheered for the Kid\'s bravery, while others were betting on how long he would last.

Veran seemed entertained, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "This is turning out to be quite the spectacle."

Ezra remained focused, silently willing the Kid to find a way.

The Brute, growing more impatient, started throwing heavier punches, his movements becoming less controlled. The Kid managed to dodge most of them, but a few blows grazed him, drawing blood.

The crowd roared with every hit, their bloodlust filling the air. "Finish him, Brute!" someone shouted.

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The Kid, now bleeding and bruised, seemed on the verge of collapse. But there was a fire in his eyes, a stubborn determination that wouldn\'t be snuffed out easily.

He ducked under another wild swing and kicked the Brute\'s knee, making the giant stagger.

The commentator\'s voice rose in pitch, feeding off the crowd\'s energy. "The Kid\'s got spirit, folks! But is it enough against the sheer power of the Brute?"

Ezra leaned forward with a small smile. He recognized that fighting style. It was the same one he used. The same one he learnt in the slums.

He leaned back in satisfaction and concealed relief. "The kid has won it."

"Hmmn?" Veran raised a brow in amusement. "I think Brute has other plans."

Ezra turned to the arena to see Brute had secured a firm grip on the Kid\'s arm.

Ah, fuck.