NOVEL SIMPLE CHAPTER 32: A Beer Break
The quick pace of the tournament continued, and the intensity only grew as the final four in each arena were decided. Atlas, in his usual fine form, had dominated every opponent thrown his way.
*Seriously, maybe if I was tired or needed a nap, these guys would be a challenge,* Atlas thought, barely impressed by the caliber of fighters he’d been up against.
Whether the battles were slow and methodical or swift and brutal, the outcome was always the same—Atlas standing victorious. His reputation was cementing itself with each fight.
"Did you see how he handled that last guy?" John said, his voice brimming with excitement.
"Hahahaha. These guys are sooo bad," Wang Bo chimed in, grinning widely. "Coach would’ve had us doing another three rounds in the ball pit if we were this clumsy."
"Atlas! Atlas! Atlas!" The crowd chanted, their voices echoing through the arena.
The crowd, initially split watching the ten arenas, had begun to rally behind him. His dominance was undeniable, and the spectators were drawn to his power and precision like moths to a flame. The holographic projection screen above the central arena displayed Atlas and his fights, rarely panning to the other arenas.
Atlas, however, felt a twinge of boredom setting in. *This isn’t challenging at all. It’s like a playground compared to the wasteland.*
As the arena took a brief respite, the massive screens around the stadium lit up with a commercial. “The SFB is proudly sponsored by Angkor Beer! Grab some at the concession now!” the announcer’s voice boomed, the screen showing frosty mugs of the golden brew, condensation dripping down the sides.
The commercial break offered a momentary lull, a chance for the fighters and audience alike to catch their breath. Meanwhile, concession stands were raking in more money than the ticket sales. The crowd moved quickly to grab frosty cold Angkor beers, eagerly fueling the excitement for the next round.
---
While the fans were busy with their drinks, Mohammed from Sword and Iron was on the phone, making a different kind of move. He called a number and waited, his fingers drumming impatiently on the desk. After a few rings, the familiar voice of his long-time friend answered.
“Hey, Chuck,” Mohammed said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been watching the fights, and that Atlas guy... he’s been tearing it up. But something’s been bothering me. The gym he represents, Society for Creative Battles? I checked, and they’ve never registered a team before. I don’t think they’re even legally allowed to be in this draft. What do you think?”
Chuck Hawthorne, was a judge at the SFB headquarters. He and Mohammed had a long history—ten years of favors and kickbacks. The two had made plenty of cash together over the years, and Mohammed knew exactly which strings to pull.
Chuck’s tone shifted to one of feigned concern. “You know, Mohammed, that’s an interesting point. I might need to look up the regulations. There are some pretty obscure rules about gyms that have never competed before. Neither of us would like to tarnish the fine SFB brand with an illegal entry.”
He paused, scrolling through the rulebook, his eyes narrowing as he found what he was looking for.
“Ahhh, here we go in eligibility guidelines subsection 23: ‘Gyms must update their eligibility on a yearly basis with the official SFB website. They must register all their fighters three months ahead of the start of the season.’”
Although the fight season hadn’t started yet, the draft technically marked the beginning.
It was a fine line, a technicality buried deep within the pages of the regulations. But it was enough.
“Well, would you look at that,” Chuck said, an evil grin playing on his face. “It turns out you’re right. Atlas and his team, the Portal Crushers, technically don’t meet the qualifications. I think I’ll have to rule that they’re disqualified.”
Mohammed’s grin widened. “Good man, Chuck. I knew I could count on you. I’ll see you at the Red Snapper afterward.”
“Indeed, don’t forget they have a lovely King Crab they just flew in today.”
As they ended the call, Mohammed leaned back with his rum and coke, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over him. Sword and Iron had just cleared one of their biggest obstacles, and he hadn’t even needed to break a sweat.
*Seriously, kid, you might be a good fighter, but the pen is mightier than the sword. And that hype and sponsorship money belongs to me.*
---
Meanwhile, online forums buzzed with chatter:
**Snopes31:** Do you think anyone can beat that crazy Atlas guy?
**BillyDkid:** Those were some sick decapitations.
**Twinks4kisses:** Atlas is my god. Look at him, yum!
**Ninaisgreat:** Are you all just ignoring Rogue’s Den? They kicked butt in Arena four. If that Atlas guy hadn’t been hogging the spotlight, you would have seen that!
**TheLastJediSucks:** Maybe those crazy YouTube training videos aren’t all hype. Now I want to smash some dummies.
**Hotnoods69:** Follow me for tips on how to bet at onlinebets.betway.sponsored.com
**USER HAS BEEN REMOVED FOR SPAM.**
**Theelectionwasrigged:** Stop the chatter. Break’s over soon.
**Berlinismycat:** Meow meow
**Atlaswife4:** My husband should be coming on soon. He’s so handsome.
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---
As the break ended, the crowd returned to their seats, eagerly awaiting the final four from each arena to be declared. The winners and team names were projected onto a huge holographic list above the center of the arena. The list showed the fighters' records, highlights of matches, and gym team names.
But something was off. The name of Atlas and the Portal Crushers was missing from the list.
The crowd remained blissfully unaware, continuing to cheer and speculate on the upcoming matches. To them, Atlas was still the reigning champ, destined to sweep the competition.
However, in a small office far away from the arena floor, Alicia was having the most frustrating phone call of her life.
“What do you mean our team wasn’t registered in time? The season doesn’t even start for three more months,” Alicia said, frustration clear in her voice.
“Actually, the season starts with the draft. The fighting doesn’t start for three months, but the season starts with the draft. I’ll email you a copy of the relevant information, since you obviously have never read them. Feel free to register an appeal if you don’t agree. Regardless, since we don’t have the paperwork, I’m afraid your team won’t be eligible for this season.”
Alicia hung up the phone, her face pale with disbelief. She couldn’t believe it. Atlas and his team, disqualified over a technicality? It was a nightmare.
---
Back in the arena, Atlas was oblivious to the brewing storm. He chatted with John and Wang Bo in the team box, enjoying the brief respite before the next round. To him, this was just another day in the ring—a day where he dominated, as usual.
“Looks like we’ve got some free time now. Who’s up for a beer?” Atlas asked, grinning as he stretched his arms.
“Sure, why not? You’re buying, though,” John said, with a smile.
“I guess I can afford it,” Atlas chuckled, leading the way to the concession stands. The three of them strolled through the buzzing crowd, completely unaware of the disqualification looming over their heads.
The SFB might have won this round behind the scenes, but for now, Atlas and his team were still on top in their own minds. Little did they know, a storm was brewing that would change everything.
***
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