The day took a more leisurely turn after my little revelation. Sally called in for a break over the radio before dragging me out shopping.
Her exact words? "Your clothes look like shit. They won't survive another round."
We settled on some of Ivy's specialized gear—compression shirts that were slash- and stab-resistant, paired with flowy trousers that offered full mobility. Each piece cost north of $500, and buying two sets along with some casual clothes nearly bled me dry.
At least basic meals were free for fighters. So were the sparring arenas.
By the time I woke up on day two, my shoulder was fully healed, and I was raring to go. Sally had left a note under my door while I crashed, telling me to meet her in the sparring pits.
When I arrived, her whole crew was waiting. Wiry and Blocky were already in the ring, and I shot Sally a look.
"Haven't I done this already?"
"Not with weapons," she pointed out. "And not against two people at once. You did fine yesterday, but you're no fighting genius. Your footwork needs work, your defense is weak, and you suck at reading fighters."
"Say what you mean, why don't you?" I huffed.
"Almost like you've got no experience with real fighters," Jerry rasped.
"Why would he?" Sally cut in. "He just hit puberty and can eat punches that would knock out a world champion. If I were him, I'd be muscling through my fights too."
"I don't muscle through my fights," I defended. "I only trade blows when I can't dodge. And the big guy here couldn't even touch me."
"So?" Sally scoffed. "Phillip isn't supposed to be a tournament fighter. You are. It's our job to find people like you, and we can immediately tell if someone's a future spectator or a fighter."
"You're a mix of both," Phillip said, his voice crisp and clear—almost too refined coming from a guy his size.
I blinked. "Your name is Phillip? Really?"
The big guy huffed. "What were you expecting, Stone?"
Sally grinned and gestured to the wiry man. "And he's Jerry, by the way. Got a problem with that, Negative?"
"What kind of name is that, anyway?" Jerry asked.
"Okay, okay," I muttered. "I get it. Let's just get this over with."
The first round was brutal. Jerry and Phillip clearly had something to prove, coming at me with a wooden katana and a good old-fashioned whacking stick.
I dodged, weaved, spun—hell, even flipped—to keep them from boxing me in. For the most part, it worked. All I had to do was parry a strike, sidestep an attack, and hit the right spots.
Liver. Neck. Nerve clusters. Knees. Gut. Head.
But the second Sally started coaching, everything changed.
She directed them to cut off my angles, forcing me to take hits just to land my own. Blocking one meant eating a shot from the other. It was draining—on my stamina, on my Cursed Energy.
I won most of my matches, but as the fights wore on, each exchange became deadlier. My moves got sloppier, my reactions slower.
Inverse became notoriously unreliable, and I had to compensate—flaring Reinforcement hard just to avoid getting my ribs cracked.
After nearly two hours, Sally did the unspeakable.
She stepped into the ring herself. And she brought a live katana.
I took a few steps back. "Aren't you taking this a bit too far?"
"You're not taking this far enough," she shot back. "Cheshire and Szasz are by far the best fighters in your bracket, and they both use blades. You either learn to fight me now or bleed out in the sand when you eventually slip up."
It hadn't taken her long to figure out some of Inverse's gimmick—that I wasn't invincible all the time. She wanted me to improve my timing.
And what better motivation than nearly getting gutted by a katana?
We went ten rounds. I fought mostly unenhanced, conserving my Cursed Energy for when I really needed it. But her attacks were unpredictable—fluid, vicious, precise.
My first mistimed Inverses almost cost me my shirt. I had to ditch it or risk walking away drenched in my own blood.
Again, she was impossible to read at first, but my heightened perception helped me crack the pattern. I started watching her lunges more closely, tracking her cuts, her kicks. Sally was surprisingly skilled in karate.
Eventually, I started winning.
Two-step dashes and rapid retreats let me get in and out of her guard faster. I pushed my perception to the limit, factoring in every muscle twitch and subtle movement.
We stopped for lunch at some point, but the training didn't end.
Jerry and Phillip left to handle their duties, only to return that evening for one final match.
Three of them. Against me.
Needless to say, I lost the first five rounds.
Sally pressed me while her boys flanked me, and with my Cursed Energy running low, I was practically fighting with my hands tied.
But I won the sixth and final round.
Sally clapped me on the back as I staggered out of the ring. "That's the fastest I've ever seen anyone improve. You're gonna make me filthy rich."
For all her naked greed, I didn't buy that this was just about money. She'd spent an entire day training me—a day she could've used running errands, scouting fighters, or taking personal time.
There was another angle. I just didn't know what it was yet.
Maybe it was recruitment. Maybe it was something darker.
But I didn't let fear stop me from appreciating the opportunity. Or the gifts.
If Ivy really wanted me, she'd get me one way or another.
And even if they figured out how Inverse worked, I still had a few tricks up my sleeve.
I tried calling Artemis before bed, only to realize there was no cell reception down here.
Of course, there wasn't.
What was available, though, was an uplink to Ivy's fight catalog. They ran a tournament parallel to ours, giving one set of fighters a day off while the others competed.
The evening exhibitions, though? Those were invite-only. Reserved for the best of the best. Metas and humans who had proven themselves time and time again.
Blockbuster had plenty of fights in there. They all seemed to end the same way—with some poor schmuck getting flattened.
Phosphorus was on the rise too, eating up every second of attention he could get. He even convinced Harley to let anyone challenge him. A few fighters took him up on the offer.
They all walked away with fresh burns and radiation poisoning.
I made a second mental note: Stay the hell away from the exhibitions.
The publicity wasn't worth it.
Neither was the risk.
—
Artemis's POV
Jade and Lawrence went over the details of the plan on the drive to school.
The target was a meta from Ivy's kingdom with impressive regenerative properties. If Lawrence was to be believed, his tissue samples might be the last ingredient LexCorp needed to finish a cutting-edge regenerative serum that could cure just about anything.
Naturally, I didn't think he was telling me the full story, but Jade didn't contradict him, so I let things be for now.
The main hurdle we faced, aside from the consent of the meta in question, was Ivy's rules. Break them in her territory, and she'd know. And she would come for you.
Her gangs weren't the main thing to worry about—the plants were. There were rumors of airborne spores placed strategically throughout her Kingdom. It was also common knowledge that Ivy could charm just about anybody with her pheromones. Every plant, fern, mushroom, vegetable, was also a weapon in waiting. The paranoia would kill you long before Ivy even struck.
We needed a way to get to him without the Queen ever finding out, and Lawrence already had a solution.
"We just have to apply external pressure," Lawrence said, slowing the car as we pulled up in front of the school. "Leverage whatever relationships he has to get him to the surface faster."
"How?" I asked carefully.
"Fake an emergency call from his girlfriend, tell him he won a lottery… it doesn't matter," Jade said. "I'll handle it."
I didn't like how vague she was being. "And you promise nobody will get hurt?" I asked, catching her reflection in the rearview mirror as she buffed her nails.
"I like breathing," she countered. "We all know what happens if Ivy catches us."
I swallowed hard.
"And where do I fit into all of this?" I asked.
"You're on perimeter watch," Lawrence said. "If everything goes smoothly, this will be a simple exchange—cash for genetic material. Our target is greedy and, frankly, not the brightest, so he should take the deal. But if Ivy gets wind of it, or if Batman shows up, we'll need someone to provide cover and sound the alarm. You could be the difference between success and failure, Artemis. It's a huge responsibility."
"No pressure," Jade added.
I put on a strong face, but I couldn't shake the twisting feeling in my stomach.
Even after they drove off, the unease lingered. I checked my messages. Still nothing from Julius. I frowned. His judgment might be shit when it came to his own problems, but he was annoyingly insightful when it came to other people's problems.
I chewed my lip as I stepped through the school doors.
I guess I was like that, too.
Julius would probably tell me to do my own homework.
Forget that this could help my mom. Forget that Jade was back. Something about this job wasn't right. Lawrence and Jade were being way too vague about this Mark Desmond guy among other things.
And I needed to know why.