Another day, another run.
The familiar rhythm of my feet pounding against pavement didn't calm my nerves like it used to. With only **eight days left** until the qualifier, the pressure was starting to mount. Not from the training—that part was bearable. It was the **lack of progress** toward the side mission: *"Befriend or bribe someone in power who can help you win."*
So far, my attempts at research had been useless. The internet was scrubbed clean—everything was just official listings, tournament rules, ticket prices, and bios of past champions. *Nothing useful. Nothing I could exploit.*
I needed a crack in the system. Some angle. A weakness.
After my morning run and quick breakfast, I decided to take a gamble of a different kind—not in a casino, but in real life.
I skipped the training center and instead took a bus to the city's largest martial arts expo—the one where sponsors, referees, and even state representatives would sometimes make an appearance. It wasn't a guaranteed win, but it was the closest thing I had to a shot in the dark that might hit a target.
The building was packed. Booths lined the walls selling training gear, supplements, energy drinks. I kept my hoodie on and blended in, casually eavesdropping on conversations, looking for something—**anything**—that hinted at influence or corruption.
And then I saw **him**.
Coach Harry Vail , one of the regional referee supervisors. He wasn't just any referee—he had been caught in a match-fixing scandal three years ago but got off clean due to "lack of evidence." Still, his name had a stink to it, one that never quite washed off. If anyone could be bribed, it was him.
I waited until he left the expo floor and slipped into a smoking alley. I followed, heart pounding, and approached him like I was just another fan.
"Excuse me, sir. You're Coach Renji, right?"
He squinted at me. "You got the wrong guy."
"No, I don't. I know who you are… and I know you still like cash more than gold medals."
That got his attention.
He turned fully to face me, flicked his cigarette away, and gave me a long stare. "You're bold for a brat. But boldness without money is just noise."
"I have money," I said, pulling out a folded envelope from my hoodie pocket, stuffed with **10,000 cash**.
He took it, weighed it in his hand. "And what do you want?"
"Just a nudge. One win in the qualifier. Make sure my bracket isn't stacked. No funny business. Just... give me a fair shot with a weak opponent."
Kid you know I don't have that kind of Influence nowadays. But I may know some people .
"How much more?"
"Kid I ain't that greedy plus the security regarding this tournament is very tight"
"Just give 20k more for two contacts of heavy weights"
"Alright but remember this money never came from me"
Handed him 16k and bargained since I didn't bring that much money
"I Already forgot where it came from " he said smiling with a shit eating grin.
"One more thing," he added, lighting another cigarette. "Luck's a weird thing. Sometimes it runs out the moment you try to buy it."
I didn't say anything. I just turned and walked away.
---
That night, I practiced the **Extremely Basic Body Strengthening Manual** with a little more focus than usual. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was the growing realization that I was in way over my head.
But one thing was certain now—I was no longer just *training*.
I was **playing the game**.
The system hadn't updated me on the side mission's progress, but I knew this counted.
*"Befriend or bribe someone with power."*
** In progress**