“Hmph. How unsightly.”

The man standing across the dirt scoffs at us as he delicately flicks a comb through his blonde quiff of hair. Seemingly satisfied with his efforts, he passes the comb back to one of the shirtless male slaves at his back and reaches for the whip across his too-tight belt.

“Mash, I wanna punch this guy. Can I punch this guy?”

“N-no. You’re not allowed to attack the other trainers this time around. Sorry...”

Right now, me and Mash are standing off against some guy in the centre of the arena with three collared, shirtless, and oiled-up guys at his back. ‘Glam Boystar the Style Master’ or whatever, I think he was called. Apparently this guy’s supposed to be a big deal among the other slave trainers but so far all he’s done is annoy me.

“Non, non. I’m not a slave trainer, I’m a slave coordinator,” he says, waggling a finger at us before turning to sneer at Mash in particular. “To think such an uneducated and unsightly person would be allowed to compete in such a tournament. I’m not sure why Queen Kokoro would even allow such a thing.”

“...” In response, the greasy, middle-aged Mash simply looks down at the floor dejectedly.

“And you...” The man glances over to me this time with a scrutinous look. “If I were to rank your Style from one to five... You get a five in Toughness, but your Coolness, Beauty, Cuteness, and Cleverness are all zero. Truly unsightly. Not shining at all!”

“Mash, I have no idea what this guy is saying but I really wanna punch him! His stupid face, voice, hair, and the fact that all of his clothes are too small for some reason is really pissing me off!”

“P-Pepper, your own clothes were clearly meant to fit a child. I don’t think you should be...” Mash mumbles some kind of complaint about my cute sailor uniform but is quickly cut off by my sharp glare. “A-anyway, you’ll just have to put up with it for now. You’re only allowed to attack the other slaves this time around or we might get disqualified...”

“Tch. Fine...”

“Alright, brothers and sisters! Now that our two contestants are on the field, it’s time to introduce them!” The announcer’s voice calls across the stadium to the cheers of the crowds. “Our first contestant is one you all know and love, a trainer— Sorry, a coordinator who’s best known for his stylish and shining slaves! It’s Glam Boystar! The Style Master!”

“Shining!” The so-called Style Master smiles and waves out to the stands as all of his fans cheer him on.

“And for our next contestant...” The announcer continues. “Making big waves in the preliminary round with his ruthless, solo-slave team of two, it’s the rookie Mash Ketchup! And his slave, the Baby Eater!”

At the announcer’s introduction of me and Mash, the crowd seems to be a heavy mixture of both cheering and booing. A lot of them are probably still not too happy about the whole Three-Tails thing. And maybe the baby thing as well, I guess.

“Alright, enough of the introductions. It’s time to start what you all came here to see! Let’s get ready to Krumble! Let the battle... begin!”

On that note, Glam removes the whip from his belt in one swift movement and loudly cracks it into the air. “Number Twenty-Seven, I choose you! Make quick work of this unsightly slave and make it shining!”

Immediately, one of the slaves at his back steps to the front—a wolfman with mostly-human features except for the tufts of sleek fur running up his exposed arms and chest, also wearing too-tight pants. And, for whatever reason, seems to be completely lathered up in some kind of body oil.

“Oh, right.” Mash fumbles around with his own belt, bringing up his whip and cracking it half-heartedly against the dirt. “Pepper, I choose you. Go... do your thing, I guess.”

“Right!” At his words, I jump out in front of him, squaring off against the slave across the field.

“Go, Twenty-Seven!” the Style Master commands his slave. “Show them how cool you are with a slash!”

As the oily wolfman rushes in to attack me with his claws outstretched—

I punch him in the throat.

“O-oh! What’s this?! The battle has only just begun but the Style Master’s first slave has already been knocked out by Mash’s Baby Eater! It doesn’t look like Rookie Mash even gave a single command!”

Touching an oiled-up shirtless guy sounds gross, so I aimed for the most punchable patch of covering I could find. The collar around his neck.

“Wha—?! What kind of unsightly—! That wasn’t shining at all!” Glam complains as his spluttering slave rolls around on the dirt, forced to be escorted off the field by a team of medics as he clutches at his dented metal collar now digging into his neck.

One down. Two to go.

“Hmph. Fine. Number Fifteen, I choose you!” The Style Master cracks his whip once again and another slave rushes onto the field. A lizardman this time. Also shirtless. Also tight-pantsed for some reason. And also, very oily. “It’s time to stun them with your beauty! Hit them with a mean look and make them nervous!”

As the oiled-up lizardman strikes an annoying pose and glares down at me with a weird look—

I punch him in the throat.

“And there goes another! Rookie Mash has already taken out two of the Style Master’s slaves without a single command! Could we be seeing a new champ in the making?!”

“...” At the announcer’s words, Mash gives me an awkward look as he fiddles with the whip in his hands

Oh. I guess he wants to look like he’s doing something too. Ah, it can’t be helped. I suppose I can let him have the last one then...

I turn back to Mash and give him a thumbs up and a wink, signalling him to give me a command to attack. Understanding my intent, his face lights up a little and he nods back at me, gripping the whip tightly in his hands.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Not shining! Not shining at all!” Glam the Style Master complains once again, seeing his second spluttering slave escorted off the field with a dented collar digging into his windpipe. He cracks his whip in the air one more time and gives a shout to his third and final slave. “Number Six! I choose you!”

At his command, a shirtless, tight-pantsed elf makes his way nervously onto the field, his pale skin glistening with a familiar oily sheen.

“Number Six! Show them how clever you are by keeping a calm mind! Don’t let this unsightly slave throw you off!”

“Pepper!” Mash shouts, cracking his whip into the dirt. “This one looks a lot stronger than the others! Let’s wait and see what he does first! Use your iron defense to tough out his next attack and—!”

—I punch him in the throat.

The slave wasn’t really doing anything so I simply punched him in the throat and knocked him out like I did the other two.

“Ah. Sorry, did you say something, Mash? I got kinda caught up in the rhythm of things and went for the throat punch again. That’s what you wanted me to do, right?”

“Ah, y-yeah... Sure...” In response, Mash just looks down dejectedly for some reason.

“And that’s the match! Rookie Mash and his throat-punching Baby Eater are moving on to the next round, eliminating another fan-favourite in another huge upset! I’m sure nobody expected this! I’m looking forward to seeing what’s next for our new rising star!”

As our win is announced over the loudspeaker and the cheering and booing of the audience fills the stadium, me and Mash make our way back to the exit, leaving the Style Master collapsed on the dirt, mumbling to himself in shocked disbelief.

“Not shining... Not shining at all...”

Well, that was easy. What happened to Mei-Mei’s talk about being careful of the Elitist Four? This guy was a total chump! And so were all of his oiled-up lackeys! Getting to punch people in the throat was pretty satisfying though. I only wish I could’ve punched him in the throat as well. I suppose if I really wanted to, I could always follow him home or something and do it there instead. That wouldn't be against the rules of the tournament, right? Ah, but then Mash would probably end up complaining to me about getting him in trouble again, and I don’t really want— Hm?

As me and Mash exit the arena through one of the tunnels at the side, we find somebody already waiting for us. A blue-haired elven man with a long black coat is leaning against the wall. As we approach, he pushes his glasses up his face and shoots us a condescending glare.

“I’ve seen everything I needed to see,” he says, dramatically flicking out his coat as he turns his back to us. “I’ve completely analyzed your slave’s typing and moveset. Don’t think your next battle will go the way you expect it to.”

And then the man leaves, walking down the corridor ahead of us.

“Fweh? Who was that guy?” I ask Mash as we continue down the corridor.

“Ah, that’s—”

“Keytone Clugose. The Analyst.” A familiar voice interrupts Mash from my side. “One of the Elitist Four.”

Whipping around, I find—

“Fwah! It’s Mei-Mei! What’re you doing here?”

“I did tell you I was going to join you after the fight, idiot.”

“Oh. Right.”

Looking down, I suddenly find the tiny dwarf woman tagging along at my side.

“And I figured an idiot like you would probably be thinking, 'That last guy was a total chump! I don't need to listen to what Mei-Mei told me at all!' or something along those lines, so I came to correct your idiotic misunderstanding.”

“I-I wasn’t thinking that at all!”

She got me. I was totally thinking that.

“This is the one you have to watch out for,” Mei-Mei says pointing down the corridor at the man with the glasses, still walking ahead of us. “At some point you’re probably going to have to go up against him, and when that time comes, I expect him to use some kind of underhanded strategy tailored specifically to beating you."

“Fweh...? If you say so...”

Every now and then, I spot the guy ahead—Keytone the Analyst—peeking back at us over his shoulder. He looks oddly happy about being talked about for some reason...

"He seems kinda like a chump too though," I comment. "I mean, he tried to make a whole cool and mysterious exit just now but we ended up walking the same way down the corridor and I can still see him.”

At my words, the Analyst pauses in his tracks for a second—before abruptly picking up the pace and fast-walking down the corridor ahead of us.

“Ah... I think he heard you...”

As the Analyst makes his fast-walk ahead and out of sight, Mei-Mei stops us and pulls me and Mash down to her level, keeping her voice low.

“I have a suspicion you’ll be fighting him tomorrow,” she says.

“Eh? How do you know?” Mash asks. “The tournament brackets are hidden and we won’t know who we have to fight until the morning of the match...”

“The brackets are hidden because they don’t exist.”

“... Huh?”

Confused by Mei-Mei’s words, we listen on at her explanation.

“I have no evidence to prove it, but I strongly suspect this whole tournament is being completely orchestrated by Queen Kokoro la Peppyseed herself for some specific purpose. She might act carefree and treat it as nothing more than entertainment, but I believe she’s purposely rigging each individual match to drive the tournament towards some kind of specific end goal.”

“And what is that end goal?” I ask.

“I... I don’t know. Even a genius like me can’t compete with that level of limitless foresight. To put things into a perspective you’d find easier to understand, if my genius could be compared to the power of Wrath, Queen Kokoro would be comparable to the power of Lust and Gluttony combined. She's a woman who appeared out of nowhere one day with absolutely nothing to her name and single-handedly dominated the entire world in only a few short years with her intellect and cunning alone. She's truly a monster that exists beyond comprehension."

Kokoro la Peppyseed. Greed of the Seven. I underestimated her because she didn’t look very strong and was super cute and totally my type. But if even Mei-Mei is saying that the Queen is beyond her smarts, I should probably be taking her more seriously. I guess sometimes there’s a lot more to ‘being strong’ than just... being strong.

“W-wait. Why does that mean me and Pepper have to fight the Analyst tomorrow?” Mash asks.

“Because the Queen realizes you two are a threat to whatever plans she has. She’s trying to get rid of you by making you fight all of the Elitist Four. First it was Three-Tails. Today it was the Style Master. Judging by his appearance just now, tomorrow it’ll be the Analyst.”

“N-no way...”

Mash seems to be in disbelief at the sudden realization, whereas I’m just a little confused about the whole thing. From the gist of it, it seems like me and Mash want to win the tournament, and someone else is trying to stop us. But isn’t that just how tournaments work in general? Why does it matter that the Queen just happens to be that person? Either way, what I have to do remains the same...

“Fwahaha!” I laugh, my voice echoing across the dark corridor. “I don’t really get it, but all I have to do is win though, right?”

“Keh-heh...” Mei-Mei cackles, a thin smile spreading across her face. “I guess so.”

“And you’re going to help me do that, right?”

Her smile widening, she takes a cigarette from her pocket and rests it between her lips.

“I suggest looking in the rejected section behind the arena tomorrow morning and picking up another slave,” she says, flicking her coat out behind her and walking down the corridor ahead of us while lighting up her smoke. “That ‘fun thing’ I was talking about should be ready by then...”

And then she walks away, leaving us standing in the corridor.

...

“Fwah~! So cool! Did you see that, Mash? That’s how you do a cool exit!”

“Eh? A-ah, yeah. Your fiancee seems to care about you very much.”

“My what?”

“Huh? Didn’t you say before that—?”

“Anyway, I’m gonna go look for something to eat. We’ll meet up behind the arena tomorrow like Mei-Mei said, ‘kay?”

“Ah, sure— No, wait! You can’t keep wandering around like this! I’m going to get in trouble—!”

Leaving the man to complain alone, I skip my way through the inner stadium with thoughts of delicious meats and prospective slave girls running through my mind.

Fwah~! What kind of slave should I get tomorrow? I hope she’s a cute one!