“I’m Grapple Krumble, and welcome back... to the Krumbledome!” The booming voice of the announcer echoes across the stadium, accompanied by uproarious cheering and applause from the crowds filling the stands. “Well, brothers and sisters, it looks like the first match of the day is going to be a good one!”

As the announcer carries on his introductions, Mei-Mei chimes in from beside me.

“Well, that basically confirms it then,” she says, gesturing across the dirt to our opponent on the other side of the arena. “The matches are rigged. The Queen is definitely trying to get rid of us.”

Across the arena, a man in a long black coat glares back at us smugly from above his glasses before sliding them back up his nose with a single finger. It's the Analyst. Keytone Clugose of the Elitist Four. Behind him are three of his slaves, their appearances completely obscured by grey cloaks. Their only distinguishable feature is that they're oddly smaller than any of the other slaves I’ve fought so far...

On our side of the arena, Mash takes his position up in front as slave trainer, while me, Bran, and Mei-Mei stand behind him as his slaves. Like the three behind the Analyst, we’ll have to fight for our trainer in a series of one-on-one battles until only one trainer’s slaves stands remaining. Up until now, I’ve been fighting on my own, but Mei-Mei believes that I might need some help in beating the Analyst so we went and bought some in the form of a rotting troll, and Bran. I’m not sure how either of these two things are supposed to help me though. And speaking of the troll...

“Where is it?” I ask, giving Mei-Mei a little nudge. “The dead troll, I mean.”

“It’s not dead. It’s sleeping,” she replies. “And I’ll bring it out later if it looks like we’ll need to use it. I don’t think it has much in the way of durability anymore and I don’t want to needlessly wear it out by having to walk it over here for no reason.”

“I see...”

From the way she talks about it, it sounds more like she’s talking about a tool than a living creature...

“Hey, I’m not going to have to do anything, right? You guys aren’t going to make me fight, right?” From nearby, a nervous Bran rattles off his usual stream of complaints. “Unlike the gorilla, I’m really weak, you know! Unlike the zombie, I can actually feel pain, you know!”

Ignoring him, I turn my attention to the stands instead. Above the crowds, and above the line of silver knights standing watch beneath them, Queen Kokoro sits upon her oversized throne, gazing down into the arena. A carefree smile rests on her face as she twiddles her little feet around in idle anticipation.

I don’t know what she’s planning with this rigged tournament or why she’s trying to knock us out of it, but I don’t really care either way. I mean, it doesn’t matter who she sends at us, all I gotta do is beat them, right? It makes no difference to me!

The announcer’s introduction seems to be reaching a conclusion and so I focus my attention back on the field in front of me again.

“... known for his mastery over all different types of slaves, Keytone the Analyst!” The crowd cheers wildly at the mention of another fan-favourite and one of the Elitist Four. “Or, will Rookie Mash cause yet another upset with his infamous Throat-Punching Baby Eater? Oh? It seems like he's brought along a full team this time!"

At the mention of me and Mash, the crowd lets out more cheers and applause. There are still some boos mixed in there, but it looks like people have started coming around to us after taking out both Three-Tails and the Style Master. Although, the weird nickname they’ve got for me seems to be getting even weirder for some reason...

“I can’t wait to find out! Let the battle... begin!”

At the signal to start, Mash pulls the whip from his side and cracks it against the dirt.

“Pepper! I choose you!”

“Fwahaha! On it!”

On Mash’s command, I step out in front of him, facing down the Analyst. In response, the man retrieves his own whip from his belt and flicks it out to his side.

“Seductive type.” At his command, one of the cloaked figures behind him steps out onto the field. Pushing up his glasses once again, the smug slaver calls out to us across the dirt. “Heh. Don’t think this match will go the same as the others. I told you, I’ve already completed a full analysis on your slave and devised the perfect counter.”

With those words, the shrouded slave tears off their cloak and throws it to the side, revealing the person underneath. The two other slaves behind him do the same.

“Fwah—?!” I instantly collapse to my knees once I see who my opponents are.

He got me.

Mei-Mei was right to be cautious about this guy. Before me now is an opponent I can’t fight. One I couldn’t possibly lay a single finger on...

“Your slave, she has a dual typing, right?” the Analyst calls across to Mash. “With her being a gorilla type, I admit, I don't have a slave that can compete with that kind of brute strength. But that's not her only typing, is it? That slave of yours is also... a pervert type.”

Cute girls!

The opponent in front of me—as well as the ones behind the Analyst—are all cute girls! Unlike all the beefy, sweaty dudes I’ve been fighting up until now, this is the first time I’ve been pit against a woman!

“What’s wrong, Pepper?!” Mash shouts from behind. “Get a hold of yourself!”

“R-right...” With shaky legs, I rise back to my feet and face the cute, shapely, red-headed human smiling seductively back across at me.

This is bad. Is there a way I can carry her out of the fight without hurting her? Like when I put Buttercup back in her cage back at the slaver camp? There’s no cages out here on the field though... Maybe I can just restrain her for a while! If I just wrap my arms around her soft skin and squeeze her warm and tender body up against mine I could— N-no, I would instantly lose! Even the thought of it is making me weak in the knees! Maybe I could—

“Do it.” A single, snappy command from the Analyst interrupts my racing thoughts and I suddenly find the sultry slave standing right before me.

All I can do in turn is give an audible gulp.

“Hey, if you let me win this...” she says, leaning forward while giving me a sly little wink. “I’ll let you go on a date with me.”

—And then she blows me a kiss.

“Fwuh—!” I immediately crumple to the floor, blood spurting wildly from my nose and pooling across the dirt.

“I—I don’t believe it! Mash’s Throat-Punching Baby Eater has been defeated!”

As the crowd erupts into confused excitement at my unexpected loss, I scramble my way back to Mash and the others, wiping away the blood still dripping down my upper lip.

“S-sorry...”

“Keh-heh! It couldn’t be helped. I figured this would happen.”

“Yeah, that was dirty. Don’t worry about it.”

Taking my position back with the others, Mei-Mei and Mash offer me kind words of encouragement at my total defeat. Well, it wasn’t a total loss, I guess. I mean, I’ve got a date with a cute redhead tonight now, right?!

Instead of encouragement, however, one particular person seems somewhat displeased with the current turn of events...

“Why?!” Bran complains as he’s dragged out onto the field. “Why do I have to fight?! What the hell am I supposed to do?! Why did the gorilla have to lose in such an annoyingly stupid way?!”

“Just, uh, do your best,” Mei-Mei replies. “When it looks like you’re about to lose, I’ll go and get the troll and bring it over here. Don’t worry about it.”

“Bring the troll out now! What’s the point of sending me out in the first place?! You even said ‘when’ I lose, not ‘if’ I lose! If you already know I’m going to lose, just send the troll out from the very start!”

Mash cracks his whip across the dirt. “Bran! I choose you!”

“Why—?! Ah, dammit...” Reluctantly accepting his fate, Bran steps onto the field and faces off against the cute, seductive redhead in the arena.

“Hm? I don’t know this slave...” The Analyst narrows his eyes beneath his glasses as he scans them over Bran. “Another dual type, perhaps? He looks like a useless-type slave, but what could the second type be...?”

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“What the hell is a useless-type slave?! Don’t make up such stupid terms as an excuse to make fun of me!”

Ignoring Bran’s complaints, the Analyst issues another command to his slave. “Try to charm this one too! He might be another pervert type! A seductive type should be super effective against him!”

In response, Bran looks as if he wants to complain again, but the sudden sight of the redhead seductress strutting her way over to him with her sultry smile causes him to immediately clam up. Stopping in front of him, she leans forward again in a way that accentuates her ample chest—the same thing she did to me—and gives Bran a sly wink.

Wiping his sweaty hands against his loose-fitting pants, Bran lets out an audible gulp.

“Hey, if you let me win this...” she says. “I’ll let you go on a date with me.”

It’s the same line she used on me. The same one that took me out in one hit. The Analyst probably thought it would work on Bran too...

As the red-headed slave blows him a kiss in an attempt to finish him off, I watch as Bran’s hands ball up at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he clenches them tightly.

Although it’s true that Bran likes cute girls just the same as me, the Analyst made one critical error in his analysis. If I know Bran, I know there’s one thing that he can’t tolerate at all...

"... impure heroines..." Bran mutters something barely audible under his breath.

“Hm?” The redhead tilts her head to the side with a puzzled smile. “What was—?”

—A swift uppercut to the diaphragm suddenly cuts her off.

“—Guh!?”

“Heroines should be pure!” Bran bellows, pulling his fist from the woman’s body. “The kind of heroine who offers to date a guy she’s only just met is worthless! A true heroine shouldn't be interested in dating in the first place! She should be embarrassed about it! She should be shy and blush and stutter when the topic is even brought up! Go sell your flowers somewhere else, wench! Impure heroines can go to hell!”

As Bran pulls his fist away, the woman immediately crumples to the dirt, spluttering for air and foaming at the mouth.

Seemingly upset by her words, Bran had simply chosen to punch her, delivering a sloppy uppercut straight to her diaphragm. Of course—coming from Bran—it wasn’t exactly the most impressive of punches, but his opponent was just an ordinary woman. And if an ordinary guy uppercuts an ordinary girl with all of his strength, well...

“O-oh?! In an unexpected turn of events, the rookie Mash’s newest slave just took out the Analyst’s in a single punch! Though I’m not sure anybody could feel good about seeing a grown man beat up a defenseless woman like that...”

At the announcer’s commentary of Bran’s win over the loudspeaker, the crowds across the stadium all begin to boo loudly.

“Why?!” Bran complains, shouting up towards the stands. “Why are you booing me?! It’s an arena! I didn’t do anything wrong! Okay, I might have been a little excessive because her line just now reminded me of a certain flowery wench from a sucky normie game I didn’t like, but people have died in this arena! I only knocked her out! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

I remember him complaining about something similar back at the Spire... I still don’t know what he’s talking about, but I can respect the sudden burst of excessive violence! Pepper Black is a woman who is always a fan of sudden bursts of excessive violence!

“He isn’t a pervert type then...” Across the dirt, a slightly unsettled Analyst mumbles to himself as his defeated slave is carted off the field by a group of medics. “Let’s try the nobility type... Go!”

On his command, one of the two remaining slaves behind him steps out onto the field in front of Bran. Bran stops shouting at the booing crowds to focus on the new threat—another young woman, except, this one has a more refined air about her. Despite being a slave with a collar, her clothes look pretty expensive and her golden hair is done up in neat and intricate braids and buns.

“Please...” she says, making an approach towards Bran with her hands folded pleadingly in front of her. “If you allow me to win, I will repay the favour by granting you your freedom! I just need Master Clugose to win this tournament so that I may speak to Lady Kokoro. Due to corruption amongst the nobility, I was wrongfully enslaved and stripped of my title. Right now, my husband of ten years is being blackmailed and forced to—!”

“I don’t care!”

“—Oof!?”

At the mention of her husband, the woman is cut off mid-sentence as Bran forcefully slams her whole body onto the dirt.

“Why?!” Bran complains. “Why does somebody who looks the same age as me have a husband of ten years when I’ve never even had a girlfriend in my entire twenty-seven?! Why casually slip in the fact that you’ve been married for ten years?! Was that detail really necessary?!”

As Bran continues his weird rant, the booing of the crowd only grows louder.

“And it looks like Mash’s new slave has beaten up yet another defenseless woman! Mercilessly throwing her into the dirt while she was pleading in desperation! Wow!”

“She was bragging! She was purposely taunting me! I’m the victim here! It was practically self-defense from all the mental damage she dealt me! I haven’t done anything wrong! And even if I did, it’s still an arena, dammit!”

The Analyst begins to sweat as he nervously pushes his glasses up his face with a shaky finger.

“N-no, this is all within expectations...” he assures himself with a clearly forced confidence. “I anticipated something like this might happen, which is why I’ve brought along my trump card...”

Cracking his whip in the air one last time, the Analyst sends out his third and final slave.

“No matter what his type is, anybody should be weak against a youthful-innocence dual typing!”

At his command, a young girl steps out onto the field, looking up at Bran with pleading eyes.

“...” Bran stops his angry rant at the crowd, hesitating at the sight of the young, innocent child.

This is bad. I doubt there’s any way somebody as young and innocent as her could have done anything to offend his odd sensibilities. I think Bran might lose this one. I know I would have...

“I have to win...” she says, balling her hands up into little fists and holding them out in front of her. Her eyes are wet with tears, yet boiling with a focused determination. “I have to get back home...”

A grown man like Bran should obviously have no problem beating a little girl in a fistfight, but—

“Th-there’s no way I can hit her!” Bran complains, turning around to face us. “I mean, she hasn’t done anything wrong! She’s just a kid! It’s super messed up that she’s even here to begin with!”

“I have to get home...” the girl mutters. “I made a promise...”

“Seriously, guys! I’m not hitting her! Unlike the other two, she hasn’t done anything wrong! Unlike the other two, there’s no way somebody like her could be—!”

“I made a promise!” the girl interrupts, stepping forward with conviction. “I made a promise with my friend that we’d get married when we were grown-ups, so I have to return to my village no matter wha—!”

“Impure!”

In a sudden outburst of anger, Bran delivers a running drop-kick into the chest of the little girl, sending her half-conscious body rolling and spluttering across the dirt.

...

The crowd falls silent for a moment, before erupting in a confused burst of excited boos, tossing random things down into the arena at the heated Bran.

“And that’s the match!” The announcer calls out across the loudspeaker. “In another huge upset, Rookie Mash takes the win from fan-favourite Keytone the Analyst with a shocking display from his ruthless new woman-hating slave! Who could have expected this outcome!?”

“I’m not—! I don’t hate—! Ow! S-stop throwing stuff at me! I didn’t—! Ow! I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m clearly the victim here!” With the match now over, Bran proceeds to cower beneath the ire of the upset crowds.

“I-impossible...” Across the field, the Analyst collapses to his knees, muttering to himself in defeat. “He was a loser-type slave all along... The kind who believes others don’t deserve to find happiness because he himself hasn’t found it, deeming those who have as impure and therefore, lesser than himself... The perfect counter to my own counter...”

Noticing Mei-Mei wandering over to the defeated slave trainer, I tag along behind.

"Hey," she says, stopping in front of him. "What does the Queen want?"

A good question. Blunt and straight to the point too. If Queen Kokoro is rigging the tournament to send the Elitist Four our way and knock us out of it, surely the Elitist Four themselves should know the answer to it.

“Heh. You tell me,” the man scoffs back at her, his glasses now cracked and dangling from his face. “She sent you guys to knock the four of us out of the tournament, didn’t she?”

Mei-Mei gives a puzzled frown. “... What?”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s obvious Queen Kokoro doesn’t want us interfering with her plans...” Lying with his back to the dirt, the Analyst gazes up into the sky with a pained smile. “I guess we no longer have a place in the future she’s envisioned... Even though I already knew and accepted that fact, in the end, I still wanted to...”

Reaching a shaky hand up into the sky, it suddenly falls limp at his side as he breathes one final breath, and gently closes his eyes, his voice trailing away into silence...

...

He’s not dead or unconscious or anything. Judging by the way he keeps peeping out at us from one eye, he’s obviously just being super dramatic for some reason. Probably a hobby of his or something. But, despite his poor acting skills, the fact that he doesn’t know what’s going on either probably isn’t a lie.

“They don’t know either, huh?” Stepping away from the man, Mei-Mei scratches at her pale chin in thought. “Just what are her plans...?”

I look up towards the stands at the Queen in question. Even without having to strain the muscles in my eyeballs to get a closer look, the expression on her face is easy to read from any distance. It’s the smug, all-knowing expression of somebody who has total and absolute control over a situation she’s been completely orchestrating from the very start.

From atop her oversized throne, Queen Kokoro la Peppyseed breaks out into a smirk.