Nero saw the fist coming. After three years in the fighting pits he had developed this mysterious ability to slow time when the stronger attacks were about to happen. And within that moment he reviewed his opponent for a second time. He was taller than him, more buff with tattoos craved over his oily muscles. This made his movements slower; but stronger.

Nero ducked when the fist was inches near him, pushing himself forward towards the man’s abdomen. His new move caught his opponent by surprise, and the force of the jump sent them both to the ground. The bigger man hit first, with a rough thunk and a groan. Before he could raise his hands, Nero had him pinned. He looked at his opponent’s face - probably in his mid thirties, the rotten breath smelled of fish, so he probably worked as a sailor. Then again, Nero was not sure. It was the fighting pits. Everyone’s mouths smelled of fish.

His senses hit him back as he heard the cheers of the crowd.

That’s right, people are watching.

He eyed the bunch of drunks gathered around them. The pit guards, dressed in shallow iron armor, tried pushing them back. But they jeered all the same, raising arms and yelling curses. It was all around him, and Nero in a short while realized they were echoing his name.

In that one single moment he enjoyed all of it. Their cheers were like honey, and for once, he loved it when they were drunk.

His opponent’s groan made him focus on what he was doing. When he locked eyes with the man, he knew he was going to find resistance. Nero brought his fist to the man’s face, crushing his nose and getting another groan. He shifted his weight to his legs and kept the arms of the man pinned. Then he lowered his face to his opponent like an old lover.

“Stand down, and we can finish this peacefully,” he said. Then he paused to listen to the crowd yelling at him to finish the fight off. “Nod if you understand.”

The nod came several moments later, and it was faint. But that was enough for Nero. He stood up, backing away from his target. The referee - a scrawny man with half torn trousers and nothing more - came several moments later and dropped near the man.

“Counting to three,” he yelled, raising three fingers.

Nero watched the fingers come down one by one. He still watched his opponent to see if he would stand up. But he lay there, just swinging his head.

“Three!” the referee yelled the last number louder than the rest. The crowd around them erupted to cheers again, this time the arms flying high. Nero looked around smiling, letting his pride wash through him for a moment, letting the sound of the chants flow through his ears, watching several girls in the front row yell his name.

Then the referee shooed him away so they could have the next match.

☖☖☖☖

“They call you the young demon,” Abel said, counting five coins and handing them over to Nero. “Barely nineteen, but you know the moves. That makes your teacher proud, Nero.”

The man wiped away an imaginary tear, but Nero knew he was just here for the coins. Despite the five that fell to his hands, he knew another fifteen went to the man’s pockets. But he wasn’t going to complain. He wasn’t here for the coins.

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“So will I get a chance?” he asked.

“For what?”

Nero gritted his teeth. Abel knew the answer, but Nero had to explain it every time.

“To fight an imperial in the same pit?”

“No, you won’t. But you’re getting close.”

“I’ve been getting close for nearly five years now.”

“Yes, five years ago your goal was fifty thousand feet away but now it’s just five. Keep fighting. I’ll let you know when the chance lands on our lap.”

Nero had half a mind to start punching his teacher, but for one he knew the man would still get the upper hand despite being in his mid forties. And two, half of his mind knew the words coming out of the man’s mouth was true.

In every year they held the Pali Festival to keep a fight between the imperials and commoners like him. If a commoner defeated an imperial they would get a high price, and will be admitted to their ranks. But only a handful of fighters were chosen from every village. Nero had been winning fights for over an year now, and he was ranked first in the rings. He even built a name for himself. But their village was small compared to the rest in the province. He doubted they would even make to the listings.

And the Tamugaki Festival happened rarely, only when the Royals felt they needed to showcase their power.

That evening he walked out of the fighting pits with a grumpy look. It couldn’t be called the pits. The location was just a empty space covered by some fishing stalls, but the men liked to make the name sound big.

Outside one of the fallen shanties, Nero’s friend Rafel was squatting, eagerly prodding the ground with a stick.

“Your mother was searching for you,” he said as soon as he saw Nero’s face appear through the shadows.

Nero bit his lip. The rule was to be home before sundown. Now the shadows have already started to fall, which means he wasn’t going to have a peaceful dinner tonight.

“Bloody bulls,” he spat. “Did she ask you something?”

Rafel patted his trousers before standing up, and then took his sweet time pulling out his spectacles and putting them on.

“I had to tell her you went back to fighting.”

So that’s why he put the glasses. So he could hide the guilt in his eyes.

“You could have said any other lie than that.”

“What? You’ve been out here running errands for the barman? You’ve been plowing the fields with the rest of the farmers? Or you finally decided to show up at the library to lend some books for studying? Your mother is the village doctor. She knows everyone in the village. She can detect lies faster than your punches.”

Nero hated when Rafel started spitting out the truth.

“I’m sorry,” he pulled out one coin and handed it over to Rafel. “Take this.”

“Don’t give me money. I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s not for you dumbass. I heard your father got ill again. This is for your family.”

Rafel removed his glasses. There was a look in his eyes that betrayed him. “I’m sorry Nero. I wanted to lie to her-”

“I understand,” Nero pushed the coin into his friends hand. “And I’ll come to the library tomorrow. It’s time I finally did some studying.”

Rafel nodded, and gave a light smile. They exchanged a few words about the fight and Nero watched him scuttle out. He even had a short limp in the way he walked, and his body was so skinny he was afraid he would scatter across the wind. But he had a good heart. He was way too pure, never spoke a lie, never hurt anyone, and even when the village bullies picked him he was the one to speak sense amidst the violence.

Nero shrugged his thoughts and headed to his home. He had half a mind to stop at the bakery and buy some sweet rolls, but he doubted such a cheap trick would work on getting on his mother’s good side.

When he walked over the small hill their house was in, his legs were starting to ache from the day’s fights. There was a slight cut in his arm, and a crank in his ankle, even though both were minor the tire and effort of the day was starting to strike him by noon.

As expected his mother was on the front pouch, grinding something on the small mortar and pestle with her eyes fixed on the road. The lamp on the doorway had enough light to show her brows furrow when she caught Nero emerge in the front lawn.

“Hello Nero,” her voice was soft, almost sarcastic. “I heard you have been busy?”

Nero gave a half hearted laugh. “Very much mother. I knew Rafel told you I was at the fighting ring, but I was actually helping out the fishermen. They’ve caught a big bunch at the river last night-”

“You think that is going to work?”

Nero stepped in to the light. “No.”

Her mother took her time watching the bruises on his face.

“Get in the house.”

Nero obeyed that hastily.