Testa was completely absorbed in his papers to see where they got into. Hiro followed through the dark, narrow alley, though his progress was hindered by the sticky, dubious goo that coated the floor. His steps faltered further when he saw two towering shadows blocking the path ahead. Summoning courage spurred by Testa’s unconcern, he stepped forward, spine tingling, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
With his step cut off, he stood headlong before the two monstrous brutes. One muscular and bulky as a dwarf, had a skin of mottled grey, stained with black. Its face, dominated by an enormous pointy nose and small eyes, was half-hidden by two massive molars jutting up from its lower jaw. Beside stood another, slimmer yet equally imposing beast, with bluish skin, red mane and two tusks protruding forward from the sides of its mouth.
A shout echoed from behind them, causing both creatures to turn and step aside, granting passage. “Those two are new. They haven’t learned yet,” a man remarked as he approached, his presence far less intimidating compared to the beasts.
“What were those? Orcs?” Hiro whispered, glancing at Testa, who still hadn’t lifted his eyes from the papers, muttering to himself in distraction.
“Testa?” Hiro prompted again.
“Ah, yes, yes. One was an orc, the other a man-troll,” Testa replied absently, his attention still frustratingly fixed on his documents. “There are many variations among the races. Tarth, for instance, is a mountain dwarf—larger than most. You’ve got silver-mane trolls, stone-orcs, dark-elves, half-giants, and many others. You name it.”
“What’s so interesting?” Hiro pressed.
Testa finally paused, his finger tracing a line on one paper. “The list of teams for the qualifiers. Patrissus Haven, the neighborhood just north of here, has seven pre registered teams. But, as usual, one of the Fortress teams will probably make it to the final. Teams in the Blessings and the Hills will compete against each other, and the best of them will face off against the Fortress team. Here.”
Testa held up a paper, though Hiro couldn’t discern the text. “Few have the time or money to register in the slums,” Testa explained. “So far, Belick-Earl’s crew and Dand’s team are backing out, but the team from the docks is still in. That makes three of the usual six that register each year. Wolverhampton Wanderers, a team supported by a local merchant—a half-werewolf woman—is another contender. Then there’s Boulderthorne Diamond, a team from the dwarf caves, and finally, the winning team from Frieren’s tavern. Is a popular dive, notorious for thugs willing to play, so the owner, Frie, usually organises an inner tournament to see which team she’ll sponsor.”
As they approached the square of the convent, Thypoon, the gang boss, allowed them to pass as if the city’s corner belonged to him. Which, off the record, probably did. Testa tucked his papers into his bag and retrieved a stack of others, freshly copied by hand. He handed Hiro half the pile.
“So… Sand and Vini will join if you find a sponsor,” Hiro mused, tapping his thumb against his other fingers. “Arso is bringing a friend. Tarth, Serin, Mira… we just need one more to make it ten, right?”
“Ten to register and to play a game, but we can have up to fifteen,” Testa corrected. “You know people can get, well... let’s say, tired. Plus, having players with various skills is key for tactics. Imagine studying a team’s players, only to be surprised by a new guy in the lineup. What does he do? Do we know his stats? Then he casts a powerful elemental—oh, no! Heh.” Testa cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ll go this way, and you go the other. Don’t enter any houses or alleys.”
Hiro began wandering along the side of the square. The area wasn’t crowded, and the few people around didn’t seem interested in stopping for a chat. “Oh, right!” Testa shouted from across the square. “We don’t accept everyone, so be sure to only bring in those worth our time.”
Hiro strode back to meet him. “What do you mean? Who’s worth our time?”
“Well, if someone looks like they’d kill you just for talking to them, they probably would. So, not to those. And if someone looks like they haven’t eaten in weeks, no to them too. No sick people, no drug users. And definitely no pregnant women or kids under ten.”
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As Testa walked away, Hiro gritted his teeth. The first paper he handed out was immediately tossed into the street, followed by the second and the third. One woman cursed, clearly expecting food or money instead. Midway across the square, two strong-looking men gave him hope, but they were too busy and had to leave. The next pair he approached turned out to be Typhoon’s henchmen.
Hiro sighed and slumped onto a stool. An old man, without asking, grabbed the paper and scrutinized it, ignoring Hiro’s protests.
“I’ll get you a player. Wait here,” the old man said before disappearing into a dark corner.
Hiro waited, watching Testa’s equally unsuccessful efforts on the other side of the square. “Here, this guy,” the old man said as he returned, bringing with him a boy, maybe a few years younger than Hiro.
The boy stood with a proud stance, though he was short and scrawny, his skin pale as a corpse. One of his eyes was black, with a strange red line trailing down his cheek.
“You’re lucky,” the boy said in a grating, nasal voice. “I heard you’re looking for players, and this old geezer knows my skills very well.”
“I just want you out of my sight,” the old man grumbled before retreating into the shadows.
“Disproportionate reaction!” the boy said. “So, let’s negotiate. If you pay me thirty Royal crowns, provide a house and carriage, I’ll accept.”
“We don’t pay,” Hiro replied, inspecting the boy. The game was tough, but with magic, people with little muscle could still play. Though this kid seemed beyond even magic’s help.
“I get it, I get it. A poor team seeking glory from the grassroots! You’re extremely lucky, and I’m extremely generous. Free room, three meals, and a private masseuse: a pretty girl, no older than sixty and with big juggins! I have a cursed eye. What team in lower divisions have the chance to have someone like me, uh? I can turn the most impressive player into a sheep!”
“What? No! No rooms, meals or pretty girls with big…uh, no. We have a player with cursing eyes, by the way. And she can summon a terrifying human-like cat, too. What else can you do?”
“A human-like cat? You serious? Ha! Can you find a less cliche trope out there?”
“What?”
The kid shushed loudly. “I have a cursed mouth. It says whatever it wants, and I do not know what it’s talking about. I can summon an army of ghosts, wanna see?” His finger raised high into the air and began to hum. As the finger shot down toward Hiro’s face in a sudden motion, he yelled again, “There! An army of ghosts!”
Hiro glanced around the square, where nothing had changed. “Where?”
“They are ghosts, invisible to normal folk like you.”
Realising why the old man had wanted the boy out of his premises, Hiro sighed. “Can you ask them to move something?”
“They can’t touch things; they’re ghosts!”
Hiro searched the square for Testa, but, even failing to find him, he strode away, hoping the boy would get the idea.
“How about this? One meal after training. New boots, new set of clothes and the permission to hug female teammates when we score.”
“We’ll contact you shortly.” Hiro rubbed his eyes, struggling to think of a better excuse to get rid of the boy. “Right now, we…”
But the boy had vanished. In range of view, a tall, broad-shouldered man strode forward. Without warning, the man grabbed Hiro by the shirt and lifted him off the ground. “You with the pest? He owes me money. And since he ran like the rat he is, you’ll pay.”
“Brakal!” one of the gang members who had earlier turned down Hiro’s offer rushed to aid. “That kid’s from Bokorov’s flock. He has Thyp’s blessing!”
The man’s face contorted in surprise. He gently set Hiro down and readjusted his shirt. “Bo-Bokorov? My apologies, I thought you were with that ghoul-prick. M-my apologies.”
Unable to recover from the shock and frustrated by the lack of progress, Hiro trudged to the agreed meeting point. He slumped onto a stack of crates outside a shop, exuding the pungent aroma of dried fish and meat. There, he settled in to wait, his patience thinning with each passing moment.
Of all the papers he had placed in planks or glued to the timbers, none had been picked up, and half were already fluttering across the floor. His dull reverie was soon shattered by Testa’s calling, cutting through the silence. “Look, Hiro! I found a skilled player. All he wants is a meal and some fresh clothes!”
A knot tightened in Hiro’s stomach with the certainty of knowing who it was going to be. “Surprise, surprise! It’s me!” The ghoul stepped forward, a hand raising in greeting, a grin spreading across his face to reveal unnervingly perfect yet yellowed teeth. “I’m Despair, the Indomitable Danger! A pleasure to meet you!”