FORTUNE FAVOURS HER

Episode 8

As I take a seat on the bench, catching my breath after the intense battle, I can't help but feel a sense of unease creeping in. Glancing up at the board, I notice that all my fights thus far have ended in less than a minute—a feat that, while impressive, could easily arouse suspicion if it continues.

With a furrowed brow, I contemplate the implications of my swift victories. Could it be that someone is manipulating the outcome of these fights by giving me easy fights, pulling strings behind the scenes to ensure my success? Before long, a card is passed to me by the referee, displaying the number three—a stark reminder of the stage where my next battle awaits. But what strikes me as odd is that I haven't won my last fight, yet here I am, being elevated to a higher stage.

"Someone bought you a spot on stage three," the referee explains, his words only adding to the growing sense of unease gnawing at my insides. With a nod of acknowledgement, he walks away, leaving me to ponder the implications of this unexpected turn of events.

As I sit in contemplative silence, my mind races with questions. Who could be behind this mysterious benefactor, and what do they stand to gain from orchestrating my ascent through the ranks? The absence of Albert, my only ally in this perilous world, only serves to deepen the mystery, leaving me feeling more alone and vulnerable in this area.

I walk to the bathroom to freshen up and get some painkillers. As I search through the first aid kit for painkillers, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching catches my attention. I tense up, instinctively on guard as a group of men enter the bathroom, their presence looming large in the confined space. I find it uncomfortable that there is no women's bathroom since women don't usually come for this thinks.

"You're the new girl," one of them remarks, his tone laced with a hint of curiosity as he draws closer to where I stand. I take a step back, maintaining a cautious distance as I continue my search.

"You're super strong for a girl," his friend chimes in, his words dripping with a mixture of admiration and scepticism. I ignore their comments, my focus solely on finding the painkillers I so desperately need.

But they persist, their voices growing louder as they try to engage me in conversation. Feeling their presence closing in, I instinctively retreat further, a sense of unease settling over me like a heavy cloak.

"Hey, don't ignore us," one of them insists, reaching out to tug at my shoulder. I flinch at the unwanted contact, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggle to maintain my composure.

With a clenched jaw, I finally locate the painkillers and quickly snatch them up, eager to put some distance between myself and the unwelcome intruders. Without a word, I try to slip past them and hurry out of the bathroom. As the man's grip tightens around my arm, I shoot him a steely glare, my jaw clenched in frustration. I weigh my options carefully, knowing that any aggressive retaliation could escalate the situation further.

Before I can react, the tension is broken by Miran's authoritative voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Let her go," she commands, her tone leaving no room for argument. I feel a rush of gratitude towards her for stepping in to diffuse the confrontation. The man hesitates, his gaze darting between Miran and me as if weighing his next move. Sensing his uncertainty, Miran steps forward, her presence radiating confidence and authority.

"I said, let her go," she repeats, her voice firm and unwavering. And with a reluctant nod, the man releases his grip on my arm, allowing me to step away from him.

But just as I begin to relax, his friend makes a crude gesture, slapping me on the rear. Anger boils within me at the disrespectful act, and before I can stop myself, I pivot on my heel and deliver a swift, powerful punch directly to his face. The force of the blow sends him stumbling backwards, crashing through the door with a resounding thud. I stand there, momentarily stunned by my own actions, before realizing the gravity of the situation.

Without a moment to spare, I grab Miran's hand, and we bolt for the exit, the urgency of our escape from the confinement and go where there are people and cameras.

The chaos erupts around us as the men close in, their footsteps pounding against the ground as they pursue us with relentless determination. With no time to spare, we weave through the crowded stage area, seeking refuge among the less densely populated benches.

"Why are we running?" Miran gasps, her voice filled with confusion and desperation. But before she can finish her question, I instinctively pull her out of harm's way and confront our pursuers head-on.

Without hesitation, I lunge towards the closest assailant, seizing his fist in a vice-like grip and hoisting him off the ground with surprising strength. In a desperate attempt to defend himself, the partner draws a knife, but Miran reacts with lightning speed, leaping forward to wrap her hands around his neck in a chokehold.

With a swift and decisive motion, I mount the assailant, raining down a barrage of punishing blows upon him with every ounce of strength I possess. Despite his attempts to fight back, I refuse to relent, my determination unyielding as I continue to pummel him relentlessly.

In a desperate bid to regain the upper hand, he strikes out at me, his fist connecting with my stomach with a sickening thud. But I refuse to falter, gritting my teeth against the pain as I seize his arm and twist it with ease, the sound of bone snapping echoing through the air.

But even as I triumph over one adversary, another quickly takes his place, delivering a series of brutal kicks that send me reeling. I scramble to defend myself, searching desperately for an opening amidst the onslaught of blows.

Just when it seems as though all hope is lost, the man I had been grappling with grabs me by the hair, yanking me upwards with a cruel sneer. But in a moment of sheer desperation, I summon every ounce of strength within me, crushing his foot beneath my hand with a sickening crunch.

As he howls in agony, Miran seizes the opportunity to strike, delivering a powerful blow to his head with a wooden sword. The force of the impact sends him crumpling to the ground, unconscious and defeated.

With our assailants incapacitated, we exchange a brief glance of relief, knowing that we've narrowly escaped danger. But even as we catch our breath, the realization dawns upon us that our ordeal may not be done.

As the groaning men lay scattered on the ground, I can feel the weight of countless eyes upon us. Miran's words ring out, a defiant declaration aimed at deflecting blame away from us and onto our attackers.

"They started it," she asserts, her tone unwavering as she gestures towards the four fallen men. But despite her attempt to justify our actions, I can't shake the gnawing sense of unease that grips me.

As I survey the scene, I can't help but wonder if I've revealed too much of myself in the heat of the moment. The man whose arm I had broken glares up at me with a mixture of fear and anger, his accusation ringing out like a damning verdict.

"What monster are you?" he cries out, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and horror. The accusation hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over our already precarious situation.