Cursed Bunny(36)

The muscled man grinned. He tossed the youth away like a doll.

The youth slammed against the wooden fence. For a brief moment, his vision blacked out. As he came to and tried to get upright again, he realized his nose was bleeding.

Standing now, he tried to get his wits back by shaking his head. By the time his eyes refocused, the muscled man was right in front of him. The youth had hardly a second to think before his opponent, in a gesture as if to stroke a child’s head, spread his palm and slammed it into the youth’s temple. The youth stumbled onto the ground again.

Spitting out sand and blood, he stood up again. There had never been a fight that had progressed like this before. In anger, he charged at the man with his fists up.

Like before, the man easily avoided him, even pressing down on the scar as the youth fell again of his own accord. The feeling that he was being mocked only further stoked his fury. But running at the man and making futile attempts at blows was only exhausting him.

Face splattered with blood and sand, the youth swayed as he stood. He could barely breathe. The muscled man was still grinning as he looked on.

“It’s more tiring to miss and hit the air than it is to get some good punches in,” he said. “Because it’s not just the body that’s exhausted, it’s the mind.”

The youth didn’t understand him. All he could see was that the man was making fun of him. Enraged, he forgot all about how tired and out of breath he was. Forming fists with his hands, he attacked once more.

The man again evaded the youth’s attacks. He waited for the youth to stumble again, then pressed his knee on the youth’s back and brought his fist up to the youth’s neck. The moment the youth felt the man’s fist, his third knuckle specifically, graze the nape of his neck, the youth heard from somewhere the first, faint sounds of breaking.

Right before his fist could dig into the youth’s neck, the muscled man stopped his movement.

The youth caught his breath and waited.

The sound stopped. Nothing happened.

Slowly, the man stood up. He extended a hand but the youth didn’t take it. The youth stood up on his own.

Seeing this, the muscled man, yet again, grinned.

The youth could hear the other two men talking as he drank his water and chewed his dried meat.

“As long as he doesn’t realize that his opponent is attacking him …”

“You’re saying if we could delay the realization somehow …”

“But think of what might go wrong …”

“How? I’m telling you, it never fails to work …”

In the midst of their talk, the men would smile at the youth if they met his gaze, as if the two had made a prior agreement. The older bald man threw him another scrap of meat. The muscled man made a drinking gesture toward the youth. Seeing his perplexed expression, the muscled man laughed loudly.

IX

A few days later, the youth was sent out to fight once more. But before he stepped into the empty arena, the bald man handed him a liquid in a leather pouch. Opening it without thinking, the youth averted his face from the sudden, sharp smell.

The only liquid he’d known was water. The stuff in the pouch was definitely not water.

He stared at the bald man. As always, he was grinning his grin, and this time he made drinking gestures, throwing his head back with his hand near his mouth.

“Drink up. It’s good for you. You’ve got to make lots of money, right?”

The youth hesitated. The man came closer and grabbed his neck. The moment the youth was helpless, the man poured the stinging liquid in his mouth. The youth coughed and heaved, but the man managed to get almost half of it down his throat.

“Perfect. Now, go! Shoo!” Smirking, the pouch still in his hand, the man slapped the youth’s back and shoved him into the arena.

This time, the youth’s opponent was a person. A young man with a fierce expression. His hair was shorn, there was a long scar on his forehead, and his eyes were long, angry slits.

This ferocious young man bounded up to the youth. Thinking he was being attacked, the youth instinctively flinched. But just as his opponent came within striking distance, the man leaped away. His opponent, legs wide apart and swaying back and forth, would approach within an arm’s length and jump back, approach and jump back, over and over again.

Watching his opponent do this made the youth feel dizzy. When the opponent, in the midst of this swaying and keeping distance, suddenly hit him in the cheekbones, the youth, who had not even tried to avoid him much less deflect the blow, fell sluggishly to the ground. The people standing around the fence booed him.

He managed to get up. His opponent bounded up to him and kicked his stomach, hard. He managed to break his fall somewhat by stretching out his arms, but the liquid he had drunk suddenly surged from his stomach. When his opponent kicked him one more time, he fell forward and threw up the rest of it.

The green liquid pooled on the ground and dirtied his mouth. For some reason, the crowd roared.

Struggling, he got to his feet. This time, his opponent did not attack but merely waited for him—swaying back and forth like before, watching him.

The youth stared back at him. Having vomited, his insides felt much better. No more dizziness. A little more confident now, he swiftly swung a fist the next time his enemy approached. But the opponent was quicker. The young man with the fierce expression moved as if he were gliding on his feet, dodged under the youth’s arm, and slammed the youth’s throat with his thumb and forefinger, a quick but effective blow. The wind knocked out of him, the youth began to fall forward. His opponent, seizing the opportunity, sidestepped and made to jab the youth in the neck with his elbow.