9

For any of those in attendance, the fight between the two Battle Suit fighters would have been mediocre at best, entertaining because of the violent ending when one of the contenders' helmet broke and with the next blow the fighter's head split open like a melon.

But for Mouse it was an amazing experience, not only when the show began, energy cords surrounded the cage up to the very roof of the venue, but the fighters could fly, attack each other in the air, hit each other with a force that sent the other fighter flying against the energy barrier.

They didn't use weapons, but any of those blows that were capable of bending and denting metal was something that Mouse's mind, a simple pooper who lived in shit, couldn't understand. The fighters spent seven of the twelve rounds hitting each other, chasing each other, fleeing and counterattacking.

The punches that Mouse only did by instinct were now thrown from impossible angles and positions, with his feet glued to the ground during the fight. He also found out how much the prize money the fighters would get was two hundred salaries each, that was what Mouse could save in a year of hardship. Also, since it was not a "legal" fight, the fighters could continue betting on themselves.

Another of the surprises that fascinated Mouse the most was that when the fight ended, the winner, a guy called Duke Ulna, came out of the suit and took off his helmet. He was not a big or muscular guy, it is true that he was in better physical shape than anyone in the audience there, but the guy could not be more than one meter sixty-five tall and was thin and above all ugly. He was another boy from the gutter, Mouse could see it by his eyes.

When the other two Battle Suit fights ended, Mouse was clear that if there was a chance to leave mediocrity behind, it was by risking his life in those fights. The arena and the fight were a way to rise above his own destiny.

The way back to his reality was the worst torture for the mouse, after having seen that world, with the roar of the public, the food that was not a dull grey mush, and above all the absence of the smell of shit that invaded everything.

Fang told him that he would get him another fight in a few days, maybe a week, that he had to pull some strings, and Mouse went to his shelter, but something was on the boy's mind, training to fight...

Stop working and dedicate himself to preparing, the first thing was easy, he now had savings so he wouldn't have to work until he was too old to continue in the tunnels, but how did one prepare to fight? Mouse only had his experience hitting other children, and that of that night.

At that moment, he remembered again how those Battle Suit fighters gave their blows, comparing it with his own movements. It was true that the fighters spent a lot of time in the air and that the blows were so tremendous that sometimes they pushed the other, however he could compare, how they prepared their shoulders, how they put the weight.

Mouse dreamed that night that he was fighting in front of a large crowd, he had a Battle Suit, and he gave powerful blows in the air to his rival.

The next day, the boy spent hours practicing the movements, but according to the adults, he also had to run to improve his endurance. It was true that in the third round he felt tired, as if he had run out of energy.

Well running was not difficult, he had a whole network of tunnels to do it in, even if he followed the main drain he could run in a straight line for hours. And so he did, he began to run, the children who saw him pass by did not understand what was happening to Mouse, because he was not cleaning his tunnels, but the pooper scoopers did not take care of other people's things, he would not be the first or last child to go crazy.

He ran until his legs hurt, until he was out of breath, when he walked back to his shelter he kept thinking about gaining strength, how was that done? He had no idea, he could only try to think of what things required more effort when he was in the tunnels...

In the northern corridor, near the next sector there was a hole, a hole that went up and down for meters, the stairs were not designed for children, but for adults, he remembered that once he went down the stairs as far as he could and then when he went up his arms hurt from having to lift his own weight by hand, was that what that man in the wrestling room was referring to?

Mouse went there, to the well, he went down the stairs for a long time and then began to climb them, although it is true that now he was older than when he went down, the effort of his scrawny arms was noticeable in each step he managed to climb. He was there for a long time, he even had to stop and rest hanging from the stairs, his arms hurt, they burned.

By the time he got back to his shelter he was very hungry, he dragged himself to the mess hall, this time he ate the grey slop with disgust but without leaving any of his full ration. Fang watched him sideways, what had the boy been doing to be so tired? It wouldn't be good if he arrived at the next fight like this, but he let it go for now, he was just a poop cleaner with fighting skills, if he screwed up or failed he wouldn't give a damn, he would just find the next bully and take him to the arena.

Fang had earned thirty shillings for providing cannon fodder for the fight, although he wanted the boy to win, even for his sponsor to participate in the Hurricane, in truth once he was in Blacker's hands he would not win anything.

The next day Mouse repeated the same thing, practicing the blows just as he remembered them, running until he was tired and climbing the infernal staircase. The boy was sore, but he held on, he couldn't do anything else. He wanted to know if the training they were talking about was of any use.

Five days after starting the routine, Fang stopped him in the dining room.

"Hey kid, I got you another fight, you fight in four days, but you better get some rest, otherwise when you get in the ring you won't be able to move a muscle"

Mouse half-heartedly listened to him, he continued training for a couple of days, but he rested for the last two, he had also learned from his rival the night before, the day of the fight he only ate half a ration, he didn't want his full belly to play the same trick on him as the other boy.

Night came and Fang put him back in the bucket to get him out of the area.

The voices of the public once again inflamed the boy's soul, although this time he had to wait, as the winner of the last fight it was the challenger who would enter the ring first. He could hear the referee announce his rival, his name was Bull, and he came from the J98 sect, this didn't matter to Mouse, he just wanted to go out there and see what he had to face.

He climbed into the ring to the cheers of the crowd. Bull was a robust boy for the thinness that his life as a poop cleaner allowed him. He had short arms but a large torso and short legs, but for a poop cleaner he was robust.

When Mouse went to the table, the men greeted him more effusively, they had seen him fight once.

"Are you going to bet on yourself today too? This time, the bets are two to one against you?"

After seeing him fight the last time, many of the regulars at that fight club had changed their minds about the boy, but others with little brains were guided by the size of the boys. Trusting a weak child was a waste of money. Sooner or later someone would beat him up.

"Yes, bet two thousand on me..."

The men looked at each other. It was a lot of money, but after consulting, they decided to accept the bet. Mouse went up with a fierce smile on his face. When Mouse looked into his opponent's eyes, he knew why he had been christened bull. It wasn't just because of the boy's broad torso, it was because of his large, glassy eyes, like the ones that cows and bulls had in the drawings they showed them when they were little.

The referee explained to them not to bite them both, and they both nodded. In a few seconds, Mouse's second fight would begin in the ring.