Chapter 792 Game Three: It’s Not Certain Who Will Win Yet

Chapter 792 Game Three: It’s Not Certain Who Will Win Yet

"Emily, you've got some nerve! You want a rematch? Fine — but we're not throwing dice again. That's beneath me."

That look of contempt wasn't lost on Simon.

It set him off.

He fired back with a cold smirk, already running his mouth again.

Ace caught the calculation behind Simon's eyes and knew right then that Simon was about to make a stupid move.

Guys like Simon — trust fund boys who'd had every advantage handed to them — knew how to play. And they played dirty.

He wanted to warn Emily, or at least let her be the one to name the terms of the next round.

After all, Simon had set the rules last time.

But before Ace could get a word in, Emily had already answered. "Alright then. What are we playing?"

"Fighting."

Simon said it just like that. Light. Easy. Zero remorse.

The room went dead silent.

Every eye dropped to Emily's slight, slender frame.

Sympathy rippled across the crowd.

They all knew Simon had no shame — but this? This was a new low, even for him.

Of course, not everyone was unhappy about it.

The ones who'd put serious money on Simon winning were practically grinning.

"Simon, isn't that a little extreme? Emily's not stupid enough to agree to that." Ollie couldn't hold back.

Simon heard the voice and glanced over. He recognized Ollie — Kaia's shadow, always tagging along. He'd run into him a few times before. Used to think Kaia was attractive, actually, until he found out about her older brother. After that, he'd made it a point to stay well clear.

He hadn't recognized Kaia at first, but seeing Ollie now, he looked again at the woman beside him and placed her.

Still, Kaia hadn't said a word. Simon figured she was on his side and let it go.

"If you're not willing, then the terms I set earlier still stand. Not my fault if you back out."

It was a taunt. The kind of arrogance that said: you don't like it, you swallow it anyway.

Emily laughed — soft, unhurried, faintly dismissive. "Who said I wasn't willing? Let's fight. A real fight this time, no props, no tricks. You're not going to accuse me of cheating again, are you? Or are you planning to send someone else in for you? Because if that's how it works, I should be able to do the same."

Whether or not she actually had anyone to substitute for her tonight wasn't the point. The point was projecting confidence. Make him second-guess himself.

A little psychological warfare never hurt.

Simon had no intention of letting Emily find a stand-in. That would defeat the entire purpose of his challenge.

He'd trained in Taekwondo. He was good at it.

Looking at Emily, he saw someone he could finish in under a minute. This was already decided.

"Alright. Everyone step back, clear the floor. We take this to center stage." He was smiling as he said it, and he deliberately lingered on the last part. "I'll be there myself. You've got the nerve to agree, you better show up yourself."

"Deal."

Both of them had committed.

Plenty of people were worried for Emily, but with both parties consenting — and one of them being Simon — there was no stopping it.

The bar manager was the exception. He knew Emily wasn't just anyone; Ace had specifically told him to keep an eye on her. But if she stepped into that ring, even with the best intentions, he couldn't guarantee he'd be fast enough to pull her out mid-fight.

His gaze slid toward Ace. The question was written on his face: Do we stop this?

Ace hesitated.

Daniel's instructions had been clear: as long as there's no real danger, don't interfere.

But if things turned dangerous mid-fight, stepping in at that point might already be too late.

Then again, Emily struck him as sharp. If she'd agreed to this, maybe she had her reasons. Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing.

Jumping in now might do more harm than good.

Ace thought it over, then gave the manager a small shake of his head.

Still, he turned to Emily directly. "Emily — you sure about this? You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Emily couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about this man felt off. They'd only just met, and yet the way he looked at her was just a little too—

Attentive.

She didn't know what he was after. But as long as he wasn't a threat, she wasn't going to waste energy on it right now.

She smiled politely. "Thanks. But I'm good. I want to do this."

Then she walked to the center of the floor and turned back to Simon with an easy, open gesture. "After you."

The manager, satisfied that Emily was willing and that Ace had stood down, didn't get in the way.

The two of them took their positions. When their eyes met, it was nothing but cold intent on both sides.

The manager stepped up as referee. "Begin!"

The word barely landed before Simon was already moving — a straight punch aimed directly at Emily's face.

No warm-up. No posturing. Straight for her face.

That face had cost him enough tonight. Better it didn't stay pretty enough to remind him.

Several people in the crowd flinched before the hit could even land. Someone let out a startled cry.

Simon's crew erupted. "Come on, Simon! Wreck her!"

Simon felt the win already pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Then his smile froze.

Emily moved like water — fluid and fast, gone before his fist arrived. She sidestepped clean, spun behind him in the same motion, and drove her fist into his back.

Simon hit the floor hard.

"Emily! Let's go!"

"That's what I'm talking about!"

Kaia had always known Emily could handle herself in a fight, but seeing it up close like this — she couldn't help it. She screamed herself hoarse.

Ollie joined in without missing a beat.

It was a little ridiculous, honestly.

But somehow, it worked. The energy was infectious.

Even Emily felt it — the corners of her mouth curved up before she could stop them. Her hands moved faster. Her footwork became something out of a fever dream.

She didn't have Simon's raw strength — he'd trained, and it showed. But Emily was faster. More agile. And she knew the human body in a way that had nothing to do with brute force.

No silver needles tonight. Just her hands, landing exactly where they needed to land.

Simon barely got a block in.

The crowd watched him take hit after hit, and a collective wince ran through the room. A few people were almost starting to feel sorry for him.

At first, Simon refused to accept it. She couldn't actually be this good. It had to be luck.

By the third exchange, he knew better.

She was real. And he had badly underestimated her.

Each strike came in faster than the last, and all he could feel was pain — deep, bone-level pain that made him want to beg her to stop.

But every time he was about to find the words, another hit landed and took them right out of him.

To her credit, Emily wasn't trying to put him in a hospital. The damage looked ugly. It wasn't fatal.

When Simon was close to his limit, she pulled back.

The manager stared at her, barely able to process what he'd just watched.

That kind of technique — that kind of movement — didn't belong to someone who'd never trained.

He recovered himself and called it. "This round goes to Emily."

Emily pressed her foot lightly onto Simon's chest.

The pressure alone made his face contort.

She looked down at him, unhurried. "You lost. You going to admit it?"

Simon stared up at that face — objectively beautiful, and yet the only word that came to mind was viper.

He was half-convinced he was dying. What did he have left to protect?

Besides — he'd concede now. Once he was safe, he could always take it back. What was she going to do about it?

"I — I concede."

The words crawled out of him.

His face, by this point, was beyond recognition.