Code Zulu Alpha: Nerd in the Apocalypse!

As we four shared a laugh, I didn't even notice that almost everyone else was looking at us because Bartow was still raring to go. Even with his win—a decision after three five-minute rounds—he wanted to do it with a knockout which he absolutely failed at because even if Kuzma's one of the attack types, he was also under Artem who was the most annoying defensive type I've fought.

"COME ON OVER HERE SO I COULD OFFICIALLY WIPE THE FLOOR WITH YOU!"

"You want to lose with your whole group watching?"

"THAT'S JUST TALK, WAL THE FUCKING WALK—"

But Kuzma's voice entered everyone's ears just loud enough to cut into our conversation:

"You'd lose to him, especially that you're tired."

And as soon as he said that, everyone else was just waiting for Bartow to blow up and obviously enough, he did.

"THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT?! LOSERS DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO SAY SHIT—"

"If we had two more rounds, I would've dropped you—"

"SAY WHAT?!"

Kuzma just chuckled as he shook his head, "Nah, I've said enough. You won under the rules so have your win, I'll accept my loss as it is."

"YEAH! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Bartow bellowed before he turned back to me, "SO WHAT NOW?! ARE YOU GONNA KISS THE ADMIRAL'S ASS OR DO YOU WANNA FINISH WHAT WE STARTED?!"

I rolled my eyes, "Why are you even here, you fuck? Shouldn't you be taking care of your granpa?"

"YOU— HE'S RIGHT OVER THERE ASSHOLE?! THAT'S WHY I'M FUCKING HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?!"

"Wut?"

Then a voice from a few feet away emerged and it belonged to an older gentleman around Oscar's age. However, he looked nothing like his grandson because he looked like the chillest dude you'd see fishing alone in the same spot for years.

'That's Jeorge Bartow, huh?'

"Ohoho~ You're as interesting as I thought, kiddo~ Would you humor an old man and teach my grandkid a lesson—"

"POPS! THE FUCK?!"

I chuckled, "What's in it for me?"

"Hmm~ I can tell you some embarrassing shit he did when he was a kid?"

"Deal!"

"WHAT THE FUCK— I'MMA PUSH YOU OFF THE WATER, OLD MAN!"

Then Jeorge shook his head as he looked at me again, "See what I deal with? Carry on then, if you lose, my ears might fall off by this dumb kid bragging about it like the time he beat his girl-bully for the first time—"

"POPS! FUCKING STOP!" Then Bartow was already waving me over, "ARE YOU JUST GONNA STAY THERE OR WHAT?!"

With that said, I took my gear off and handed them over to Kaley who was only a few seats away with Quinn and everyone else. And again, Royo was riling up the crowd because a few who already knew who I was were also betting on me, evening the odds for the bets—giving everyone else a moment to think about whether they just bet for their home team or not.

However, all these fucks were expecting a show while Bartow was expecting a brawl but fuck no, Kuzma already set the stage for me, so I'll just avenge him by finishing what he started.

"FIGHT!" Quinn and Tatiana shouted at the top of their lungs.

Almost immediately, Bartow rushed at me like a bull with an overhead swing but I slipped by and ignored the wind he brought with him which was like being on the opposite side of a muzzle break attached to a high-powered rifle.

But yeah, his right torso was open from his overhead swing so I sent a compact hook/uppercut mix straight to where his liver was located before I backed away.

I definitely felt good resistance—also due to how big he was—but as he quickly turned around to counter with a compact left hook, I was already a foot away and was about to send a middle kick straight to the opposite side of his torso.

Obviously, the oaf looked like he didn't take much damage but as I slipped in a low kick to his inner thigh when I moved to his left side, I saw him brace his torso for an attempt to take one of my attacks.

'Heh.'

Seeing that, it made me realize that this motherfucker was already more hurt than I—or than even he thought—but the only difference between me and Kuzma was that Kuzma was taking hits for his setup while I was completely dodging everything like a lubed eel in a pond covered with oil.

One of the reasons for this feat was that right now, I was mostly calm and collected, compared to the time in the Main Harbor where I was pissed as fuck, causing me to take a few hits just to hit harder. But this time, just with our weight difference, he'd have a hard time due to how agile I was and it was definitely showing.

'He's as pissed he was last time too so it all works in my favor…'

And with a few more exchanges, Bartow's torso and legs were fucking pumped and red—maybe even purple on some parts—and it definitely slowed down his movements. If it was any other day, I would've just aimed for his head and shook it to the point he goes down on one knee but this time, I want him to despair about ignoring his body's damage.

At this point, even his people were trash-talking the fuck out of him because his match with Kuzma compared to mine was night and day.

Additionally, I could've ended our exhibition match right now but I fucking dragged it all the way to the third and final round where he took all of the hits and remained standing despite him dragging his feet and visibly looking hurt. However, what's admirable was that the light in his eyes didn't dim a single bit right until I went for the death blow.

To everyone's surprise, especially Bartow, I walked out of the ring and said:

"I forfeit. Refs, do a better job."