"What now?" Raul asked Viki, finding her sitting on the bed in her dimly lit room. The darkness was pierced only by the flickering glow of a solitary candle, nestled in an old mug atop the cluttered desk, adorned with an array of knickknacks. It was a collection of trophies she had amassed throughout her illustrious career as a thief, save for one notable absence—the ring she currently toyed with in her hands, the anticipated gift from Bruno.

"I don't know," Viki replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "The sales are good, and we're gathering a lot of coins. The boys are content working on the 'Fix,' and even happier spending the money."

"Yes, but what about Nathan? He's getting stronger each day. You understand what that means, don't you?" Raul pressed, his gaze fixed on her.

Viki shifted her eyes from the ring to meet his. "I'm not afraid," she declared with unwavering confidence.

The tall boy shook his head, his expression a mix of concern and resignation. "You know that's not what I'm saying."

"The plan remains unchanged. We have the 'Fix,' and we'll continue producing it. I won't let him dictate my actions," Viki insisted, her determination unyielding.

Raul sighed heavily, a weight bearing down on him. "But the crew is his. Some of the guys want to return to the old ways."

"But others don't," she retorted.

"He will challenge you," the tall boy warned, his voice laced with apprehension.

"I'm not afraid. I built this empire on my own, no matter how small it may be. Finally, we have money and don't need to take risks for no reason. Most of the guys prefer how things are now, even more than when he was in charge," Viki affirmed with conviction.

"Their loyalties can change," Raul cautioned.

"No, they won't," she replied assuredly. "Trust me, I've been in this world long enough to understand how they all think. Regardless of what Bronte is trying to instill in them, they remember how things were and see how they are now. His promises won't sway them, because they know his words are empty because that is what they are, just words."

Raul sighed once more, the burden of uncertainty weighing heavily upon him. "Just promise me you'll stay close to me when he makes his move."

A smile graced Viki's lips as she rose to her feet, taking a few steps toward Raul. At first, he stood rooted to the spot, uncertain whether to retreat. Yet, in the end, he remained steadfast, prompting her to rise on her tiptoes and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"You are so sweet," she whispered, her words tinged with tenderness.

Raul averted his gaze, his face flushed with embarrassment. Though his cheeks burned, he maintained his composure, refusing to reveal any further signs of vulnerability. Meanwhile, Viki stepped back, creating a slight distance between them.

"We will come out victorious," she proclaimed, her confidence resolute.

Barely two weeks had passed, and once again Bruno found himself in the sandpit, surrounded by the resonating melody emanating from the spectators above. They crowded around the pit, eager to witness his encounter with a formidable adversary, a towering figure named Hasan. The stark flames that provided dim illumination seemed ominously subdued, further stifled by swirling clouds of smoke that filled the air. The amalgamation of sweat, alcohol, and charred particles created an unpleasant miasma, reminiscent of his previous fight.

The offer for this match seemingly materialized out of thin air, and Uncle Said wasted no time seizing the opportunity, hoping to generate even greater buzz around one of his budding fighters. Bruno's battle with Javohir had captured people's attention, but it had yet to attract the attention of any sponsors. However, such concerns hardly mattered to the proprietor, as the allure of gambling held a greater fascination. For some reason, the young alchemist had become the underdog who enticed the masses, perhaps because he deviated from the expected norm in this harsh environment.

Ultimately, he could not refuse the challenge and was compelled to step into the ring. Observing the tall, well-built Hasan, with his slender frame, chiseled physique, and a mass of curly black hair atop his head, Bruno took in his opponent's every move. As Hasan paraded around the pit, showcasing himself to the audience, the young alchemist noted a lack of finesse in his maneuvers, yet remained uncertain whether that would translate to victory for himself.

The cold sand beneath his feet sent a shiver down Bruno's spine, an undeniable reminder that even a solitary blow from Hasan could spell the end of his aspirations. Several strategies raced through his mind—strategies rooted in exhausting his opponent, in maneuvering him into a collision with the wall, just as he had done with Javohir. There were a couple of other ideas, but they all evaporated with the resounding clang of the gong, signaling the commencement of the fight.

In the blink of an eye, as if by some magical sleight of hand, Bruno's mind cleared, devoid of any conscious thought. Adrenaline surged through his veins, electrifying his every sense. Hasan appeared at ease, taking slow, deliberate steps forward, his fists resembling formidable bricks poised to pummel the young alchemist's face. A dry gulp struggled down Bruno's parched throat, laden with trepidation.

As Hasan closed the distance, a beat after another, the ingrained training in Bruno's mind impelled him to initiate the dance—a sequence of rhythmic jumps, a syncopated rhythm of movement in his own tempo. A smile played upon his opponent’s lips as he leaped forward, launching a wide swing. The boy, evading at the last possible moment, desperately sought to escape his adversary's reach. Yet, Hasan's speed prevailed, delivering a jolting left hook from below that threatened to shatter Bruno's ribs. With a last-ditch effort, the young alchemist managed to block with his elbow, earning a chorus of disapproval from the onlookers above.

Nonetheless, the blow reverberated with searing pain.

Unrelenting, Hasan pressed forward, closing the gap and launching a knee strike toward the boy. A deft twist of his body allowed him to evade the blow, but at the same instant, two colossal hands seized his head. The giant effortlessly hurled him aside, and Bruno, offering no resistance, tumbled twice, determined to create as much distance as possible. Hasan bellowed with laughter at Bruno's desperate state, steadily advancing.

Surprisingly, the spectators above fell into an eerie silence, captivated by a spectacle that held little mystery for many.

Despite the clarity of his mind, Bruno found himself unable to enter the same state of unwavering focus as he had experienced in his fight against Javohir. The path to victory no longer appeared before him with unchanging certainty. He scrutinized his opponent, slowly closing in, attempting to discern it for himself, but any plan he formulated lacked that essential sense of unyielding confidence.

Rising from the ground, Bruno resumed his rhythmic jumps, maintaining distance and grappling with a puzzle that increasingly seemed unsolvable.

Hasan marched forward like a resolute soldier on parade, a broad smile adorning his face, his victory seemed within reach. With each deliberate stride, his long legs closed the distance between them, steadily outpacing Bruno's nimble footwork.

The young alchemist began to feel increasingly trapped, a helpless prey ensnared in a predator's snare. His desperate search for a winning strategy clouded his vision, inadvertently allowing his opponent to approach unhindered. In an instant, the giant swung his leg from the side, jolting Bruno back to his senses. As his eyes widened, capturing the imminent threat, that familiar state of heightened awareness washed over him once more.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The incessant music dulled, and the boy's senses honed in on the fight at hand. He could feel the frigid grains of sand clinging to his sweaty skin—each one a tactile reminder. The acrid stench of smoke, sweat, and alcohol permeated his nostrils. The ache in his elbow reverberated through his body. And there stood the colossal young warrior before him, his leg ascending, poised to unleash devastation upon him.

‘Drop down, strike the knee, seize the leg mid-air, leverage your entire body to painfully lock and twist. Then hold. Hold and endure,’ the idea sprouted in his brain as a young plant awakened by the spring.

Those words echoed through his mind, interwoven with a rapid montage of a distant memory from a past life—an encounter where he playfully sparred with a warrior from the Ard Al'ibil empire.

As time accelerated, Bruno swiftly descended, pivoting his body to the left, channeling his weight onto his bent left leg, and unleashing a powerful kick with his right leg, hammering Hasan's knee with all his might. Simultaneously, Hasan's feet sailed through the air above Bruno, accompanied by a pained groan escaping his lips. Seizing the opportunity, the young alchemist sprang into action, clenching Hasan's leg with both hands and hoisting his own legs to apply a debilitating lock on the limb.

It was a fluid, seamless motion—one that Bruno would ordinarily struggle to execute, but now, somehow, he did so effortlessly. Together, they crashed onto the ground, sending a spray of sand into the air, as the young alchemist intensified the pressure on Hasan's trapped leg, twisting with unwavering resolve.

Hasan bellowed in agony, his outstretched arms reaching to grab Bruno, and he succeeded, but the combination of pain and surprise prevented him from mustering his full strength. Still, his nails dug into the flesh of the underdog.

Undeterred, Bruno gritted his teeth against the searing pain, applying even more force.

"Enough!" Hasan finally bellowed.

Bruno released his hold, quickly crawling away from his opponent. The spectators above erupted in a chorus of jubilant cheers.

Yet another victorious fight had been secured.