Chapter 3: The Foreign Champion

Two weeks have passed...

The Itrean hotel was one of the oddest rooms to be ever constructed. The alien world of New Atrea was more significant than Earth. Its gravity was much stronger than Earth, and it could be felt in Bransen’s legs. It caused him to sit down regularly by his bed as his coach would check in on him.

“How are things, champ?” Saburo asked him.

“Like dragging nails through a thick carpet,” Bransen replied.

Saburo was dressed in his white and gray sweatpants with his signature blue and red jacket. The room wasn’t like any typical human hotel. It was generally smaller, even for the “luxury suite” variant. The interior consisted of growing green vines and fruits that lined the walls. It reminded Bransen of the transport ship they took to get here. A retractable bed that consisted of a petal-tongued plant rested on one side of the wall closest to the window. This involved smacking the petal to the point that it would roll outward. It was oddly firm to handle his weight. The scent was also quite pleasant. However, if left unoccupied, the bed would retract and reroll back into itself again. It was almost considered to be alive. There was a kitchen and a restroom, but enough was said, the better. At least the man had access to display screens to watch various shows and media that were broadcasted throughout the T’rintar clan territory.

Saburo pulled out another stimulant from his pocket. He looked at the vial syringe closely before bringing it to Bransen’s neck. A simple press was all that was needed to inject its contents into his body.

“Ugh...,” Bransen commented. He gripped his red and blue sweatpants.

“Your body is taking the stress, but they’re getting better at countering the effects of the higher gravity,” Saburo explained. “Your body is handling the strain pretty well. Maybe we need one of your finest cuisines to strengthen those bones of yours.”

Saburo went and put the syringe back into his pocket. Then, he went and sat at one of the nearby wooden seats. Bransen shook his head as he looked at the room.

“You look like you’re handling the gravity well...,” Bransen remarked.

“New Olympia has more gravity than Mars,” Saburo replied. “Although...” He looked down at the prominent bulge between his legs. “Some things I can definitely feel the weight.”

Bransen always did his best to look away from Saburo’s large crotch. It wasn’t the coach’s intention, but it was difficult not to notice it. Bransen wondered if his coach had augmented genitals. While he probably wasn’t the most endowed, the bulge was caused by something else. How the man was able to walk around without crushing his testicles by accident was a mystery. Whatever the case was, his coach probably had a lucky spouse to enjoy it. Bransen pressed on with his small talk.

“I’m still surprised that you left,” Bransen said. “I rarely hear about that colony.”

There was a short pause in Saburo before he smiled. “Hmm. Let’s just say that I treasure the times that I can leave and see the UWA at its finest. Including even training the best.”

“Well ... here I am.”

“I admit...” Saburo nodded his head. “I wasn’t expecting it too much, either.”

“You doubted me?”

“I doubted the chances, not you. You had to fight over twelve matches before reaching the final round with Olsson. Even a good fighter can get taken down in a match. Much like the Blue Pounder, you’ll have your hands full in keeping that title next year.”

“No different than it is now.”

“It’s going to be different, but you can still surprise everyone. I am happy to be a part of this interspecies sports program much like the UWALVR, UWABL, and UWAF are doing. It even sounds like the Itreans are interested in being a part of the UWA Olympics too.”

“Still...,” Bransen flexed his right hand. “I wonder if this will be enough.”

“And a good thing to have, too,” Saburo pointed his finger at him. “The Gelta Tournament is well known to the T’rintar clan. The best fighters from every system come to fight in this.”

“You sound like you know more about it than what I researched.”

“That’s my job as your coach, chef.” Saburo extended his arms out. “I wouldn’t be a good coach if I weren’t.”

“Tell me what you know. I have a couple of days before the first match begins.”

“Well ... the good news is that your body should be fully acclimated with the boosters that you’re getting. We’ll be going into a fighting tournament that has been done since the fall of the Jalgren Empire ... err ... whatever that means. Let’s just say that it’s really old. Apparently, the four Yutilian Kingdoms used to send their best fighters from their systems to compete with one another. It supposedly was used as some means to help resolve any grievances that each of the kingdoms had against one another. Eventually, the sport became so popular that it led to other sports being applied to the other kingdoms ... like what we’ve been seeing with the Itrean races and other things.”

“Doesn’t sound any different than what we’ve been doing in the last thousands of years.”

“For the most part,” Saburo replied with a nod.

“Is it true that they fight to the death?”

Saburo almost didn’t want to answer that question. “Yes and no. In the past, champions were forced to fight to the death. Yutilians didn’t hesitate to finish one another off if need be. However, the rules have changed some in the last five hundred years. It’s ... complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s possible for competitors to kill one another in the arenas, but it’s the same as the USAF competitions too.”

“Yeah, but that’s more by accident. It’s still rare.”

Saburo nodded. “It’s more commonplace here, though. The rules are simple. You have to knock out your opponent. You can do whatever you want to incapacitate them with whatever they supply you with.”

“Supply me?”

“Yeah, some matches may have clubs, weapons, ... a few matches, they even used vehicles for competitors to take each other out.”

“Really?” Bransen seemed a little surprised to hear that.

“The Gelta Tournament has seen its share of changes throughout Itrean history. It’s like the USAF, but the Itreans learned to make it into a full enterprise in raw entertainment. Ah...” He briefly looked away with a smile on his face. “Brings me to the days of Sumo Wrestling.”

“What?”

“Ah ... nothing ... nothing at all. What I meant was that in these matches, you will be pitted in a typical one-on-one match. In the match, you will be fighting till you are knocked out or killed in the process. However, if the opponent is knocked down and still awake, you have to ask them to surrender. If they refuse to give up, you are required to kill them.”

This startled Bransen a little bit. He had been preparing himself for this alien tournament, but there was still the fact of unpredictability. Every Itrean from around the T’rintar-controlled realms fought one another. This would include the cultures, societies, and civilizations that competed against one another. Some may not go down so quickly.

“Let me guess,” Bransen said. “It’s sometimes dishonorable to surrender.”

Saburo nodded. “It can happen. A saying in the Gelta Tournament is ‘Krepsa ten ... Krespa Jo ... Ki’ja.” He said it followed by a clicking sound in his voice.

“What does that mean?”

“Spare a life if you strike hard and strike enough ... or something like that.”

Bransen sighed, but Saburo lightly extended his hand in his direction.

“You can still choose to opt out of this,” Saburo said. “Look ... I don’t know if I could do it too. The Itreans don’t seem to take mind if you choose not to do it either. Just be aware that if you go into this, you might not come back alive. But, on the other hand, you may end up having to take a life.”

The UWAF champion shook his head. “It ... it wasn’t any different than how the UWAF handled it. Even Olsson survived after all that. There have been a few deaths since the sport started.”

“But not to this degree. You have to consider your actions carefully. Some Itreans may choose death over the humiliation of surrendering. If you refuse to do that, it would be considered an act of dishonor. You would automatically lose the match under their established rules. However ... I can’t fully confirm this, but it’s happening less and less to worry about it.”

“I don’t know ... it sounds a little ... aggressive.”

Saburo seemed as if he wanted to say something but was holding back. Finally, he caved in. “I ... knew a few friends ... long ago that would rather die than surrender in a fight. They choose death over dishonor.”

“You did?”

“Yeah ... it was a long time ago.”

Odd ... Bransen didn’t know of any conflicts in the last sixty years of Saburo’s life to constitute a battle or events that would lead to such an action. Maybe it was something minor than what his coach was making it out to be. He decided not to press it any further.

“So if I do this ... I may have to kill...,” Bransen said to himself.

“Yes,” Saburo nodded his head.

The USAF champion nodded his head. “I’ll ... I’ll carry forth with this tournament. I don’t know if I have to do it, though. If ... it comes down to it.”

“I understand ... I completely understand,” Saburo leaned back on the chair and looked at the room, reminiscing at the moment. “Quite an odd spectacle in construction.”

“What?”

“To finally be standing on some alien world. So much has happened than what humanity has ever seen in the last couple of years than has happened in most of my lifetime.”

Bransen pointed at the plants. “Everything is so ... green. I could probably make a soup from this fruit stuff that’s growing on the vines.”

“A mystery meal ... ha,” Saburo said with a smile.

Bransen leaned back on the bed. “So ... what else do you know?”

“The Gelta Tournament is two months long on over five planets. New Atrea is the first stop. We’ll be here for about two weeks. You’ll be in over twenty fights on New Atrea alone.”

“That many?”

“There’s about 180 in all, two chosen from each of the major inhabited worlds of the T’rintar clan, although they continue to alter those rules in the last several years. So expect a lot of matches.”

“And if I lose a match, then I’m out of the tournament...”

Saburo shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Each fight adds a point to your record for the tournament. You only get a point for winning. The one with the most points is the grand champion of the T’rintar clan. Even if you lose all the matches, you still fight till the end of the tournament. It’s their way of staying fair.”

“So, we’re going to be busy for a while.”

“Exactly,” Saburo said as he tapped his leg. “Or if you just quit, get incapacitated, or killed. To them, whichever comes first.”

Bransen knew that the Itreans weren’t screwing around with this tournament. This one must have been one of the most dangerous of all the sports. He still remembered watching the UWALVR races when they incorporated T’rintar clan racers. Even then, accidents and injuries still happened. The UWAR and UWAB also faced similar challenges. However, all of those were operating within UWA territories. Here, Bransen was under the yoke of the Itreans. He was in their land, their rules, and their cultural influence. He knew the dangers and kept it all in mind.

“Very well,” Bransen said as he looked at Saburo. “I’m here to represent humanity. I’ll do my best.”

“No doubt.”

“It’s odd ... over a year ago. I wouldn’t have said yes to such things. Am I getting suicidal?”

Saburo seemed to think about it before he shook his head. “No ... You said it yourself. You wanted a change of pace.”

Bransen sighed. “It’s more than that.” He was distraught as he shook his head. “I never hurt her ... she just made it up.”

“Bransen, ... I believe you. I’ve seen enough of you to know that you would’ve never done it. I’ve seen my share of individuals ... people that will lie to hurt others. I think you’re on the correct path. Doing what you’re doing now is showing your critics that you’re more than they’ll ever be.”

“I just hope it’s enough.”

“And becoming the grand champion of the UWAF isn’t enough? That in itself is an amazing accomplishment. You’ve put yourself into the history books, my friend...” he turned his head in pride. “Just as I will be in the history books for being your coach.”

“Well ... if it will do anything for the critics, they’ll be spitting on my corpse if I die.”

Saburo waved his hand. “Don’t think that way. Besides, I think you should find a girlfriend. One that will put those talking heads to rest.”

“I doubt any woman would want to be with me, especially with my reputation.”

“I’m not talking about any human women, my friend. You have a trillion Itreans to choose from.”

Bransen seemed a little skeptical. “I ... I don’t know.”

“Why? These Itreans seem to be sweeping a lot of us off their feet. I thought that I saw the birthrate jump in the last fifty years, but now ... mmm ... the T’rintar clan might as well be banning birth control pills since they discovered us. Did your ex ever talk to you about wanting to have kids?”

“This feels a little personal...”

Saburo held his hands up. “Humor me ... from one friend to another. Ask me a question that’s equally personal if it makes you feel better.”

“Fair enough ... yes, we did. Before we met the Itreans, of course, we discussed it, but she wasn’t interested. She was just in...”

“She was just interested in the money,” Saburo interjected. “Well ... here we are. A lot of the men were just given a once-in-a-chance lifetime on alien women of their choice. Every personality, every preference, anything you want. They won’t care about your past. They want companionship. I think that this is the best opportunity for you that you’ll ever get. You get to prove to them how good of a fighter you’ll be. You’ll get to impress them with your phenomenal cooking skills. Get married, my friend. Be merry or ... mated ... or however, they word it. Hell, I saw some of the T’rintar women were already eyeing you when we arrived.”