Chapter 161: "Would You Date Me?"

The warehouse erupted.

The long, tense silence that had followed the final strike vanished beneath a deafening roar of celebration.

Cheers crashed against the walls in a rolling wave, followed by whistles, laughter, and the thunderous stomping of countless feet against the concrete floor.

The Marchetti Trials had finally reached their conclusion.

And once again, Jordan Marchetti stood at the center of it all.

Tucked away in the medical wing, Oscar was watching the entire celebration unfold on a large screen from his recovery room.

He had followed every second of the final duel, leaning so close to the screen that the medical staff had reminded him several times to stay in bed.

The moment Aren’s blood touched the canvas, however, Oscar’s voice exploded through the room.

"Goddammit! That was so close!"

Several nurses jumped.

Oscar immediately clutched his injured ribs and winced, but apparently the pain wasn’t enough to restrain his outrage.

"Argh! Ariana, how could you lose to such a stupid move?! Even ten-year-old me could’ve dodged that! Argh, so disappointing!"

His heartfelt complaint carried far beyond his own room. It reached several rooms down the corridor, where Rosalia sat beside Sofia’s bed, one hand gently holding Sofia’s.

Rosalia had been watching the match as well. She couldn’t help smiling at Oscar’s dramatic outburst.

’Ah... what a shame.’

’If the Lombardi heiress had trained with us since childhood, perhaps even Jordan wouldn’t have stood much of a chance.’

Her attention remained on the screen for another moment before she felt the faintest movement beneath her palm.

Rosalia froze.

Sofia’s fingers had shifted. Her lashes fluttered weakly, and after several attempts, her eyelids finally began to open.

Rosalia’s expression changed instantly.

"Sofia?"

She released Sofia’s hand and hurried toward the door.

"Nurse! My sister is awake!"

Within moments, the medical staff rushed into the room.

Meanwhile, back in the warehouse, the celebration showed no sign of dying down. The galleries remained filled with applause and excited conversation as Gian Lombardi finally rose from his seat.

He extended a hand toward Eduardo with a warm smile.

"Congratulations, Don Eduardo. That was truly an excellent performance from your son. House Marchetti’s expertise with weapons remains unmatched."

Eduardo stood as well, his expression composed and solemn once more as he accepted the handshake.

"Your daughter was a formidable opponent," he replied firmly. "I have no idea what you do over there in your House, but you’ve raised... one remarkable daughter."

Gian shook his head with a soft laugh.

"Oh, you have no idea. I don’t think I can take much credit for that. It’s all her. She’s... changed quite a lot lately."

Eduardo gave no reply.

He merely filed the comment away before Giovanni and the other Marchetti men claimed his attention with another round of handshakes and congratulations.

The most relieved man in the gallery, however, was Caio.

His shoulders had finally relaxed. The tension between his brows had eased, and a quiet sense of satisfaction settled over him as he watched Aren standing in the ring.

’Good thing she didn’t overdo it and reveal too much of her skill.’

His gaze lingered on her for another moment before he turned toward Leo.

"Do you think House Marchetti accepts custom weapon orders?"

Leo leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"I’m not entirely certain, Boss. But we’re already here, inside House Marchetti. It probably wouldn’t hurt to inquire."

He paused, studying Caio’s expression.

"But... why do you ask, Boss?"

A faint smile curved Caio’s lips.

"There’s someone I know who’s very interested in custom weapons." His eyes returned to the ring. "I have a feeling she’d be overjoyed if I got her one."

No further explanation was necessary.

Leo immediately understood exactly who that "someone" was.

His gaze followed Caio’s toward Aren, who had now moved to the far corner of the ring, deliberately giving the spotlight to the champion of the Trials.

On the stage, the Head Coordinator had already hurried back onto the canvas with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

A staff member followed closely behind, carrying the championship trophy.

Jordan was still standing near the center of the ring, looking as though he hadn’t quite managed to process what had happened.

’But wait a minute...’

’In that moment... she could have dodged to my left, but she stepped inside my reach instead.’

His eyes narrowed.

’Could it be that she...’

He tried to replay the moment in his head, but he never got the chance to finish the thought. The Head Coordinator had already seized his hand and raised it high.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

"Another round of applause for the winner of this year’s Marchetti Trials!"

"Jordan Marchetti!"

The response was immediate.

The warehouse erupted all over again.

"Young Boss!"

"Congratulations!"

"You’re amazing! You did it!"

"Now you’ve gotta defend the championship for the fourth time, all right? No slacking off!"

Caught in the wave of roars coming from the sea of people before him, Jordan raised his machete triumphantly above his head, unwilling to disappoint his own men.

Yet his attention wasn’t truly on them.

It wasn’t even on the victory itself.

’I... I did it.’

’I won the bet.’

His heart began to pound harder.

’...I’ll get to date her now.’

The realization had barely settled when the Head Coordinator stepped into his line of sight and pressed the bouquet into his hands.

"Young Boss! Congratulations! Please accept this! It’s yours!"

Jordan glanced down at the flowers.

For a moment, he looked genuinely confused about why flowers were suddenly being presented this year.

Then his gaze drifted away.

Across the ring.

Toward Aren.

She stood to one side with her hands folded, her machete already abandoned on the canvas. She seemed entirely occupied with waving at the Lombardi and Sartori men who were cheering for her.

The Head Coordinator quickly noticed the strange distraction in Jordan’s expression. He carefully lowered the microphone and leaned closer.

"Um... Young Boss? Is something wrong?"

Jordan didn’t take his eyes off Aren.

"No."

A warm smile spread across his face.

"Everything is perfect."

Before the Head Coordinator could understand what he meant, Jordan suddenly took the bouquet from his hands.

His machete slipped from his other hand and struck the floor hard enough to make the nearby crowd flinch.

CLANG.

Then he started walking.

Across the ring.

Straight toward Aren.

The Head Coordinator and the nearby staff members stared after him in confusion. No one seemed to understand what Jordan was doing.

Not until he reached Aren.

And lowered himself onto one knee.

Aren’s entire body went still.

Her eyes widened.

For a moment, she could only stare at him.

Jordan looked up at her with an expression she had never quite seen on his face before. Endless admiration filled his eyes, along with an almost boyish hope and happiness that he made no effort to conceal.

Her lips parted.

"Jordan...?"

But he spoke first.

"Ariana Lombardi..."

He lifted the bouquet toward her.

"Now that I’ve won our bet... would you date me?"

The warehouse went utterly silent.

The cheers that had filled the vast hall died away one after another as everyone slowly realized what they were witnessing.

Hundreds of people seemed to hold their breath at once.

Every gaze turned toward Aren.

Watching.

Waiting.

Fortunately, Aren didn’t make them wait long. Her surprise lasted only another heartbeat before her expression softened.

She reached forward and accepted the bouquet, a light laugh escaping her lips.

"Ha ha, Jordan! You really didn’t have to do this at all. Of course I’ll keep my promise to our bet."

She hugged the flowers lightly against her chest.

"I’d love to ’date’ you."