Chapter 66: Complicated Feelings

"The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing." — Blaise Pascal.

– – –

The competitor’s box was a large, reinforced chamber beneath the arena stands. It was reserved for active tournament participants and their registered support staff, which meant it was packed with elite soldiers, corporate sponsors, and the various handlers and trainers who accompanied them.

When Micah walked through the door, the room changed.

Every conversation stopped. Every head turned.

Micah didn’t acknowledge any of them. He walked to the bench where his gear was stored and sat down. He pulled a water bottle from his pack, unscrewed the cap, and drank half of it in one long pull.

Tasha was already there.

She had been watching the fight from the competitor’s box on the overhead screen, and the moment Micah walked through the door, her entire face lit up.

She couldn’t hide it anymore.

She jumped up from her seat and crossed the room in quick, purposeful strides. Her eyes were bright with an intensity that went beyond professional pride.

Every time Micah won a fight, something inside her changed a little more, and she was finding it harder to ignore.

"You walked through his gas," she said again, repeating the words she’d said at the tunnel entrance because she still couldn’t quite believe them.

"Grath’s toxin melts military armor plating. It dissolves Flux-reinforced steel. And you just breathed it in like it was nothing."

"It was nothing," Micah said. He took another drink of water and set the bottle down.

Tasha stared at him.

Her smile faded for a moment, caught somewhere between disbelief and a warmth she couldn’t quite explain.

She shook her head, and a small laugh escaped her lips.

The competitor’s box was crowded, and Micah’s growing reputation had drawn attention from more than just the other fighters.

A group of female veterans had been watching him since he walked in. They were standing a few meters away, pretending to review tactical data on a comm-pad while sneaking glances in his direction.

One of them, a tall woman with short blonde hair, caught Micah’s eye and smiled. It wasn’t a subtle smile. It was open and inviting, impossible to misunderstand.

Tasha saw it.

Her eyes settled on the blonde veteran, cold and direct. There was something possessive in the look, the kind that made it clear she had already decided what was hers and had no intention of sharing.

The blonde noticed the look, read it correctly, and suddenly found something very interesting on her comm-pad.

Tasha turned back to Micah. Then she did something that Micah did not expect.

She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him closer.

She leaned in, caught his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, and pulled away before he could even react. The teasing smile that followed made it clear she knew exactly what she had done to him.

It was a public display of affection that lasted long enough for every single person in the competitor’s box to see it.

The room went quiet. Not because of the kiss itself, but because of who was giving it and who was receiving it.

What an irony!

The hostile girl who had threatened to expose Micah as a fraud just three weeks ago was now kissing him in front of a room full of elite soldiers.

Every female veteran in the box got the message.

The dark horse of the tournament, the most talked-about fighter in the Coliseum, was taken.

Micah froze.

His brain completely short-circuited. He stood rigid with his water bottle in one hand and his other arm hanging at his side, staring down at Tasha with an expression of unfiltered confusion.

He stared down at her, completely lost. The dynamic between them had changed so many times in such a short period that he couldn’t keep up.

She had gone from hatred to tolerance to respect to whatever this was, and the transitions had happened so fast that his brain hadn’t had time to process any of them.

Tasha pulled back from the kiss and looked up at him. Her eyes were warm and bright, and the smile on her face was completely unapologetic.

She didn’t look embarrassed. She didn’t look nervous. She looked like a woman who had just done exactly what she wanted to do and had zero regrets about it.

She reached up and playfully dusted a speck of dirt from his shoulder.

The gesture was casual, but there was something intimate about it. It was the kind of thing a partner would do, not a subordinate.

"Why do you look so shocked. You haven’t been kissed before? " she asked.

Her voice was teasing, with a warmth he had never heard from her before.

"I mean.. you just walked through a cloud of military-grade neurotoxin and didn’t even cough. I think you can handle a kiss too."

Micah opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. Nothing came out. For the first time since waking up in the gladiator arena, he was genuinely, completely at a loss for words.

He looked at Tasha. Really looked at her.

He realized with a certainty, that Tasha’s competitive pride had mutated into something else entirely.

Micah shook his head slowly. A genuine smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t going to deal with this right now.

The grand finale was coming, and he couldn’t afford to have his brain cluttered with complications that had nothing to do with fighting.

He would shelve this particular problem until after the tournament.

"Stay focused," he said to Tasha. His voice was calm and professional, but the smirk was still there. "We’re not done yet."

Tasha’s smile widened. She didn’t push it. She stepped back, sat down on the bench beside him, and pulled up her comm-pad with the practiced efficiency of a soldier returning to duty.

"Yes, Squad Leader," she teased.

Before either of them could say another word, the holographic display above the arena floor flared with a blinding golden light.

The tournament marshal’s amplified voice cut through the chatter in the competitors’ box, drawing everyone’s attention.