[@Sanity43217] - Asset Goal - ?
[@CorvianMERCDB] - Asset Goal - ?

They move as one. Varius angles, voice low. Don claps the bruiser’s skull and drives forward with both palms to shove him off his feet, setting the crowd for a clean finish. 

The dockside bruiser reads it in the last blink. He lets the shove take his shoulders, drops his weight, and scythes the boat hook across Don’s ribs like a yardarm swinging. Wood thuds under the breastbone. All the air in Don’s chest leaves at once. The bruiser rides the recoil, pops a short shoulder into the same spot, and Don’s vision flashes white around the edges. He staggers two steps, heat blooming along the rib line, breath coming in a bark. The cheap seats gasp, then roar at the counter landing clean. [b][Don's HP 1/4][/b]

Varius’s lead is there, the bruiser is still up, pale and grinning like a dock lamp in fog, hook low and twitching lines in the sand as if drawing where the next step should not be.

Up in the boxes the Prefect does not blink. Grand Mayor Maffeo’s staff clicks once against the rail, a polite tic of approval.

[center]Neco-Arc[/center]
[center][img]https://ik.imagekit.io/maxxo/Roman%20Neco-Arc.jpg?updatedAt=1759537611798[/img][/center]

On the tunnel lip Neco Arc explodes. [b]“No, no, that was not on the script, nya.”[/b] A stack of papers appears from nowhere, half tied with red twine. The cat drops them, scoops them, drops them again, then rifles through with frantic paws. [b]“Where is page three. Page three says punch guy breathes twice, sword guy does the cool spin, bruiser takes a nap. This is page fifteen, this is the opera night, this is the bathhouse schedule. Who swapped my pages, nya.”[/b]

It jabs a tiny paw toward the ring, eyes blazing. [b]“Improvisation. We love improvisation. Sword guy, make him hold all that regret again. Punch guy, breathe in the belly, not in the panic. In for two, out for two. Do not hug the hook. Style points on the comeback. Sand kick is legal. Shield steal is legal if you can pry it. Do not lick the wound. Coach orders.”[/b]

The Announcer’s voice rides the roar. [b]“A counter from the Green that could turn a tide. Does Red answer with thunder, Otenzel?”[/b]

The drum holds steady. The bruiser squares on both of you, shoulders set, hook ready to bite again. The sand drinks the blood and says nothing. The next beat is yours.