Groaning in pain, Jethro hung in the air, held by his hair in the chief's merciless grasp. [Regenerate] started to kick in, healing the wounds on his face, using up the heat and light energy from the sun simulators in the cafe.

"Ahhhh!" the Chief remarked with wide eyes. "A healing skill as well. You're no ordinary Red Lizard tamer, are you? But why is it that you're not attempting to fight back?"

He flung Jethro out of the cafe, his body hurling out the window and hitting the terminal. Jethro grunted as he collapsed to the floor, ribs aching.

Without the lights from the cafe, [Regenerate] could only work with aether cost. And Jethro didn't want to spend aether on healing wounds that were only going to return soon.

So he consciously suppressed the [Regenerate] Skill as he rose to his feet.

Scorch chirped softly by his feet. Jethro looked down at him, a smile forming on his face despite the broken lip. "Just a few more seconds of this and we'll return to the dorm."

"Hah!" the Chief bawled as he jumped out of the cafe and back into the main field, the earth shaking and splintering, causing Jethro to step backwards.

"Only a few more seconds?! What makes you think I wouldn't want to beat you up for a little longer?!"

He thumped his feet one after the other as he sped towards Jethro. "Fighting back will make this more fun! But I don't mind it if you just want to be a mere punching bag!!!"

The beatdown was relentless, methodical. The Chief wasn't aiming to maim permanently but he wasn't holding back either. Jethro was thrown, punched, kicked, slammed against the replicated surfaces.

Each time the Chief summoned one of his abilities or deadly moves, the mushrooms on his shoulders and upper back glowed with neon energy, like they were mimicking the intensity of the Skill he was using.

Jethro's enhanced Stats got him nowhere. His Agility didn't help him avert the bone-crushing grapple. His Endurance did nothing to make the blows that rained on his face feel any less easier.

He even tried [Camouflage] again, but the Chief's enhanced senses using his [Tracking Spores] Skill always found him. Each time he used an ability, the Chief's eyes narrowed with increasing interest.

"You are definitely no ordinary Red Lizard tamer. That I can attest to. Whatever you're doing out there, smuggler... it has caught my interest" He punctuated "interest" with a jarring uppercut that lifted Jethro off his feet.

Jethro hit the ground hard, vision graying at the edges. Every breath was agony. His body was compressed into the steel ground in a way that the metal stuck around his limbs.

Jethro didn't mind, he had no plans of moving for a while. His body had endured an eternity of pain, and he needed another eternity of rest to be completely free of it.

But he heard the Chief approaching once again, his feet causing slight trembling on the metal ground. Jethro cursed.

Scorch scurried in front of him, blocking the Security Chief's path to him. It shrieked and hissed, retracting its frills to scare off the giant man. But he only laughed.

"Interesting to see that your mechbeast cares for you so much that it disregards the rules of a Tamer Battle." He tilted his head, studying the obsidian reptile. "No, mechbeasts involved."

Ignoring the noisy lizard, the Chief continued ahead. Jethro accepted his fate, preparing himself for more punches and strikes. But the footsteps suddenly stopped.

The Security Chief had halted.

"Thirty minutes," he announced, sounding pleasantly winded, like he'd just finished a brisk jog.

He raised one hand, palm open. In response, the Battle Field began to disintegrate. Like a glitchy reality warping experience, the ruined replicated restaurant patio slowly withered away, revealing the inner layer.

There was no damage anywhere. The window, the floor, the terminal. All the places Jethro had been driven through and slammed on appeared to have no evidence of it ever happening.

Jethro wondered if that was why the Security Chief chose to use replicated Battle Fields.

Apart from Jethro's very real pain and the blood on his lips, their fight— Jethro's beat down —had never happened.

He pulled himself to a sitting position, resting his back on the terminal as he panted.

The Chief crouched down, his massive frame blocking out the cafe lights. That unsettlingly cheerful smile was back. "Not bad, squishy. You took it better than most Greys. You never even asked me to take it easy on you. Hah!"

Jethro looked up at him. "Would you have?" he asked.

"No," the Chief blankly replied. "But it shows character that you didn't. That's some grit you've got there. And those tricks..." He tapped his temple. "As curious as I am of your Skills and this Red Lizard's color, I'd prefer it if you didn't tell me about it."

He smiled almost warmly. "I would not want to be an accessory to any kind of crime."

Jethro stared at him like he was mad. 'He is being an accessory to crime already! And he just committed one!'

"But keep it up," the Chief said, "Whatever you're doing... keep doing it. You're already stronger than many Grey Ranks."

He stood up, stretching. "Here's the deal, Jethro Merrick. You're a punching bag but you're already my favorite one. You wanna keep using your little smuggling box? Fine. My payment isn't credits. It will be this."

He gestured at Jethro's broken form.

Jethro stared at him, still panting. "You want to use me as a punching bag as payment."

"Don't feel nasty," the Chief said with a smile. "I have it on good authority that it is a more respectable exchange than sexual ones."

Jethro's facial wounds made it difficult to frown. This man couldn't be serious.

"Every time you sneak out, I'll be waiting for you at the Checkpoint. You be my stress ball for thirty minutes. Consider it... tuition for my silence. And training for you."

Jethro's brow raised. "Training?"

The Chief winked. "Who knows? Maybe one day, you'll even land a punch on a powerful tamer such as me. Stranger things have happened. Like a Grey Rank surviving a Gold Rank's warm-up." He chuckled.

He turned to leave, his Mushroom Lizard rising silently to follow. He paused, looking back. "Oh, and clean yourself up before curfew. Wouldn't want awkward questions." He gave a final, jovial wave. "See you next time, smuggler! And if you were curious, my name is Chief Otis!

"Chief Otis Mountaingate!"

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