Yoshii looked up as Apollo and Princess burst into the med room, Bo lumbering in behind them. Bo’s scowl was deep enough to split his beard—never a good sign. Princess rushed forward and threw her arms around Yoshii.
“Oh my god, Yoshii— I leave you alone for five minutes and you end up wrapped like a mummy?”
“Man,” Apollo said, half-grinning, half-wincing as he held his ribs, “who did this to you? You look wrecked.” His gaze flicked toward Miho. Yoshii could tell Apollo had already figured it out.
“Thanks for the concern, bruh,” Yoshii muttered. He glanced at Miho. “Let’s just say… the Polar Bear of the Streets ain’t a myth. Definitely not overrated. I’m lucky to be breathing.”
“You’ve got a foot and a hundred pounds on her,” Apollo said. “She’s dangerous, sure, but come on. Soon as she gets close, just grab her—”
Then he saw Yoshii’s newly re-cast arm.
Silence.
“She’s a beast,” Yoshii said. “That’s all I can say.”
“You. Got. A. Problem. With. Me?” Miho asked, arms crossed, voice punctuating each word. That same blood-hungry flicker from earlier lit her eyes.
Apollo stepped back, hand still on his ribs. “Look, lady… once I’m healed, maybe Shades and the Polar Bear should put on a show.”
“Enough,” Iceberg snapped, voice sharp. He nodded at Bo, who slipped out and shut the door. Iceberg turned to the doctor. “What’s the damage?”
Dr. Pryce didn’t look up from his terminal. His voice came out high-pitched and drawn-out. “His arm will take longer to heal thanks to our little sociopath.”
He was older—balding, beard mostly gray, glasses too large for his long face. His fur-trimmed lab coat tried to mimic the Ice Palace uniforms, but on his bony frame it looked more like a thrift-store costume. When he finally peered at Yoshii, something about the stare made Yoshii uneasy.
“What were you thinking, Miho?” Iceberg asked. “I told you to pay him. Not kill him. That’s not part of the Game.”
Yoshii glanced at Miho. No remorse. She shrugged, lifted her chin, and peeled off one glove to examine her nails. Her sparkling mini-dress was spotless, as if she hadn’t nearly murdered him an hour ago.
“I don’t know why you keep her,” Dr. Pryce muttered. “And I don’t know why we’re treating fighters from other clubs. The rules don’t say we’re responsible for them.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Yoshii said, struggling to stand. “So much for the oath.”
“Oh yeah—the hyprocritical oath,” Apollo said.
The room froze.
Then Miho laughed.
It started low, then rose smooth and rich, cutting through the tension like a piano melody over an orchestra. She wiped a tear from her eye.
“It’s Hippocratic oath, Matchstick.”
“What’s happening, Doctor?” Iceberg demanded.
“I—I don’t know,” Pryce stuttered. “Maybe a concussion?”
“WHO are you calling Matchstick?” Apollo lunged, but Princess caught his arm.
“Apollo,” she hissed. “We’re here about Dr. Ray. Focus.”
Yoshii stepped between them. Miho’s laughter had stopped. Now the temperature felt glacial.
“I was talking to you,” she told Apollo. “But listen to your friend. I let Yoshii live. Now—sit down and learn about Dr. Ray… or die today. Either works for me.”
Apollo froze. Backed off. Yoshii forced himself to breathe. He understood now: Miho wasn’t just dangerous.
She was predatory.
Iceberg cleared his throat, turning back to Yoshii. “Right. Here’s what’s going on. Nike came to me about the Ice Palace. We were pulling fifteen grand a week. She wanted ten. I refused. We agreed to settle it in the ring. I put my faith in Miho. She wasn’t undefeated—but when she lost, she… corrected her mistakes. I thought she was flawless.”
“Fifteen thousand a week?” Yoshii asked. “The Rink barely makes half that. What about the Court?”
“Not even half of half,” Apollo muttered.
“Exactly,” Iceberg said. “Our club outclasses yours.”
“Only because you run drugs and girls through here,” Apollo snapped. “That’s why your women dress like that.”
“You think your owners are saints?” Iceberg said. “You’re not as smart as I thought.”
“Yoshii’s smarter than you realize,” Princess said, stepping beside him. “Other clubs are dirty, but at least they’re not putting underage girls on the floor.”
“Everyone here is over eighteen,” Iceberg said smoothly.
“Rosa wasn’t,” Princess snapped. “And Tishan just turned seventeen.”
“Girls survive however they can,” Miho said coldly. “Not everyone grows up in foster homes with clean sheets.”
“Girl, no one was talking to you.”
“Fleshbag, no one was talking to you.”
“Princess—stop,” Yoshii said. “All of you—stop poking the bear. Dr. Ray’s missing.”
Iceberg’s eyes slid to Princess—slow and predatory—then back to Yoshii. “Smart. Fine. Here’s the truth. Miho fought one of Nike’s inner circle—a boxer obsessed with roosters.”
“Roosters?” Yoshii blinked.
“Black kid, red mohawk. Boxing and ice. Like you and Miho. Ridiculous, but dangerous.”
“So he beat Miho,” Yoshii said slowly. “That’s how Nike controls your club now. She’s getting the ten grand.”
Iceberg nodded.
“The Polar Bear lost to Chanticleer?” Apollo scoffed. He tried to smother it, but laughter broke out. Princess joined him. Even Yoshii cracked a smile.
“Chanticleer?” Iceberg frowned.
“A cartoon rooster,” Yoshii explained. “Elvis with feathers. Dr. Ray used to show us.”
“What. Is. So. Funny?” Miho’s voice dropped the room’s temperature by ten degrees. Iceberg stepped between her and the others.
“Save it for the rooster, Miho,” he warned.
She backed up—barely.
“We weren’t laughing at you,” Yoshii said calmly. “Just… Chanticleer’s a weird thing for a fighter to model.”
“Strange,” Iceberg agreed, “but effective enough to beat her.”
“So why do you think Nike tried to kill Dr. Ray?” Yoshii asked.
“Because with the Ice Palace, she controls half Detroit,” Princess said. “And every territory follows her.”
“She told me herself,” Iceberg said. “She wants me dead eventually. She said Dr. Ray had ‘the recipe.’ Fleshbags are obsolete. She didn’t sound like a crime boss—she sounded like a machine.”
“That’s all you got?” Yoshii asked.
“She could punch through my chest,” Iceberg said quietly. “I’m alive because she lets me be.”
“That wasn’t worth much,” Apollo yawned. “We’re no closer to finding Dr. Ray.”
“Until a few hours ago, you didn’t even know he was missing,” Princess snapped.
“Yeah, but now I do,” Apollo said. “If Nike’s planning to wipe out humans, we gotta stop her. Dr. Ray didn’t want the world finding out about us.”
“Neither do we,” Yoshii said. “We’d be lab rats. We need to find Dr. Ray and stop Nike.”
“But where do we start?” Princess asked.
“The old-fashioned way,” Yoshii said. “We ask questions.” He bowed toward Iceberg.
Iceberg smirked. “At least one of you has manners. Nike’s looking more like Hitler than Capone. Take Miho with you. I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”
“We’re not—” Apollo began, but Yoshii covered his mouth.
“Only if Miho wants to,” Yoshii said.
Miho stood, adjusted her dress, and smiled—slow, sharp, almost delighted.
“No leads. No plan. You really think finding Dr. Ray and stopping Nike will be easy?” She leaned forward. “I say we go straight to her.”
Her eyes glowed with that mix of excitement and violence only she possessed.
“But since Boy Scout and Matchstick will cry about it,” she added, “I’ll play along. I’m in. As long as it gets me to Nike.”