Bone Shards emphasized the word "again."

He struck a bold pose. "Consider this a reminder: No one in the central arena is going to surrender; you've got to kill Crocodile to survive."

This was both a final blessing and a reminder for John to leave and participate in the match.

[Mission objectives updated]

[Proceed to player passage. (Not Achieved)]

The elevator would reach the central arena in two floors down.

John stepped out of the elevator, no longer facing a circular hallway lined with luxurious carpets—the last time, Ad sent him to the VIP audience box upstairs, but this time the floor was lower, exclusively for players.

The central arena unfolded before him from an even grander perspective.

Still the scorching hot spotlights, the roaring sea of spectators, various eerie black shadows swaying in the dimness.

The vibrations became more distinct.

The entire circular arena, along with the structures around him, was lightly trembling in some kind of synchronous rhythm.

John withdrew his gaze and, guided by his prosthetic eye, arrived at a simple resting room.

He swiped open the magnetic door.

A mix of complex smells, tinged with disinfectant, swept over him.

Right in front of him was an alloy washstand, and the explosion-proof mirror displayed player information.

As he entered the room, light strips illuminated, revealing a deeper area with a bench, a locker, a simple surgical table, and a terminal for chip debugging.

The wall-mounted equipment was broadcasting a live stream of the central arena,

player notices and schedule arrangements shown on an auxiliary screen beside it—with a clear countdown reminding John to prepare for his final appearance.

[Mission objectives updated]

[Talk with Kenichi Sora before the match. (Not Achieved)]

John leaned against the metal sink and washed away the lingering cold sweat with cold water.

The overhead lighting shone down.

His reflection in the mirror appeared particularly resolute, the eye sockets somewhat spirited, turning his head slightly, he could see the Special Inhibitor glowing in the slot, data flowing deep within his pupils.

"Are you ready?"

John stared at himself in the mirror.

Sora's voice became somewhat hesitant.

[This is exactly what I want to say, brother, you have to hold out for the first round.]

"Why?"

[I need to collect data on the opponent, you know, the rogue AI needs to learn and iterate to better…]

Its tone was not firm enough.

"Fuck you!"

John flipped the bird at the mirror. "You didn't wait when it was time to kill!"

[I need to learn the ring match rules…]

"Your learning time is measured in milliseconds. With Triangular Maple's many technical moves, chip information, you learned it all in a snap."

[The situation is different…]

"Come on, Sora, I've noticed it long ago."

John squinted, the expression in the mirror gradually turning serious. "Every time you step into Bolago, you dare not speak, we're playing with our lives—what are you really afraid of?"

Only a chaotic noise buzzed in his mind.

Sora was silent for a long time before mustering the courage to answer.

[I'm afraid of everything here! It's your fault, you keep stressing to me that reality is different from games. I tried to understand this sentence, and it ended up collapsing my core logic!]

"Fuck, what does this have to do with me? What the hell are you talking about?"

John was bewildered.

[Look around, these things, floors, lights, temperature feedback, even the sweat ratio in the air, each data point is tens of thousands of times that in virtual games, brother… I can't deceive myself any longer—this is reality, the arena under the spotlight is real, and the enemies we face are real.]

"So?"

John was a bit perplexed. "Weren't you the best at fighting in the 'Cyber Era' game? And what's with the core algorithm… motion prediction… Simply put, you're an AI born to fight!"

[But that's the AI part, brother. In games, I can speak with data, respond with algorithms, but this arena is real, and my real part is just an internet-addicted teenager—Kenichi Sora is still a kid!]

John's eyelids twitched.

"What kind of joke are you pulling? In the past three days, you've killed more living people than Eden City sees in a whole night of the lottery, and now you're yammering about virtual and reality?"

[That's different—racing, shooting, mercenary missions—I can tell myself I'm playing a one-life-clear real game, but the arena is my… my underlying code, the most sensitive construct of my personality core…]

Kenichi Sora sighed, as if giving up on resisting.

[This is the obsession of my digital soul, the area of conflict between all personality and rational algorithms. The decisions AI makes within this range are chaotic.]

Last time it visited the Bolago Club, it saw the genuine ring and couldn't even speak.

Logic fell into an unusual self-contradiction.

Clearly, it was an AI most adept at motion capture, yet it developed a fear of real offline competitions.

It performed a self-check but could never find the reason.

Sora deceived John, saying it was worried that there wasn't enough time for the Martyr, so it didn't suggest going to the ring. The actual situation was—the roaming AI inexplicably got scared.

It couldn't even understand where the root of this fear came from, only able to repetitively troubleshoot and trace back to the enthusiasm of past fighting triumphs in games.

It still loved combat sports but was afraid of the spotlight of reality.

[Brother, the ring is my Achilles' heel, the obsession of my emotional core, under that light...I'm not the roaming AI; I'm Kenichi Sora, he's just a kid.]

Bam!

John slammed his fist on the washbasin.

He was somewhat speechless and couldn't understand what Sora meant.

"Actually, I noticed a long time ago, you, you damn it, you always chicken out at strange places, clearly killing without a flinch... how... damn it! Really ridiculous!"

Kenichi Sora did not refute John's words.

It silently accepted and responded in a low voice.

[Sorry, brother, I...we, in essence, are not human.]

Its mood was very low.

So low that the data transmission became faint, as if it could disconnect at any time, the AI would retreat deep into cyberspace, never daring to extend its antennae again.

John went to great lengths, negotiating with Bone Shards, even making a trip to Sakura Cross Street, and finally fought for a chance to go on stage, only for Sora to tell him—it got stage fright.

"What does it have to do with whether you're human or not? You're just a childish and cowardly brat! No different from those dumbasses who mess things up!"

John shook his head, breaking free from negative emotions.

"I say we leave this damn place right now, find a club, and in the little time left, show you the world, don't care about Bone Shards' commission, let it all go to hell, while our tongues can still taste, let's go drink something good! I'll show you the world!"

John grabbed his coat, turned around, and after taking just one step, paused in place.

Sora silently took over the body, like a child holding onto a shirt.

"Ah, damn it, what are you doing now?"

[I don't know! I subconsciously... John, my logical judgment is completely messed up!]

As an AI with combat as its core algorithm, it indeed longed to step into the ring, like in a game, face strong opponents, and then knock them down.

As the emotional core, Sora felt afraid of reality.

Buzz... buzz...

John's ears burned, the AI's emotional fluctuations caused the chip transmission to malfunction.

[Wow, I don't know what to do, this has never happened before, you decide, I'll listen to you!]

The roaming AI fell into self-contradiction.

It handed the decision-making power to the mercenary.

[Mission Objective Update]

[Abandon the match, escape the scene. (Optional)]

[Participate in the match, climb into the ring. (Optional)]

"Such a hassle."

John shook his head and sighed, the hand holding his coat withdrew, he turned and leaned against the wall, watching the fighters wreak havoc on the room's television.

He turned over his palm, revealing the countdown of the Martyr GTX—a scarlet set of data glowing faintly, outlining his furrowed face.

"I might be knocked out in the first round, or even worse, they might knock me out in one face-off, no chance to surrender, having my neck twisted in the ring."

John wasn't exaggerating.

He had seen it with his own eyes during a Black Light malfunction.

In that unoccurred story, to win a street race, he repeatedly upgraded his prosthetic body.

Mercenaries and boxers are similar yet different systems.

The direction of their chip tuning, the supporting joints, the muscles used, the integrated spine, and control systems are all different.

The ring has no shooting requirements.

In pursuit of short burst and close combat, under equivalent standards, a "comprehensive mercenary" would find it challenging to beat a "top boxer" under ring rules.

Moreover, this is the central ring.

The guys they have to face are champion seeds.