What worked in their favor was that neither she nor Gideon had attempted to hide.

They had entered openly.

They had acted naturally.

And they had never tried to conceal their identities.

To a man like the masked ruler, such confidence was far more intriguing than secrecy.

Then there was the matter of the money.

The enormous wagers they casually threw around were not merely bets. They were signals. Every chip placed on the table was another reason for the masked man to pay attention. Wealth alone would not impress someone of his status, but the confidence behind those actions certainly would.

Everything that was happening now had been part of Ashley’s calculations from the very beginning.

She knew exactly what kind of person the masked man was.

More importantly, she knew Gideon.

As intelligent and perceptive as he was, he could understand her intentions from the slightest cue. They barely needed words to coordinate their actions. Time and time again, he had effortlessly followed her lead while simultaneously covering the angles she might have overlooked. Their cooperation felt seamless, as though they had rehearsed this performance countless times before.

Now that they had successfully attracted the masked man’s attention and left a favorable first impression, there was little point in maintaining unnecessary pretenses.

A man of his caliber could easily see through superficial acts and carefully crafted facades.

Trying to deceive him would only make them appear foolish.

If they wished to earn his respect, there was only one option left.

To stand before him as their true selves.

After all, people at the top rarely cared about masks.

What interested them was what lay beneath.

"So, I bet on Roger this time," the masked man said, his voice calm and unhurried.

His choice surprised many of the spectators. From the way he had spoken earlier, it was clear that he also believed Drake had a high chance of winning. Yet instead of placing his wager on the former champion, he chose Roger, the underdog whom many viewed as the arena’s potential dark horse.

After all, Drake had once stood at the pinnacle of the underground arena. Two years ago, he had been the undisputed champion. However, time had not been kind to his reputation. His defeat had stripped away the glory he once possessed, and in the eyes of many, he was nothing more than a fallen king whose era had already passed.

Compared to Roger, who was younger, hungrier, and rapidly rising through the ranks, Drake was considered too old and too worn down to reclaim his former throne. Most gamblers estimated his chances of victory at less than thirty percent.

Of course, Ashley had considered all of this as well.

However, she also understood something that most people overlooked. For Drake to return after two years of relentless training and challenge the arena once more meant that his desire to reclaim his title burned stronger than ever.

Few people possessed the determination to endure two years of ridicule, mockery, and humiliation. During that time, he had been labeled a defeated champion, a washed-up fighter, and a man clinging to the remnants of his former glory. Yet through it all, he had remained silent and composed.

To Ashley, that unwavering calm was proof of something far more dangerous than talent alone.

It meant Drake had endured, and endurance forged resolve.

His determination to restore his tarnished name could very well surpass Roger’s ambition to rise as the arena’s next dark horse. The hunger of a man seeking greatness was powerful, but the obsession of a fallen king striving to reclaim what was stolen from him was often far more terrifying.

And that was precisely why Ashley found the masked man’s wager interesting.

Earlier, he had openly stated that he intended to give his wager away as a gift. Such confidence suggested that he had already formed his own judgment of the fighters. Despite betting on Roger, Ashley suspected the masked man understood just as well as she did that, when it came to fighting spirit, experience, and sheer determination, Drake might very well surpass Roger in every category.

Ashley shifted slightly on Gideon’s lap and turned toward the masked man. Since she was sitting sideways against Gideon, the man was almost behind her, forcing her to twist a little to meet his gaze. Despite the awkward angle, a gentle smile bloomed across her face.

"Thank you, sir, for showing us such hospitality," she said warmly. "If we truly win this round, then naturally, we should show our respect as well."

Her words carried a deeper meaning beneath their polite surface. The corners of her eyes crinkled faintly as she smiled, as though the two of them shared an understanding that remained hidden from everyone else in the room.

Gideon caught the subtle undertone in her voice, but he couldn’t quite decipher what she meant. Even so, he chose not to question her. Instead, he simply inclined his head toward the masked man in acknowledgment.

The conversation ended there.

Silence settled over the VIP section as the female attendant professionally entered their wagers into her tablet. Her fingers moved swiftly across the screen before she proceeded to register their payment methods.

Without hesitation, Gideon pulled out his card and completed the payment with a casual swipe.

Ashley followed suit.

The moment the transaction was processed, a payment notification was automatically sent to Apollo’s phone.

Unfortunately, Apollo was currently in the middle of an important meeting and had yet to glance at his device. Even if he happened to notice the notification later, he likely wouldn’t think much of it.

After all, the amount wasn’t enough to draw his attention, and he had long since grown accustomed to Ophelia occasionally using the card linked to his account, so Ashley spending this much didn’t mean much.

Ding... Ding... Ding...

The sharp ringing echoed throughout the underground arena, instantly drawing everyone’s attention toward the fighting pit below.

"Everyone!" the emcee’s energetic voice boomed through the venue. "Today’s second main event is about to begin! I know many of you have been waiting for this match. After all, one of tonight’s fighters is none other than Drake, the former champion from two years ago who has returned to reclaim his throne!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, whistles, and mocking laughter.

"So let’s not waste any more time! Welcome... Drake!"

As the spotlight swept toward the left entrance, Ashley’s gaze followed it to the arena below.

The fact that Drake was being introduced first immediately caught her attention. In fights like these, the final introduction was usually reserved for the favored fighter, the one the organizers wanted to highlight and build anticipation around. By announcing Drake first, they were subtly signaling where their expectations lay.

Or rather, where they didn’t.

Moments later, Drake emerged from the entrance tunnel.

His fists were tightly wrapped in cotton hand wraps, the same material binding his feet and ankles. He wore nothing flashy, only a black tank top and a pair of worn jersey shorts. From his appearance alone, Ashley could tell this wasn’t a boxing match. The rules seemed much closer to kickboxing or mixed martial arts, where both strikes and grappling were permitted.

What surprised her even more was the person accompanying him.