There’s not a single empty seat in the crowd as I take my place on the right of the stage in the centre of the arena. The stench of sweat from the previous bout is still ripe in the air, the hot temperatures only adding to the glorious atmosphere of competition. The cheers are deafening, reverberating through the ground and up through my legs, into my body. I can barely hear my own thoughts. 

Good. 

I don’t need thoughts. 

Only action. 

I raise my arms into the air, slowly turning to face every section of the crowd and hearing them roar my name even louder. Pride soars within me, and I beat my chest with my huge fist, shouting back at them. Once I had completed my rotation, I stepped into the middle of the arena, awaiting my opponent. 

The crowd’s cheers slowly died down, and the announcer introduced my weakling foe. A newbie, some up-and-comer from a shithole district nobody had ever heard of. He walked out, and I couldn’t help but laugh. The crowd shared my sentiment, it seemed, jeering and booing him as he clambered onto the stage. 

He’s a scrawny little man, with sandy blonde hair and barely any muscle on him at all. He’s wearing this stupid, sheepish grin on his face, and he’s looking around the crowd nervously. I cross my arms over my chest, scowling at him and impatiently waiting for him to finally get into the middle to meet me. 

“This is pretty intense, huh?” He says, gesturing to the crowd around us. I snort in contempt. 

“For you, maybe.” 

“It’s my first time in an arena like this. I usually compete in backyard contests or local places, you know?” 

My eye twitches. “You’re talking to me like we’re friends.” 

“Well, I’d like to be! You’re my hero.” 

I bend downward, lowering my head to be at his height, placing my hands on my hips. “Don’t you know to never meet your heroes?” 

He frowns, confused. “Well, sure, but I just thought—” 

“You thought wrong, half-pint. When we’re done here, you’ll wish you never, ever heard of me.” He takes a step back, and I grin with malicious glee. “I’m going to crush you.” 

“It’s not that serious, is it? We’re just—” 

“Ah ta ta ta!” I mock, cutting him off and standing back up straight. “Not serious in whatever shithole you crawled out of. But here? Here, it’s not just a game.” 

He takes a moment to consider my words, before his bewildered expression turns into a glare of determination. “Fine then. Just know that I’ve toppled men far bigger than you back in my… Shithole.” 

I let out a guffaw, and the crowd joins in, despite none of them hearing what he said. “Is that meant to be intimidating?” 

“No. It’s meant to be padding for when I knock you on your ass.” 

I give one last little chuckle before the referee pushes us apart, and we walk to our respective corners. “We’ll see, half-pint.” 

I reach my corner of the stage and sit down, grabbing my bottle of water and taking a big swig before planting it on the table in front of me, almost crushing it.  

“Ladies and gentlemen!” an announcer shouts over the speakers, and the crowd begins cheering maniacally once more. “It’s time for the main event! Our seven-time national champion, Nelson Rivers, versus the new kid on the block, Charles Pearson!” 

I stare at Charles from across the stage, smirking at him as the stage attendants bring up large platters stacked high with hot dogs, layered perfectly with strips of ketchup and mustard, placing them on our tables. 

“Nelson currently holds the record at thirty-six dogs eaten in five minutes, but Charles is rumoured to have once consumed forty! Let’s see if he can prove that rumour right, or if Nelson will do what he does best, and leave him in the dust, choking on a wiener!” 

The crowd erupts with laughter, and I feel a slight twinge of uncertainty. 

Forty? 

“Five minutes on the clock, folks, let’s see some action!” 

Charles is the one smirking now, running his finger across his neck mockingly. I scowl, slamming my hand into the pile of hot dogs and crushing one of them in my fist, pulling it out, ready to devour in a single bite. 

“Are you ready?” 

Charles grabs his own hot dog, holding it delicately in his hands.  

“Are you set?” 

I raise the pulverised hot dog to my lips. I’m not losing to a twig like him. 

Not a chance. 

“FEAST!”