F-Rank Soul Eater-Chapter 140: Pay To Kick My Ass

The silence did not break immediately.

In a way, one could say that it... collapsed.

For half a heartbeat, the entire arena froze—as if the Aether neuralinks amplifying the conversation between the two had failed to process what Soren had just said.

Then—

BOOM.

The crowd erupted.

"What!?"

"Ten thousand points!?"

"Is he insane!?"

"Shameless!"

"Clown Commoner trash is greedy!"

"Who does he think he is, the emperor? Who the hell would pay 10,000 points just to kick his ass?"

The sound came in waves, colliding with each other, climbing higher and higher until it became a wall of noise that pressed down on the platform.

However, above them, the sponsor chat reacted differently.

Some suddenly became quiet, while others rained insults on him.

[Golden Finger: (*￣ー￣)..?]

[Cliff Hanger: ....]

[IronChalice: ....]

[SilverWing: This clown is outrageous. Does he think we are stupid? Who in their right mind would pay him for a fight?]

[Chandelier Lights: STRIP HIM OF HIS MATCH RIGHTS.]

The text scrolled so fast it became a torrent of glowing insults, curses stacking on top of curses.

Even some neutral spectators recoiled.

"That’s extortion."

"He’s humiliating himself."

"So this is what commoners do when they get a little attention?"

In the stands, faces twisted with open contempt.

Li’s brows furrowed deeply. One of his party members could not help but ask. "Boss Li, is... he a fool?"

However, Li shook his head, eyes getting brighter. "Check the sponsor chats." He muttered.

The fat boy that was the same size as Pencil—had stopped chewing entirely, frosting smeared on his lips as he stared, stunned. "Oh." He remarked, amused.

The girl with torn sleeves narrowed her eyes, something unreadable flickering behind them.

Meanwhile, on the platform, Soren stood, unmoved by their sentiments.

He let the noise wash over him like rain on stone.

Coward.

Clown.

Beggar.

F–rank trash.

Shameless dog.

Trash that learned how to bark.

He didn’t react or flinch. He didn’t defend himself.

Instead, he waited. His gaze on Goldsworth.

The noble boy had gone from swearing to raining curses and now was in a contemplative state.

"As you know, I am a commoner," Soren continued. "And my kind are very... shameless. There is nothing to be gained if I fight. My sponsor is only willing to gift me 50 points, while yours will shower you with more than enough to fill your pockets.

Fight because of a dumb room? Hell no."

Soren shrugged.

However, his grin became wider in his head—and then he turned his back to Goldsworth.

Again.

A deliberate, slow turn.

"Oh, come on—!"

"He’s really leaving!?"

"This is disgraceful!"

Soren took a step forward.

Then another.

Each footfall echoed louder than the insults, as if the arena itself were holding its breath.

"This is what you do best, huh?" someone shouted. "Run!"

Soren paused.

Not because the words hit him.

But because he wanted them to think they had.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough for his voice to carry back—low, calm, edged with something cold.

"Careful," he said.

"Keep barking like this... and I might decide even ten thousand points isn’t worth my time."

That did it.

The crowd lost its mind.

Outrage surged like a physical force. Sponsors spammed furious messages like never before. The neuralink barriers hummed louder, stabilizing the emotional backlash.

Goldsworth stood frozen.

His face had gone pale.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

This was supposed to be a duel where he was given the opportunity to enact his revenge.

If Soren left now, what would happen to his honor and dignity that had been tarnished because of the three kowtows and getting kicked out of the Lion’s Heart party?

What would his father say to him when he got home?

He frowned.

An imagination of what would happen appeared in his head, and Goldsworth saw himself bowing at the gate of the mansion for three days.

No. That would be the least of the hell that would befall him.

"You have disgraced this noble family." His father’s deep voice resonated in his mind.

"No.

No no no."

Goldsworth’s hands trembled.

His teeth clenched.

And then, his voice tore through the chaos—sharp, cracking, desperate.

"WAIT!"

The single word cut through the arena like a blade.

Soren could no longer hold it inside. He smiled.

"YES..." Soren turned casually, hands behind his back.

Goldsworth hesitated, a drop of sweat sliding down his chin. "How about I give you 200 points."

"11000" Soren replied.

"What!?"

"11500!"

"Why do you keep increasing it?" Goldsworth panicked

"You wasted my time, and now you are wasting it some more with your battering. In fact, the price is now 12000."

Goldsworth’s heart sank.

He only resumed school a few weeks ago. Even though his sponsors had been quite generous with him, he had a bad habit of spending too much.

Just that extravagant entrance he did into the arena had cost him 2000 points.

There was also the fact that after his previous humiliation, he had lost some sponsors.

How was he going to continue living his life if he was not even given the opportunity to regain his honor?

"Okay... okay. I’ll give you 4000 points. But that’s it." Goldsworth flicked his hair, but his sweating did not make it look elegant.

However, Soren chuckled. "13000

"WHAT!?

Of course many talked.

But Soren’s gaze was not on Goldsworth, instead, it was on the holographic screen showing the sponsor chats.

"Surely, you guys want your noble brat to regain his honor, right?"

He waited a few seconds, and then.

Ding...

[Iron Ivory: I’ll donate 3000 poonts to the Commoner trash if he agrees to battle.]

Everyone in the arena was shocked.

"A sponsor..." someone muttered.

"A sponsor gifted points?"

All of a sudden, the arena had erupted again.

This was unbelievable. The Commoner F–rank trash had actually forced the hands of the sponsors that hate him to move in his favor?

Such a thing had never happened before. Sponsors were a very sensitive bunch, after all, these were nobles, business men, holders of important positions in the empire.

There was once a story of a person that had too much pride, abd stated that sponsors could not do without him.

He lost all his funding overnight, fell into debt, and even attempted suicide twice.

And insult to the sponsors, and they would show who was boss.

Although Soren had not insulted them directly, he still had—by deciding to forfeit a match with so much significance and hype around it.

And still, they had caved to his will.

However, this was just the beginning.

[Cliff Hanger: I’ll donate 6000 coins of the commoner trash stays to battle.]

[Chandelier lights: I’ll donate 500 points if the commoner decides to fight.]

Soren grinned.

Truly, he had insulted them. And if such a stunt had been pulled by another person, it would not have worked.

But Soren was different.

No, he was unique.

This fight was not merely a battle between two teenage boys but between ideologies, status, and, of course, bloodline.

Soren knew this.

A commoner brat that had killed a noblewoman and achieved impossible record after record was finally in a position that allowed them to crush him.

Of course, they would do whatever it took to do it.

Even if it meant paying him to be beaten.

This was just how much nobles valued their so-called honor and dignity.

Soren stared at the Handle of the first sponsor that broke the stalemate.

’Iron Ivory.’

They were not even trying to hide it. The Ivory family.

From the look of things, this Handle might belong to the family patriarch, or at the very least, someone of importance in the family.

From the very beginning, Soren had planned to draw them out.

He knew they were watching.

How couldn’t there be?

Till now, most people still could not believe he killed Instructor Ivory.

One could say that this was a test of his capabilities.

In no time, the donations had reached twenty thousand points.

Soren’s grin widened.

Li, in the stand, smirked. And someone close to him remarked. "Unbelievable."

"You don’t have any excuse to forfeit anymore." Goldsworth took a ready stance for battle.

"Don’t get angry when I drag your pretty hair against the ground." Soren clapped back, also taking a fighting stance.

The battle had now truly commenced.

Meanwhile, Polystar and the others had arrived at their intended destination.

Vass chuckled. "The Turd-face is doing a good job."

This was a compliment he would never say to Soren’s face. Nevertheless, he was impressed.

Even if Soren lost the fight, he would be leaving with a win.

"Forget about him for now." Polystar stated, handing over a spray can to Vass, "We have a job to do."

Vass’s gaze moved from the displayed match on his wristwatch to the admin building in front of them.

"This is a yellow zone. We... shouldn’t be here." Pencil stated the obvious.

Polystar nodded. "Yes, we shouldn’t. That’s why you and Bloodshine are going to hurry inside and report us."

"HUH?"