Only those who fell from the top know what it feels like to look up.

To see all their accomplishments, conquests and victories crumble and turn into ashes, to watch the wind make them all disappear. To go lower than rock bottom, to go from a king to a worm.

Only those who knew could possibly understand how much hatred someone can have toward the person who pushed them from the top. 

[THE GREAT JACKAL ON THE RUN? HOW ALANTRA HARRIS’ OPERATION DESTROYED A ONE-MAN EMPIRE]

[AT LAST, THE SECOND COMING OF IKARUS! FROM THE BEST RINGLEADER TO ASHES]

And as I stared at the newspaper in front of me, with no money or place to stay, I could only relive the past hours, the past days, the past months. Thinking about all the clues I missed and all the mistakes I made. 

Dragon races were for those who had money.

Ever since its official creation, it was clear this was not a sport to be appreciated by just anyone.

A ticket to a race was a year’s worth of the minimum wage, for the most basic seats. And the minimum bets accepted would be at least thrice that amount. There was also the required attire for the event, which was the polite way of organizers saying, “Even if you managed to save enough money to get yourself here, you need to own and earn your place to pass through the door”.

Racing, however, involved entirely different costs.

Riders had to pay for good gear, and these had to be regularly checked and replaced. Flying lessons were expensive, even more when done alongside a coach or tamer. 

The lanes alone were also extremely expensive and complicated to build, especially artificial ones with particular settings, obstacles, and themes. Some races were even hosted in artificial islands, built and later destroyed exclusively for the event.

Yet no expense got as luxurious and obscene as the ones riders spent to raise and keep a dragon.

Dragon eggs were one of the most expensive items in the entire world, the cheapest worth millions—billions if they were genetically manipulated eggs. Yet grown dragons could be even more expensive, especially if the animal was in their ‘golden age’ to compete.

After that, riders had to worry about living expenses and facilities, special diets and treats, training, taming…

 Dragon racing was a sport for the elite, by the elite. It had so many regulations in place, it was impossible for normal people to either compete or watch the races. Unless they went to underground rings.

Those ring races were illegal, of course.

Which is why it made me so much profit.

“The first run will start in five, boss. Do we close the bets yet?”

“Close it ten seconds before they give the signal. And for anyone who wants to place bets after it, charge the usual fee.”

“Do we double the fee every five minutes like usual?”

I thought for a few seconds before replying. “Make it two. This is the last event of the year before we start the championship, after all.”

“I will let the others know, then. Thanks, boss.”

The wooden box let out a faint static noise, the firefly placed on top changing its light from blue to red, signaling the communication had been turned off for the time being.

I was sitting in my office, an isolated room with no windows. There was only a table with some scrolls  and books, a few radios, and a chair. On the walls, maps and a few shelves covered the space. It wasn’t much compared to other ringleaders, but it was mine.

Around me there were floating orbs, some bigger than others, made of liquid silver that kept moving and undulating every now and then. All of them showed reflections from outside—the main audience square.

A few depicted the benches where spectators waited eagerly, others showed the bet stalls where people pushed and pulled each other desperately while flaunting their money and shouting, just so they could place their bets in time.

Most orbs, however, showed the lanes. From all kinds of different angles and positions, as I finished organizing and moving the orbs, a new map formed in front of me.

A map where I could see all riders and their dragons, all the lanes and buildings the dragons would pass by, as well as the streets below.

In the slums, people didn’t have much access to energy and sanitation. Even with the occasional volunteers and good Samaritans, the stench one could feel the moment they entered the slums was indistinguishable.

Poverty.

The slums were located on the outskirts of the city, where the air quality was poor at best and the sun never shone as much. However, illegal races were never done out in the open like that. No, no.

Those races happened below the slums.

When the project was first created, the operations demanded a lot of money. They had to open up the space and create entire artificial cities, after all, spread throughout the kingdom. Some major crime organizations backed the project, knowing their investment would tenfold in a few years. 

Since these underground cities were owned by these organizations, under the pretense of improving the life in the slums and its overpopulation, law enforcers could never shut it down.

The royal family’s response was to reinforce the regulations for dragon races, especially in underdeveloped areas. Since these areas lacked the appropriate structure and resources to manage and handle this kind of races.

We still did them, of course—shitty regulations or not.

Beside me, a second radio turned on, the firefly turning blue as I started to hear the riders’ voices.

“King Nero in. All clear, boss.”

“This is Beru, all clear here.”

“Queen checking in, all good.”

One by one, my riders spoke, giving their final status before the doors opened. As they spoke, I checked their personal chambers, making sure things were all right.

“Emrys. Clear.”

I smiled when I heard his voice, waiting for all riders to check in before leaning closer to the wooden box, pressing a button on the side to redirect the signal.

“Emrys, today will be your last race. You better make me look good after demanding such a feisty price for you.”

There were a few seconds of silence between us before he replied. “You talk as if you are happy to get rid of me.”

“Would a king be happy to lose his crown?”

“As if you would let anyone take your crown. You are the Jackal, after all.”

In this underground city, there were a total of 157 Blocks, and sixty-four leaders. To be a race ringleader, one had to rent at least one Block, and host at least three races per month.

I just happened to own five Blocks. And hosted at least a race per week, in each one.

Us leaders had a ranking system of our own. Our positioning was not based on how many Blocks we owned, or how many riders we had under our care. There were a lot of factors that contributed to our fame.

Riders, profit, race style, block location—the more famous a leader was, the more people would pay to watch our races.

As Jackal, I was ranked first.

I chuckled, tapping the pencil on the table a few times. “You may not be my crown, but you are my special treasure.”

Emrys scoffed. “So special you sold me off.”

“They gave me a bigger one, so what can I say.”

I said that, yet losing Emrys would cause a big blow for me. He was my greatest star, one of the biggest sources of profit in the races. Which was why someone from the academy approached me and scouted him.

It was not uncommon.

Many of the most famous and talented riders had been underground competitors. Since the underground city could not provide the same facilities as the regulated races, we had to alter the structure a bit. 

This kind of environment and competitive style gave a real edge for riders when they started competing in the traditional, legal races.

So it was quite common for guilds or particular academies to scout riders from the underground cities. Of course, the fact they were illegal racers would never be publicly disclosed. Everything would be done under wraps, and ringleaders profited a great lot from these deals.

The person who approached me changed their initial proposal eight times until I finally accepted. I really didn’t want to lose Emrys; the kid had talent.

But by the end of the day, money was money and Emrys was only one of my top riders. Also, he would enroll in the best elite academy for riders in the kingdom. As long as he could keep up, his future would be bright.

Checking my clock, I tapped on the table a couple of times. The race would start in two minutes.

I stared at the radio for a few more seconds, thinking.

“Are you nervous about going to that place?”

From one of the orbs, I could see as Emrys silhouette became stiff. “Whether it's down here or up there, a race is a race.”

“But people up there are not like the people from down here.”

I could hear the cold distance in Emrys’ voice through the wooden box, and it made me wonder what kind of expression he would have if I could see his face.

“But they are still humans. So it makes no difference to me.”

Even though he didn’t say it this time, I could hear it. Like an afterthought in his voice, the words Emrys would say every so often to me.

“That place is different, even among the academies. Do you think you will fit in well?”

There were a few moments of silence until I could hear his voice again.

“It’s like I said. Humans are humans, a race is a race. No difference.”

A low buzz resonated in the room, indicating the race would start in less than 30 seconds.

“If you say so, I will trust you.”

“Thanks.” Even though Emrys replied in an annoyed tone, I smiled.

“Don’t forget to give them hell on your last day.”

“Don’t worry. I will make sure they will never forget Emrys, Jackal’s favorite pet.”

There was a loud bang, all twenty doors opening at the same time.

And with no delay whatsoever, the dragons left their chamber—

Roaring and raging across the city with hunger and pride.