The godfather and The young 2

02.

The young man, once aspiring to become a pit bull, found himself immersed in the passage of time. Countless battles stacked upon one another, transforming the former boxer into a fighter whose body had grown accustomed to combat. As he claimed, he feared neither pain nor death, never taking a single pill, consistently triumphing in each fight. Even when knocked down, he swiftly rose again, his eyes devoid of fear, creating immense psychological pressure for opponents across the ring.

Enter One, who embarked on the endeavor of raising an extraordinary fighting dog. Word of this quickly spread within the circle, enticing everyone to witness the prowess of this formidable canine. Unfortunately, during the young man's spirited days, One's attention was elsewhere.

One's initial foray into dog fighting was driven by gambling. The affluent had grown weary of conventional sports; they craved the sensation of wielding control over others' lives to feel superior. Thus, One established dog fighting, a venture with substantial income that also interconnected with drug trades, organ trafficking, and even high-interest loans. Personally, One wasn't particularly interested in the life-and-death struggles of individuals in the arena.

So, when he heard news about the young man at an underground party, three years had already passed. It was then that he remembered the intriguing dog he had acquired, a canine that wagged its tail enthusiastically at the slightest chance.

"It's been a while since you visited the arena, sir. You've truly acquired an exceptional dog; everyone calls him the 'Unyielding Hero'," spoke a munitions dealer, sporting a sizable belly and reddened cheeks after a few drinks.

Listening to the words, One smiled and inquired, "Unyielding?"

"Yes, indeed. No matter how severe the injuries, he can get back up, and he's absolutely fearless. Most people lose confidence after being hit repeatedly, but he is filled with determination every time. Rarely injured, high winning rate, as the battles pile up, he's about to face 'Heavy Hitter Robin' from Mr. Wang's family in the next match."

Taking a sip of his drink, One slowly reminisced about the young man's appearance. The image from three years ago wasn't crystal clear, but due to the initial impression, he remembered the young man as having a relatively small stature, with hopeful eyes. Surprisingly, after three years, those eyes were still burning?

The reason he recalled the young man as somewhat petite might be attributed to his fists. Those fists, with torn and bloody skin, appeared tiny when clenched. It was hard to believe that someone with such fists could beat a person to death, much like using a utility knife to slaughter a pig. Despite the bloody little fists, the man seemed impervious to pain.

"I remember Robin is considered heavyweight," One concluded, putting aside his thoughts.

While there is no weight class distinction for fighting dogs, owners tend to protect their dogs, striving to match them against opponents of similar size. Transitioning from featherweight to heavyweight is indeed somewhat unreasonable.

"Yes! Your fighting dog has moved up from featherweight to lightweight, even to middleweight. There are no opponents left in those categories, so he had to play with the heavyweights. Really looking forward to his performance," the obese arms dealer said, taking another sip of his drink, his face growing even redder.

One gave a slight smile without confirming or denying. He didn't believe that a physical disadvantage could be overcome solely with mental strength. Just as he, despite strong mental fortitude, couldn't magically grow a left hand to compete with a fully-bodied person. Weight classes operated on a similar principle.

So, he inquired about the young man's upcoming match and cleared his schedule for that day. For no particular reason, he simply wanted to see if, as the spirit and body were pushed to their limits, those eyes could still be filled with starlight. Would there still be a glimmer in his eyes when death was imminent? If the young man could maintain his fighting spirit even in the face of immense despair, One thought that he might need this dog – brave, fierce, yet loyal.

On the day of the match, the young man learned from others that One would be present. There was a tinge of resentment in his heart – all the times when he could have showcased his skills, One never came to watch. Winning for three years straight, and now, precisely on a day with no chance of victory, One decided to show up. Robin's one punch was equivalent to two of his.

One stepped onto the arena. On the opposite corner, Robin, a tall and robust black man, stared fiercely at the young man. "Hmph, little guy."

The young man remained silent, biting down on the mouthguard.

As the bell rang, Robin's heavy punches rained down like meteors. The young man tried to evade repeatedly but found himself retreating step by step.

Soon, Robin seized him, pinning him down, and unleashed a barrage of punches. The young man closed his eyes to evade, surrounded by the deafening cheers. Quickly, he seized an opportunity, maneuvered out from Robin's weaker right side, and pushed him away. With astonishing speed, he landed a punch right in front of Robin.

Suddenly, a sharp bell rang out urgently. The broadcast delivered the message, "The match is terminated!" Accompanied by this announcement, the referee rushed to the young man, halting his attack.

Boos echoed through the venue. While the crowd's anger had yet to reach its peak, a flurry of banknotes descended like snow. The mechanical voice on the broadcast informed, "Match terminated. Compensation will be credited to your accounts. Stay calm, everyone."

Several men in black rushed onto the stage and dragged the young man away. The youth allowed himself to be pulled, squeezed all the way to a waiting car. Someone had been waiting in the back seat.

"Master," the young man held onto the car door frame, hesitating to get in.

"Get in," One commanded.

The young man got into the car, asking, "Master, did you call off the match? Why?"

"Any pain on your body?" One looked at his well-defined muscles covered in bruises.

"No. Can I put on some clothes?"

"Unfortunately, we don't have your clothes here. Someone will arrange it for you later."

The young man had no choice but to expose his bare upper body. In fact, in boxing matches, it was a common occurrence, and as a seasoned boxer, he didn't feel embarrassed about being shirtless. However, the genteel and elegant demeanor of those around him, coupled with their inquisitive glances, made him feel a bit awkward, and he wished he could find something to cover himself.

Silence prevailed during the journey. One didn't inquire about the young man's background or offer any explanation for his sudden appearance. He simply observed the night passing by through the window.

The young man cautiously observed the man beside him. The man's right hand supported the car window, his chin resting on it, while the empty left sleeve of his garment swayed gently. With each flutter of the light fabric, the young man's heartbeat quickened a bit, prompting him to quickly avert his gaze and look ahead.

The car continued into the hospital, and upon arrival, the young man was promptly taken for a comprehensive medical examination. Despite his robust physique and the quick cessation of the match, the injuries on his body were deemed inconsequential. One had arranged a deluxe hospital room, expecting to find significant injuries, but the examination revealed that the young man was remarkably healthy.

The young man sat on the soft bed, facing One on the sofa. One, with his head bowed, was examining the young man's medical report. "Congenital insensitivity to pain?" One inquired.

"Yes," the young man confirmed.

"Besides not feeling pain, do you have any other symptoms?" One asked.

"I don't sweat much, and my sense of taste isn't very sensitive," the young man honestly replied. He then questioned, "You don't seem surprised. Why did you interrupt the match?"

"We're short-handed lately. Have these three years of fighting left you senseless?" One inquired.

Upon hearing this, the young man immediately stood up from the bed, kneeling on both knees. "No, sir, still very sharp. I'm ready to serve you at any time," he replied.

One lowered his eyes, gazing at him for a while, before asking, "Does not feeling pain bring pleasure?"

Congenital Insensitivity to Pain (CIP), a condition the young man has had since birth. Due to the inability to perceive pain, he lacks a sense of danger, making him slow to respond to threats. Additionally, the absence of pain perception can lead to illnesses as he remains unaware of organ pain.

Without the shadow of pain, there's no awareness of survival through pain. Many CIP patients resort to self-harm repeatedly, seeking the sensation of "being alive."

The young man's inclination towards combat stems from a similar pursuit. Wondering if being battered to the point of misalignment and organ rupture would finally induce pain, he has developed a fascination with inflicting and experiencing pain. Watching faces contort due to the agony he cannot feel, pain becomes tangible before his eyes, offering him a brief taste of life and a connection to that fleeting warmth and preciousness.

How does one without the sense of pain truly experience being alive? Where is the boundary of death? Waking up each day in a daze, perhaps nearing death without even knowing. Ironically, though devoid of pain, there is hunger. For the sake of a meal, one must still endure, living a humble and precarious existence. What kind of existence is this?

It's amusing that while spared from pain, hunger and fatigue persist. In the pursuit of making people invincible and fearless, the heavens allow them to live like zombies – devoid of perception yet endlessly hungry.

To hunger, to tire, and thus, to experience pleasure.

The young man is not naive; he comprehends One's intentions. Understanding that becoming a "loyal dog" entails such consequences, he neither resists nor rejects. Instead, he eagerly awaits the closeness with this deeply suspicious man, becoming tightly entwined with him.

Maybe it is because of the dysfunctional psychology triggered by the thirst for pain and self-mutilation, the young man has developed the phenomenon of crippling, but he doesn't have a desire for everyone with a broken arm or a broken leg, but he is obsessed with One.

From the day he realizes that the owner of the "kennel" is a guy with a broken arm, he becomes obsessed.

With his handicap, he is full of confidence and prestige, and his powerful incompleteness is mesmerizing.

The sacredness of One in his eyes is a secret that the young has never told anyone, a perverted lust.

Wanting to be conquered by his mutilation, wanting to caress and lick his severed limbs, wanting to submit to him, to be possessed by him, to be used by him.

The young man took a few steps forward on his knees and reached down to unzip One's pants, the organ that lurked between his legs had not yet awakened underneath his straight-faced suit pants.

"Master, may I lick you?"The young man asked, raising his eyes.

One didn't answer, but raised an eyebrow.