Categories > Books > Harry Potter > A Perfect Ten
In a high-end restaurant across town, Percy sat with Penelope and her parents Aleksander and Rebecca for a dinner that was meant to be a celebration. Penelope had finally told her parents about the pregnancy, and tonight they were all gathered to discuss the future. Penelope’s parents were a mix of traditional and supportive, but even they couldn’t hide their concerns about Percy’s new life, though they tried to be polite about it.
The evening started off well enough, with light conversation and congratulations on the upcoming birth of Penelope and Percy’s daughter. Penelope’s mother even managed a few jokes, trying to lighten the mood. But as the dinner progressed, it became clear that Percy’s mind was elsewhere. He was polite, answering questions and engaging in the conversation, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his career, to the matches that had left him battered and bruised, and to the relentless pursuit of being the best.
At one point during the meal, Penelope, glowing with happiness, revealed to her parents that they were expecting a girl. The news was met with smiles and congratulations, but as Penelope looked at Percy, she noticed that he seemed distracted, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. She reached out and squeezed his hand, trying to bring him back to the present, but Percy’s mind was already far away.
As the meal continued, Percy was recognized by several people in the restaurant. Whispers of “Ryker Black” began to ripple through the room, and soon enough, a few patrons approached their table to ask for autographs or pictures. Percy obliged, though his responses were automatic, almost robotic. It wasn’t until their waiter, an Asian man with a calm demeanor, came to refill their drinks that Percy’s attention was fully captured.
The waiter, who had been observing Percy quietly throughout the evening, leaned in slightly as he handed Percy his drink.
“I’ve seen your matches,” the waiter said softly, his voice laced with respect. “Your warrior spirit is something to be admired. Not many can endure what you have.”
Percy looked up at the waiter, his tired eyes meeting the man’s calm gaze. There was something in the waiter’s tone, a recognition of the pain and sacrifice that went beyond mere admiration. Percy nodded slightly, acknowledging the compliment, but the conversation only served to remind him of the grueling path he was on, a path that was slowly consuming him.
After dinner, as they left the restaurant, Penelope expressed her concerns to Percy. She could see the toll his career was taking on him, both physically and mentally. But Percy, ever determined, brushed off her worries, telling her that he was fine and that everything was under control.
It was later that night, as Percy was preparing for bed, that he received a message from Lucius Malfoy. The heavyweight championship fight he had been preparing for was off. Initially, Percy felt a wave of relief wash over him. The idea of facing another brutal match so soon after Hell in a Cell was daunting, even for him. But before he could fully process that relief, Lucius revealed something else: Percy had been offered an even greater opportunity.
The Triple J-Crown Tournament was one of the most prestigious events in the world of FMW. It was a grueling contest involving eight fighters, each one a champion in their own right. Seven titles were on the line, and Percy would be putting his two championships at stake against these fighters. The idea of possibly holding eight championship belts simultaneously was something Percy couldn’t have imagined just a year ago, but now, the very thought made him shiver with anticipation.
Despite his body’s protests, despite the warnings from Penelope and even his own sense of exhaustion, Percy couldn’t resist the allure of such an opportunity. The chance to become a legend, to solidify his place at the top, was too great to pass up. He immediately agreed, though he told Lucius that the somas he had been taking were no longer enough to keep the pain at bay.
Lucius, always the enabler, assured Percy that he would get him something stronger. The next morning, an assistant to Lucius arrived at Percy’s apartment, delivering a small bottle of liquid morphine.
The assistant gave Percy detailed instructions on how to use it, emphasizing that it was extremely potent and should be used sparingly. But as the assistant left, Percy’s mind was already focused on the upcoming tournament, on the possibility of holding eight championship belts and proving once and for all that he was the best.
As he stared at the bottle of morphine, Percy knew that he was walking a dangerous path, but the lure of greatness was too strong. He couldn’t turn back now, not when he was so close to achieving everything he had ever wanted.
With a deep breath, Percy set the bottle aside, his mind already calculating how to prepare for the tournament. The road ahead was dark and uncertain, but Percy was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.
The morphine worked wonders for Percy, numbing the pain and making him feel invincible once again. The relentless training that had once worn him down now felt like a breeze, and he attacked each session with renewed vigor. Every muscle, every bone felt like it was on fire, but the morphine cooled it all, allowing him to push through the agony. It was like he had become a brand-new man, fueled by the promise of glory and the determination to prove himself as the greatest fighter in FMW history.
However, as Percy’s physical prowess grew, so did the concerns of those around him. Penelope’s father, Aleksander, a stern man with a deep sense of responsibility toward his daughter and future grandchild, couldn’t hide his unease any longer. One evening, after watching Percy train with an intensity that bordered on reckless, Aleksander pulled him aside.
"Percy," Aleksander began, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I’ve watched you push yourself to the limit these past few weeks. But I have to ask, how are you still standing? When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep, eight hours straight?"
Percy paused, genuinely caught off guard by the question. He opened his mouth to answer, but then realized he didn’t know. The last few months had been a blur of training, fighting, and chasing after the next victory. Sleep had become a luxury, something he could no longer afford.
"I don’t know," Percy admitted, a slight frown crossing his face. "But it doesn’t matter. I’m fine, really. This is what it takes to be the best, Aleksander."
Aleksander’s brow furrowed in concern. "Percy, I admire your determination, but there’s a limit to what a man can endure. You’re going to burn out, or worse. This can’t go on forever."
Percy forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "I appreciate your concern, but I’m not slowing down now. Not when I’m so close. Just a little while longer, and then I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ll be set for life."
Aleksander sighed, realizing that his words were falling on deaf ears. Percy was too far gone, too consumed by his ambition to see the danger he was putting himself in.
The evening started off well enough, with light conversation and congratulations on the upcoming birth of Penelope and Percy’s daughter. Penelope’s mother even managed a few jokes, trying to lighten the mood. But as the dinner progressed, it became clear that Percy’s mind was elsewhere. He was polite, answering questions and engaging in the conversation, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his career, to the matches that had left him battered and bruised, and to the relentless pursuit of being the best.
At one point during the meal, Penelope, glowing with happiness, revealed to her parents that they were expecting a girl. The news was met with smiles and congratulations, but as Penelope looked at Percy, she noticed that he seemed distracted, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. She reached out and squeezed his hand, trying to bring him back to the present, but Percy’s mind was already far away.
As the meal continued, Percy was recognized by several people in the restaurant. Whispers of “Ryker Black” began to ripple through the room, and soon enough, a few patrons approached their table to ask for autographs or pictures. Percy obliged, though his responses were automatic, almost robotic. It wasn’t until their waiter, an Asian man with a calm demeanor, came to refill their drinks that Percy’s attention was fully captured.
The waiter, who had been observing Percy quietly throughout the evening, leaned in slightly as he handed Percy his drink.
“I’ve seen your matches,” the waiter said softly, his voice laced with respect. “Your warrior spirit is something to be admired. Not many can endure what you have.”
Percy looked up at the waiter, his tired eyes meeting the man’s calm gaze. There was something in the waiter’s tone, a recognition of the pain and sacrifice that went beyond mere admiration. Percy nodded slightly, acknowledging the compliment, but the conversation only served to remind him of the grueling path he was on, a path that was slowly consuming him.
After dinner, as they left the restaurant, Penelope expressed her concerns to Percy. She could see the toll his career was taking on him, both physically and mentally. But Percy, ever determined, brushed off her worries, telling her that he was fine and that everything was under control.
It was later that night, as Percy was preparing for bed, that he received a message from Lucius Malfoy. The heavyweight championship fight he had been preparing for was off. Initially, Percy felt a wave of relief wash over him. The idea of facing another brutal match so soon after Hell in a Cell was daunting, even for him. But before he could fully process that relief, Lucius revealed something else: Percy had been offered an even greater opportunity.
The Triple J-Crown Tournament was one of the most prestigious events in the world of FMW. It was a grueling contest involving eight fighters, each one a champion in their own right. Seven titles were on the line, and Percy would be putting his two championships at stake against these fighters. The idea of possibly holding eight championship belts simultaneously was something Percy couldn’t have imagined just a year ago, but now, the very thought made him shiver with anticipation.
Despite his body’s protests, despite the warnings from Penelope and even his own sense of exhaustion, Percy couldn’t resist the allure of such an opportunity. The chance to become a legend, to solidify his place at the top, was too great to pass up. He immediately agreed, though he told Lucius that the somas he had been taking were no longer enough to keep the pain at bay.
Lucius, always the enabler, assured Percy that he would get him something stronger. The next morning, an assistant to Lucius arrived at Percy’s apartment, delivering a small bottle of liquid morphine.
The assistant gave Percy detailed instructions on how to use it, emphasizing that it was extremely potent and should be used sparingly. But as the assistant left, Percy’s mind was already focused on the upcoming tournament, on the possibility of holding eight championship belts and proving once and for all that he was the best.
As he stared at the bottle of morphine, Percy knew that he was walking a dangerous path, but the lure of greatness was too strong. He couldn’t turn back now, not when he was so close to achieving everything he had ever wanted.
With a deep breath, Percy set the bottle aside, his mind already calculating how to prepare for the tournament. The road ahead was dark and uncertain, but Percy was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.
The morphine worked wonders for Percy, numbing the pain and making him feel invincible once again. The relentless training that had once worn him down now felt like a breeze, and he attacked each session with renewed vigor. Every muscle, every bone felt like it was on fire, but the morphine cooled it all, allowing him to push through the agony. It was like he had become a brand-new man, fueled by the promise of glory and the determination to prove himself as the greatest fighter in FMW history.
However, as Percy’s physical prowess grew, so did the concerns of those around him. Penelope’s father, Aleksander, a stern man with a deep sense of responsibility toward his daughter and future grandchild, couldn’t hide his unease any longer. One evening, after watching Percy train with an intensity that bordered on reckless, Aleksander pulled him aside.
"Percy," Aleksander began, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I’ve watched you push yourself to the limit these past few weeks. But I have to ask, how are you still standing? When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep, eight hours straight?"
Percy paused, genuinely caught off guard by the question. He opened his mouth to answer, but then realized he didn’t know. The last few months had been a blur of training, fighting, and chasing after the next victory. Sleep had become a luxury, something he could no longer afford.
"I don’t know," Percy admitted, a slight frown crossing his face. "But it doesn’t matter. I’m fine, really. This is what it takes to be the best, Aleksander."
Aleksander’s brow furrowed in concern. "Percy, I admire your determination, but there’s a limit to what a man can endure. You’re going to burn out, or worse. This can’t go on forever."
Percy forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "I appreciate your concern, but I’m not slowing down now. Not when I’m so close. Just a little while longer, and then I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ll be set for life."
Aleksander sighed, realizing that his words were falling on deaf ears. Percy was too far gone, too consumed by his ambition to see the danger he was putting himself in.
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