Nabiki just smacked her head as she looked at the sign. “This is too crazy, even for those two...”
Death Watch tryouts! We're holding a special ladies-only event! Only the most devastating divas of destruction welcome! Winner gets a spot in the main Death Watch tournament and a chance to win millions in cash! Sign up at the P.E. coach's office!
Nabiki had heard of
Death Watch.
Hell, everyone had. It was the blood sport of blood sports: Players
tore each other limb from limb in the most hideous ways possible,
looking to score enough points in a match to move up in the ranks,
with the champion winning more cash than they knew what to do with at
the end of the season. It was violent, bloody, disgusting, and a
huge success in North America. It was also very male. Nabiki could
only assume that this ladies-only event was an attempt to get more
women competing in the main season, and thus more women watching.
Not a bad idea, certainly, and something she'd do if she was looking
to expand a sport's audience.
Still, she couldn't help but
worry. Those two are going to get
themselves killed! She thought.
And what will Daddy and Mr. Saotome
think!?
---
Akane and Ranko made their way to the coach's office, finding they were the only ones there.
“Maybe we're the first to see that sign?” Akane asked Ranko, who shrugged.
“Maybe we're the only ones in the school that are good enough to enter,” was Ranko's idea. Not that it seemed to bother her much: she opened the door to the office and strode in, full of confidence in herself as she approached the desk.
Oddly enough, instead of the coach, the person at the desk was a strange Western man with black hair slicked back with a generous helping of styling gel.
“Hello, ladies,” the man chirped, strangely friendly for what he was here to sign girls for. “I assume you two are here for the Death Watch event?”
Ranko's exclamation was as full of pride as her stride. “Yes, sir!”
“Yes, sir,” Akane said, much more modest than her friend.
The man nodded and offered the ladies a notepad. “Please sign here,” he instructed, his deep blue eyes scanning the women intently. “Of course, you know the rules. Your agreement to sign up for Death Watch acts a waiver absolving the show's organizers of any responsibility should you be killed. That is what the show's about, after all.”