In the days after that match, Arthur wracked his mind for ways to best the champion. Every punch he threw in training was aimed at that slime. When he messed up he could feel that stretchy mouth closing around him.

To Coach it was clear the fighter's mind was elsewhere. He probed, "What's going on in there?"

Arthur didn't spare him a glance, "One, two, one, three," he emphasized each word with a strike from fists or foot.

"Doubtful: you've been sloppy all week. If you were actually focused you might be making progress instead of back sliding."

The wolf grit his teeth, "Since you seem to know it all, why ask me?"

"I'm no mind reader, Champ."

Arthur yelped as his wrist buckled from poor form. He whirled on Coach with a toothy snarl, "Why don't you quit distracting me and start coaching me?"

He put up his hands, "Alright alright have it your way."

With that he set Arthur to grueling drills. The fighter had done these hundreds of times, so his mind was still free to wander. This time Coach didn't bother commenting on it. He knew he'd snap out of it sooner or later.

When inspiration didn't strike, Arthur started gathering recordings of all the champion's fights. He got very little sleep over the next few weeks. During the day he dove into his training, mind still on the champion. In the evening he binged fights, pausing and rewinding particularly complex parts. He memorized whole combinations to ask Coach how to counter.

From what he could gather, the champion tended to be evasive until he got an opportunity to grapple. Once that point was reached, victory was all but assured. He thought perhaps he could take a less aggressive approach, but others had tried before and failed. The champion was an expert at goading, but he was known to strike first on occasion. All his limbs could stretch, so a punch thrown from across the ring could find its mark. Overall it was a very defensive strategy.

Not every fight ended with the opponent in his belly. Many of them did, and Arthur found himself studying those the hardest. He couldn't help but admire the grip strength as the slime locked onto their prey. Watching their head stretch and throat bulge was uncanny; it had felt uncanny too. Seeing their belly stretch as whatever poor sap filled it, slowly becoming more transparent, brought back the sensations of being inside. Watching those clips made his heart race and breath come quickly. It wasn't like him to panic- though this didn't feel quite like the alarm he had felt during the end of that fight.

Binging the fights gave him a few ideas, but he wasn't confident. Knowledge in hand, he approached Coach. "Hey, I think I know who I want to face next."

His trainer perked up, "Oh?"

"Yeah, this guy- Myron. He's got a similar record to me, and I think I could take him."

"Isn't he a slime, like the champion? Last time that didn't go so well-"

"I'm well aware. I think I can do this."

"Alright, alright fine. I'll get it arranged." 

The fight with Myron went long but well. Arthur could anticipate what he might do, and tested out moves he hoped to use on the champ. Some failed spectacularly, but others met their mark. 

Arthur came from that fight exhilarated. His strategy was starting to come together! Now he just needed to face other slimes. 

Coach started to put the pattern together very quickly. He didn't bother asking about it, but he figured his fighter was angling for a more even grudge match. Whatever the case, he was glad to play his part.

After months, Arthur felt ready. He had honed his strategy to a razor's edge: there was no way the champ would walk away undefeated!

They entered the ring one after another, Arthur first. The roar of the crowd was overwhelming as his opponent came out. The wolf looked at the slime and felt his face flush. He hadn't realized how strongly- how angry?- he felt still. Then again, he had been building up to this for months. He shook his head vigorously to clear it.

They touched gloves and retreated towards their corners. The bell was struck. Heart racing, Arthur circled slowly.

Patience. Patience was key. He could feel every second slowly slipping away. There was the taunt, a complete drop of the guard. Now? He edged closer. 

A glove shot towards Arthur's face, the slime's arm stretching with the force of the punch. The wolf ducked down, open hand hitting the mat as both his legs kicked out, finding their mark on the opponent's knee.

Now he scrambled along the mat while the champ dove to grapple his legs. Getting caught in their hold was game over; the champ knew it. They lunged after their crawling opponent but Arthur found his feet. He spun around and one knee went up before the other leg snapped out and flew to the side, the top of his foot striking their jaw. Body followed head, arms belatedly curling up in a guard.

Arthur knew better than to press on. Others had confidently tried to pin the champ to the mat, but he always turned the tables. The wolf backed off and let his opponent stand.

The slime opened his mouth and worked his jaw a little, wincing from the movement. Arthur grinned: they would be hard pressed to eat him with that injury. 

The smile was just about knocked off his face by a high kick. He ducked in time, barely. A jab turned into a block as a punch flew at him, and he responded in kind. This was the opening volley of a breakneck exchange of blows. The champ was fast and they had their tricks, but Arthur had seen dozens of their fights and every movement seemed predictable.

He blocked a knee, then a right hook only for an uppercut to catch him off guard. In a desperate move he rolled with it, ending up stumbling backwards. A stretchy leg shot out to trip him up.

Arthur hit the mat and in moments his opponent was on top of him.

A flurry of blows rained down on his head. He struggled beneath their weight, arms and torso pinned. The thought of tapping out never occurred to him. One knee drove up, then the other, but his entire upper leg landed fairly flat against their back, dampening the blows. He tried throwing both legs to the side to twist away to no avail.

Arthur's vision grew spotty as his whole face throbbed. When the punches stopped, he couldn't feel it. The darkness crept in from all sides until it took him.

The champion stood and backed off while the ref counted Arthur out. The wolf didn't stir until halfway through the announcement of the winner. He pushed off the mat, bleary eyes little help in guiding him out of the ring. 

All his preparation- even that hadn't been enough. The Champ must be unbeatable. Arthur didn't know what to do right away, but an idea eventually occurred to him.