The train station at the city's edge dumped them into a chaotic sprawl of noise, colour and dust. Even though it was early in the morning, around 7 am, the city was already alive. Banners fluttered like war flags above the plaza, from all across the world, each boasting a different guild, nation or sponsor. Tournament officials in navy coats moved the crowd, guiding participants toward various side gates, scanning IDs, and barking out block assignments over the clamour.
The scent of cheap coffee, fried batter, and too many bodies hung heavy in the warm air.
Kieran tilted his head back, taking it all in. "Damn. This is just the prelim site?"
Looks like a colosseum… if it was surrounded by baby colosseums," Roy said, nodding toward the cluster of stone arenas beside the massive main stadium looming in the distance.
Tanaka didn't respond. He was just taking the sight in, looking at the layout, the layered rings and the spectators already filtering into stands, his eyes and face unreadable.
Roy sipped from his grape juice box, gripping it in case anyone else took it. "So… are we splitting up here?"
Brock shook his head. "Nah, Tanaka's match is at 11. Yours is at 1:30. That gives us time."
"These rings next to the big one," Kiearn said, gesturing. "They're for the rookies like us. Beat your opponents and you climb the ladder to the next match. Eventually getting to fight in the colosseum."
Roy raised his juice in a lazy salute. "Try not to lose before we hit the main stage. I'm not dragging your broken body back onto the train."
"Appreciate the pep talk," Tanaka muttered, cracking his knuckles.
The Block A ring was large but nowhere near the size of the real stadium. Three elevated fighting platforms were spaced across a circular arena, each surrounded by modest bleachers, like a training ground that had been polished up for public entertainment. The crowd was already loud, cheers echoing off the nearby stone.
Inside, the prep area was all nerves and sweat: a wide chamber lined with lockers, racks of equipment, and scattered benches. Fighters stretched, paced, and meditated. Some ignored each other; others sized up competition like wolves in a cage.
The boys, as usual, did not fit the atmosphere. While everyone was trying their best to get ahead in life, these guys were here to play, not because they think they are better, but just because they got forced into it by a certain someone.
Kieran was sprawled across a bench, sipping the second juice box he'd split with Roy. Brock sat on the floor, cross-legged, flipping through competitor profiles on his phone. Roy stood next to a tiny vending machine in the corner, trying out a strawberry flavour this time.
Tanaka remained silent, arms folded, eyes locked on his gear.
"No info on Ringo," Brock muttered. "New entry. No videos, no stats, no aliases. Either he sucks... or he's a ghost."
"Or he has a sleeper build," Kieran added. "Maybe he's one of those freaks who trained in a forest until now."
Roy glanced at Tanaka. "Are you nervous?"
Tanaka shook his head slowly. His jaw, though, was tight. "Not really. Weirdly… I feel kind of good."
Roy raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't choose this," Tanaka said, adjusting the cuffs of his gloves. "But maybe... maybe that's what I needed. A reason. Something to fight for, even if it's just pride."
He locked the straps and turned toward the curtain that led to the ring.
Brock got to his feet. "Hey, Tanaka."
Tanaka paused.
"You got this," Brock said, flashing a lopsided grin.
Kieran raised his juice box. "Make it quick, bro."
Roy didn't speak, just raised a hand and gave him a short, firm nod.
Tanaka looked at each of them, one by one.
Then he walked through the curtain, into the sunlight, into the sound.
Into the fight.
The ring was alive; it had thunderous cheers, echoing with chants, even though the colosseum was very small and had ropes around the ring, drowning in sound. Dust swirled across the arena floor. A low wall separated the crowd from the fighters, but the energy bled across, suffocating in its pressure.
An announcer's voice rang out above it all, introducing the match with theatrical bravado. To which Tanaka barely heard it.
His eyes were locked on the man standing across from him.
Ringo Bondigon.
Tall. Lanky. A sliver of silver hair and a stitched-on grin. No weapons. Just fingerless gloves and a wild, twitchy stance like he was trying to hold back laughter or violence.
"Are you ready to dance?" Ringo called, bouncing from foot to foot.
Tanaka lowered his stance, breathing in deep.
"Come on, partner."
The bell rang.
And their battle began.