[Elysium, 100 members strong, defeats Hell's Angels of 500 members.]
That headliner got his blood pumping, realizing it wasn't just smoke being blown with the existence of "Takehiro."
This might be interesting, he thought.
Jumping out of bed, he remembered to also refill the water dish of the cat.
"Well, I'm off now," he said to Taro.
"Mroww."
Swapping out of his cafe uniform and into some light, flexible clothing–a crimson tank top and platinum shorts, he headed out with his earbuds in.
The past few months, before the very concept of the "Celestial Fist" was known to him, the fire inside of him was quelled by the dullness of life at school and his aspiration of staying low. But with the miraculous encounter with Yusei and his invitation to the world-famous tournament–the fire inside of him was burning as bright as the sun.
In short, this was "The King of Brawling" that had earned such a name; a combat-loving savant.
Let's see if this "Takehiro" fellow is really as big of a badass as they say. Aiming for the Celestial Fist is no small endeavor. He might just be strong. If so, this might be some worthwhile training. Mainly though, this way I won't have to look over my shoulder. If we can squash this now, I'd prefer that, he thought.
He walked down the quiet streets, which by this time of night were occupied by either drunken businessmen or no-good thugs.
On his way to the abandoned warehouse, he passed by a serene riverbank and some stray dogs, eventually finding his way to the rusty lot that he had chosen.
It seemed he had gotten there early, though he didn't know for sure whether or not this "Elysium" would show up in the first place. Though it was a safe bet; he had given them the best offer possible: defeat one guy for the black ticket.
As he entered the yard of the rustic warehouse, the nightly winds howled by his ear with the air turning cold and refreshing.
Going inside of the empty building, he sat down on a steel beam, pulling out his phone:
[1 New Message from [Ishikawa]: I totally burnt my dinner tonight…Embarrassing. (¬‿¬ ) What're you up to?]
He smiled at the text, but didn't know exactly how to respond as what he was doing was definitely not something inherently bright.
[Message To [Ishikawa]: Hanging around the train station.]
Just as he pressed "Send" on his phone screen, he heard the rumble of motorcycle engines coming down the street.
Through the cobweb-occupied windows of the warehouse, he could see the headlights flashing through. By the sounds of it, there were quite a large number of bikes pulling in with the engines growling and the exhausts puffing and thumping.
He stayed seated on the eroded pillar, looking forward as the bikes began to pull in through the unprotected entrance.
Fluttering in the smoky winds that passed from the wake of the dozens of motorcycles were the flags representing the infamous gang: a light-green design with an armored soldier across its fabric with the title "Elysium."
As the bikes came to a stop, the members got off, wearing tokkō-fuku with embroideries of manji and kanji that was unique to most members.
Looks like they're the real deal, he thought.
Some wore surgical masks to hide their identities, some wild headbands, glasses, and other accessories.
But what caught his attention was the man at the forefront, who wore his jacket on his shoulder, which was etched with the kanji that displayed the words: "Devil of Osaka."
It was him.
"Takehiro," he mumbled to himself.
For being the leader of a biker gang that sat at the summit of all of those within the city, the leader seemed to be around his age, perhaps a couple years his senior. He had shaggy, jet-black hair with matching onyx eyes and a scar at the corner of his mouth.
Despite being around his age, the leader of Elysium looked hardened by years. He didn't exactly have many standout features besides the scars on the edges of his mouth and just how smoldering that gaze of his was.
"That's him, boss."
A tall man with a pompadour said as much to the dark-haired leader, who stood with his hands in his pockets.
The leader stepped forward casually with unflinching eyes as their eyes met, "I'm Takehiro, the leader of Elysium. I respect that you decided to settle things like men. For that, I'll give you two options," the leader held one finger up, "one: drop your ticket on the floor and you can leave without a finger being laid on you," another finger was raised, "...or two: I'll be taking it from you."
He kept his calm expression before hopping off of the stacked steel beams, pulling the black ticket out from his pocket.
The sight of the ticket spurred audible gasps from members of Elysium, though the leader remained stoic.
"I just want to know: why do you want this, anyway?" He asked.
"--" Takehiro remained silent.
One of the brawny members stepped forward with flared nostrils and a cleft lip, "It doesn't matter wh–"
"Reiji."
"--" The brawny man immediately went silent.
Just a simple utterance of his name from the unflinching leader's lips was enough to reel in the man who looked as temperamental as could be.
Takehiro looked straight at him, "You're asking why I want the black ticket?"
"Yeah," he nodded, holding it, "Do you want to enter the Celestial Fist?"
They stared at each other from a ten meter distance, with the headlights of the parked bikes filling the dusty warehouse with blaring light.
"No."
"...Then why?" He raised an eyebrow.
"To sell it," Takehiro answered.
"'Sell'?" He repeated.
It was almost baffling to him what he had just heard, but he looked at the scar-mouthed leader for further explanation.
"Black tickets sell for a small fortune," Takehiro told him.
"You're strong, aren't you?" He asked.
The Elysium leader looked at him silently as he placed his question. None of the gang members seemed to dare interrupt the conversation as the night stars strolled over the horizon.
"I'm sure whatever you could sell this for, the prize pool is more lucrative," he said.
"Maybe. That's not guaranteed, though," Takehiro answered him, "Even if I believe in my own strength, there's no promise that I'll make the price of the ticket. I could lose in the qualifiers. It's simple logic."
"You're not much of a 'warrior' then, are you?" He asked, stuffing the ticket back in his pocket.
His words riled up the members of Elysium as the man with the standout pompadour stepped forward with a visible vein pressed against his forehead.
"You don't know the boss! He's gettin' us money so we can fund the gang–"
"Ryu."
Again, Takehiro displayed the absolute respect he commanded from his followers as the riled-up, pompadour man shut his lips the moment his name was said.
"I know who you are. You're Touma Daigo–"The King of Brawling"--a title like that is passed around like wildfire in our world. There's a lot of rumors about Touma Daigo: he's the son of a legendary martial artist, he's a vengeful spirit, maybe a gang leader himself, or maybe…just a normal guy," Takehiro calmly told him, "The world of gangsters runs on the rule of the strong. A wrench like you being thrown into the mix–I have to sort this out."
"I think I get it now…This is personal, isn't it?" He asked with a smile.