[The Day of The Qualifiers | Grand Sentinel Arena]
"Woah, woah, woah…this is really happening, isn't it? I'm so excited!"
Nearly bouncing up and down, Ishikawa looked around at the flood of people around the famous stadium, gathering around and entering the establishment.
"Indeed it is," Tadashi agreed.
"I can't wait to show Daigo the 'surprise'," Ishikawa smiled.
"I'm sure he'll be thrilled."
While his two friends were waiting for the event to start, he was already inside of the arena in the locker room, adjusting the wrappings around his hands.
"--"
He sat on the bench, surrounded by many other fighters in the same room. The air felt thin; densely packed with the resolve of warriors.
The Celestial Fist Qualifiers worked in a unique way: due to how many competitors were joining the event, the qualifiers would be stretched across three days.
He was in "Bracket A", which meant he would be with the first half, then tomorrow, "Bracket B" would begin. It was an exciting prospect for him. Only two fights needed to be to qualified; the first fight of just one's own bracket, and another on the third day, where both brackets met.
This means I'll get to watch some fights tomorrow, he thought.
Even with so many people in one place, it was eerily quiet.
Complete focus.
He looked around, noticing the concentration and resolve embedded in the expressions of the competitors in the room.
These are all world-class fighters. This is the real deal…I'm so pumped! He thought.
It was a diverse setting; there was seemingly a representative from every part of the world–Indians, Americans, Spaniards, French, Africans–it went on, and the more he looked, the more he was intrigued.
While he was sitting there with excitement bubbling inside of his stomach, he found a hand extended to him from the person sitting to his left.
"Martin Lawrence."
With a half-cocked smile, the man with shaggy, blonde hair extended his hand. He was clearly American by his accent though he wore a black-and-gold gi with the symbol of a tiger on it.
"Touma Daigo," he accepted the man's hand.
He was met with a firm handshake from the black-eyed man who was clearly his elder by a decade, at least.
"Forgive me, but my Japanese is poor," Martin Lawrence told him with a smile, "I've been here a few times, so I should improve on it."
It was true that he wasn't on a native level, but Martin Lawrence's Japanese wasn't bad, either. Only his accent seemed off.
He shook his head with a smile, "It's fine. You're fluent, aren't you?"
"I can hold a conversation," Martin Lawrence replied, "You look pretty young for a Celestial Fist competitor."
"--"
Martin Lawrence laughed deeply, "Sorry, that was rude of me, wasn't it?"
"No offense taken. I get it," he replied.
Again, he focused on tightening the wraps around his hands. He was already properly dressed for a fight, as he wore light-blue trunks and nothing else.
"How about we help each other warm-up?" Martin Lawrence offered.
"--"
He looked at the foreign man for a moment, feeling that something was off by not just the offer, but the look in the man's eyes. They were onyx, with little kindness left in him, but that man still tried to smile as if benevolent.
Before he could answer one way or the other, another fighter got between them.
"Don't listen to this guy, kid."
It was another American, though his Japanese accent was a lot more polished. He had tan-brown skin and well-kempt, jet-black hair with kind, blue eyes. In opposition to Martin Lawrence's black gi, he wore an all-white gi.
Are they Kareteka? From America? He questioned.
"Look who it is," Martin Lawrence stood up, meeting the man face to face, "...Michael Larusso."
"Didn't think the Celestial Fist was inviting savages still, Martin Lawrence," Michael Larusso replied.
As he sat there, watching the two men who looked to be in their late twenties square off with tangible tension between the two, he could feel the powerful auras exuding from them.
These two definitely have some history, don't they? Two American karateka in the Celestial Fist?...Damn, this just gets better and better, he thought.
"The Celestial Fist invites the strongest–those who will do anything to win; those who are willing to use their fist to conqueror. Which makes me question why they invited a standup coward like yourself, Larusso," Martin Lawrence responded.
"I seem to recall this "standup coward" laying you out in front of the whole world last year, Lawrencee," Michael Larusso replied.
It seemed as if at any second, with the two rivals staring each other down, fists would soon be thrown, but he stood up, getting between them.
"--?"
"--?"
The two men looked at the silver-haired young man as he broke them up, as if offended by the one who had no hand in their rivalry getting involved.
"Save it for the real fight, alright?" He said.
Both of the veteran foreigners looked at each other before seeming to accept the proposal from the newcomer to the Celestial Fist.
Martin Lawrence smirked, "The kid's right. Words are cheap."
"Make it past the first round, and I'll show you what isn't cheap," Michael Larusso told him.
"Heh," Martin Lawrence turned around, leaving the area.
With that settled, he let out a small sigh, looking up as a hand was placed on his shoulder from the tan-skinned man in the white gi.
"Thanks, kid. That guy is a real piece of work, you know that?" Michael Lawrence told him with a gentle smile.
"Who is he, anyway?" He asked.
"Long story, but to summarize: he's kind of like my arch nemesis, of sorts. Our schools of karate have been at odds with each other since we were kids," Michael told him.
"Really?"
"It's ridiculous! Right? I mean, it's been like fifteen years and this guy is still acting like we're highschoolers–he should just grow up," Michael sighed.
He looked up at the American karateka with a raised eyebrow, but didn't say anything in response.
…I think they're both in the same boat, he thought.