Kazuki lay sprawled on the cold ground of the fighting ring, every breath a struggle as pain surged through his body. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and his vision blurred for a moment, but through the haze, he could still see the looming figure of the Fat Bastard standing above him. The sumo's massive frame seemed almost invincible, and the crowd's chants of "Fat Bastard" reverberated through the arena.
Kazuki's mind raced. He couldn't afford to lose—not here, not now. He had been beaten down, his body broken, but there was still something inside him, a spark of determination that refused to be snuffed out.
With a shaky breath, Kazuki slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, his muscles screaming in protest. He grit his teeth and willed himself to stand. The Fat Bastard chuckled darkly, a smug grin spreading across his round face.
"Stay down, kid," the sumo sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "You're only making it worse for yourself. Do you think you can hurt me? With those weak little tricks?"
Kazuki ignored the taunts, his focus sharpening. He locked eyes with the sumo, his expression cold and unyielding. Stretching his body slowly, he felt his muscles protest, but the familiar surge of Aura began to flow through him once more. He flexed his fingers, the sensation of Aura claws forming in his hands grounding him. This was far from over.
The sumo snorted, clearly unimpressed. "You're still standing? Guess I didn't hit you hard enough. Let me fix that." He lumbered forward, his massive fists raised to deliver another crushing blow.
Kazuki sidestepped just in time, feeling the wind from the sumo's strike whip past his face. He pivoted, delivering a swift punch to the sumo's side, but it barely fazed him. The Fat Bastard swung again, but Kazuki ducked and rolled away, putting distance between them. As he came to his feet, he stretched his legs, channeling his Aura downwards. Small, sharp thorns of Aura began to protrude from the soles of his feet.
The sumo blinked, momentarily confused. "What's this? More tricks?"
Kazuki didn't respond. Instead, he took out the dagger he had hidden earlier and gripped it tightly in his hand. Without wasting another second, he sprinted toward the metallic cage walls, his Aura-enhanced feet digging into the surface.
With each step, he built momentum, his speed increasing as he sprinted in a coiling motion around the cage, his body hugging the metal like a vehicle in the well of death. The crowd gasped in awe as they watched him spiral upwards, defying gravity with every rapid step. By the time the Fat Bastard realized what was happening, Kazuki had already reached the top, his figure poised and ready to strike from above.
With all his strength, Kazuki launched himself off the cage, dropping down like a human missile. The air whistled past him as he descended, his Aura flaring. He aimed directly for the sumo's massive frame, and the impact was immediate and brutal. The Fat Bastard staggered under the force, his knees buckling as Kazuki crashed into him from above. The sumo growled in pain, the first real damage he had taken all fight.
Kazuki didn't give him a moment to recover. Still clinging to the sumo's broad shoulders, he unleashed a flurry of Aura-enhanced slashes with his claws, each strike carving into the sumo's flesh. Normally, the Fat Bastard would manipulate his mass, absorbing or deflecting blows with ease, but his disoriented state from his crushed knees made it impossible to focus. The sumo roared in fury, his massive hands flailing as he tried to shake Kazuki off, but Kazuki was relentless, weaving around the giant's sluggish movements with precision.
"You think you can beat me?!" the sumo bellowed, voice filled with rage as he struggled to gather the strength to manipulate his weight.
Kazuki dodged the wild swings, his focus unshakable. His heart pounded, knowing he needed to end it fast. As the sumo regained some composure and tried to shift his mass again, Kazuki saw the briefest opening. With a swift motion, he drove the dagger upward, piercing the sumo's thick skin just below the shoulder.
The Fat Bastard howled in pain, the impact disorienting him further as he attempted to manipulate his weight again. But by then, Kazuki had already locked him, his smaller frame wrapping around the sumo, preventing any chance of escape. The sumo's mass-shifting ability failed under the pressure of Kazuki's relentless assault.
In that split second, Kazuki acted. He threw the dagger up into the air, watching it spin. With incredible speed, he locked the sumo's arms behind him, using his Aura-enhanced strength to hold the giant in place.
The sumo thrashed wildly. "What the hell are you doing?!"
Kazuki gritted his teeth, his body straining under the effort of holding him down. His eyes darted upwards. The dagger was falling, it spun through the air, glinting under the harsh lights as it descended in a deadly arc. Time seemed to crawl, the metallic hum of the arena drowned out by the rapid thudding of Kazuki's heart. Then, with a gruesome thud, the blade sank deep into the sumo's eye socket. The sound of metal piercing flesh was wet, sickening—followed by an eruption of blood that splattered across the ring.
The Fat Bastard let out a guttural scream, a howl of pure agony. Blood streamed down his face in thick rivulets, mixing with the sweat pouring off his trembling body.
Kazuki, still clinging to him, felt the raw power of the sumo's frenzied thrashing. But he didn't let go. He stayed latched onto the giant's back, muscles tense as he rode the violent jerks and spasms.
For the first time, Kazuki felt a tremor of victory. The sumo was hurt, truly hurt. He stayed atop him, his Aura claws digging in as he rode out the final moments of the fight, knowing he had finally turned the tide.
Then his mind went blank, instincts overriding any semblance of rational thought. The sumo's tortured screams echoed in his ears, but all Kazuki could feel was the erratic beating of his heart, each pulse a drumbeat urging him forward.
His vision blurred—whether from the sweat and blood stinging his eyes or the sheer intensity of the moment or maybe the side-effect of Aura? He couldn't tell. The world around him had shrunk, narrowed to just him and the thrashing monster beneath him.
His hands, still shaking, gripped tighter against the sumo's broad body. There was no strategy now, no careful planning—just raw, desperate survival. Kazuki's Aura flared, his claws extending as they glistened faintly, the metallic stench of blood filling his nostrils. Without hesitation, he drove them into the thick, vulnerable flesh of the sumo's neck.
The resistance was immediate—the skin tough, the muscles dense—but Kazuki pushed harder, his breath ragged, body trembling. A sickening crunch, then a sudden warmth surged around his fingers. His claws dug deeper, severing muscle and tendon, and the sumo's struggles grew frantic, his entire body spasming in a wild attempt to dislodge Kazuki. Blood gushed from the wound, coating Kazuki's arms in a torrent of crimson.
For a fleeting moment, Kazuki's grip faltered—his fingers trembling inside the sumo's throat. The enormity of what he was doing pressed down on him, heavier than any blow he'd taken. The sumo's gurgling breaths, the spasms of his dying body—Kazuki could feel it all. A raw, primal fear seized him, something cold and vile creeping into his stomach, but he forced it down, his desperation overpowering the surge of doubt.
With one final, violent twist of his wrist, Kazuki felt the sumo go limp beneath him, the last remnants of life draining away in a flood of blood and broken breath. He stood there, still clinging to the man's lifeless body, the sharp metallic taste of victory laced with something darker—something he wasn't ready to face.
When he came to his senses, he found himself standing over the lifeless body of the Fat Bastard, sprawled out in front of him, dead.
***
The interior of the building was drenched in shadows, the only light coming from the harsh spotlights that illuminated the brutal fighting stages. The air was thick with tension and the guttural roars of the crowd, a twisted symphony of bets being shouted, bloodlust fueling every word. This was Shoda's infamous fighting ring, a place where violence was worshipped.
A commentator's shrill voice cut through the madness, "He took down the Fat Bastard!"
The crowd fell silent, and within seconds, every spotlight swung toward the stage where it had happened. Standing alone in the center, a figure in a ragged tracksuit and a torn ski mask. Kazuki.
His chest rose and fell, every breath labored, sweat mingling with the blood that dripped from his knuckles. The audience exploded into frenzied chants. "Bank Robber! Bank Robber!" Their voices grew louder, feeding off the spectacle they had just witnessed.
At his feet lay the massive body of the Fat Bastard, twisted and broken. The man's head was a grotesque ruin, the aftermath of Kazuki's brutal assault, blood pooling beneath him. The gruesome scene only seemed to inflame the crowd's excitement.
Kazuki stood still, his muscles aching, his mind numb. His eyes, once burning with the fire of survival, were now dulled, hollow. He blinked slowly, feeling the last vestiges of adrenaline drain from his system.
The chants echoed in his ears as he cast a final glance at the carnage he'd wrought. The raw savagery of it all gnawed at him, but he pushed it down. Without a word, Kazuki turned and walked away from the ring. The spotlights tracked his figure briefly, before losing interest and shifting back to the other stages, where fresh violence was waiting to unfold.
As he left, the echo of the crowd faded behind him, but Kazuki couldn't shake the question circling in his mind: 'How did I even end up here?'
***
The dimly lit room was filled with the soft hum of multiple monitors, each displaying a different angle of the fighting ring. At the center of the setup, a large screen dominated the wall, showing Kazuki — the Bank Robber — taking a brutal beating from his opponent.
Standing behind the man at the controls, the Manager, Emi, and Shoda observed silently. The Manager's eerie mask reflected the flickering light, while Emi crossed her arms, watching with a tense expression. Shoda stood to the side, his face unreadable.
"Can you show us the audience?" the Manager asked, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable authority.
"Yes, sir." The man in front of the screens didn't hesitate. His fingers danced over the keyboard as the camera feeds switched focus to the crowd.
"Zoom in, go through all of them," the Manager added, his tone sharp but measured.
The man did as instructed, flipping through the faces of spectators, some cheering, others gritting their teeth in frustration. A kaleidoscope of emotions.
"What are you doing?" Emi's voice broke the silence, curiosity laced with a hint of irritation.
"Most of the people here are betting," the Manager began, his voice low, almost a whisper, as his eyes fixated on the screen. The dim light from the monitors flickered across his eerie mask, casting a shadowy glow. "So, they'll be thrilled, annoyed, or crushed, depending on the outcome. But if someone's not here for the money…" His voice lingered in the air, heavy with intent. "They'll look different."
His gaze remained unblinking as the camera feed cycled through the crowd. Rows of faces, some cheering in wild excitement, others scowling in frustration, their expressions betraying the ebb and flow of their bets. But none of them interested him.
Then, his eyes narrowed. His breath caught, just for a second.
The camera zoomed in, focusing on a single figure in the crowd.
Hooded. Masked. A man whose face was hidden beneath layers of anonymity, but even that couldn't conceal the burning hatred in his eyes. Those eyes — they weren't just angry; they were ablaze with a fury so raw, it felt almost primal. His entire being radiated it, the tension in his clenched fists, the subtle tremble of his muscles under the weight of his rage.
He wasn't watching the fight like the others. His gaze didn't shift with the movement in the ring, nor did it react to the blows landing on Kazuki. No, his eyes were locked. Focused. As if he wanted to leap into the ring himself. To tear something apart.
The Manager's smirk twisted beneath his mask, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. The intensity of the moment tightened the air, making every breath feel heavier.
"Gotcha," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with cold amusement, the spark of discovery lighting up his eyes.