The fist came at me like a freight train, but I was already gone.

I pivoted, the grimy concrete beneath my feet slick with god-knows-what. The underground fight club reeked of desperation and cheap booze, a cocktail as potent as any drug. Dim fluorescents cast sickly shadows across scarred faces, hungry eyes devouring every move.

My opponent, a mountain of a man with more muscle than sense, stumbled forward. His momentum carried him past me, a hair's breadth from the chain-link fence. The crowd pressed against it, their fingers curled through the links like claws.

"Rip his fucking head off!" someone shrieked, voice cracking with bloodlust.

I allowed myself the barest smirk. As if this lumbering oaf could touch me.

He whirled, nostrils flaring, eyes wild. "Stand still, you little shit!"

I danced away from another wild haymaker, my feet light on the grimy concrete. The brute's fist whistled past my ear, close enough that I felt the displaced air ruffle my hair.

"Missed me again, big guy," I taunted. "Want to try for strike three?"

The mountain of muscle let out an incoherent roar. Sweat poured down his face, his chest heaving. I, on the other hand, had barely broken a sweat.

My opponent charged again, telegraphing his move so clearly I could have dodged it blindfolded. I waited until the last possible second before pivoting, letting his momentum carry him past me. As he stumbled, I struck - a precise jab to his kidney that had him gasping.

"You know," I said conversationally, circling him like a shark, "I'm starting to think this isn't a fair fight. Maybe we should get you a handicap. A weapon, perhaps? Maybe make it a three on one?"

"I'll crush you, you cocky little shit!"

"Ah, there's that sparkling wit I've come to expect," I chuckled. "Come on, big man. Show me what you've got."

He lunged forward, trying to grapple me. I slipped under his arms, a quick series of strikes to his chest had him doubling over, wheezing.

The crowd was going wild now, their earlier bloodlust turning to awe. I could feel their eyes on me, drinking in every move.

"Had enough yet?" I asked, circling my gasping opponent.

He straightened up, his eyes burning with hatred. "I'm gonna tear you apart!"

I grinned, spreading my arms wide. "Well, then. By all means, try."

He charged one last time, putting every ounce of his considerable strength behind the attack. I waited, perfectly still, until he was almost upon me. Then, in one smooth motion, I dropped low and used his own momentum to flip him over my shoulder.

The impact when he hit the ground was thunderous. The concrete actually cracked beneath him, and for a moment, the entire room fell silent.

I stood over him, not even breathing hard. "Now that," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "is how you end a fight."

The announcer grabbed my wrist, raising it high. "Your winner, and still undefeated champion – the Red-Eyed Devil himself, Akuma!"

Cheers erupted, but I barely heard them. My gaze swept the dingy basement, cataloging exits, potential threats, the wad of cash being counted at a rickety table.

A scrawny kid, couldn't have been more than fifteen, sidled up to me. "Holy shit, man! That was insane! How'd you move so fast?"

"Born special, kid. Some of us just have it."

His mouth gaped open, but I was already moving past him, scanning the dingy basement. The crowd parted before me like I was Moses and they were the Red Sea. Funny how a little violence makes people respect personal space.

At the rickety table, a balding man with nicotine-stained fingers was counting out my winnings. I snatched the wad of cash from his hands, ignoring his indignant squawk.

"Hey, I wasn't finished—"

"You are now," I cut him off, leafing through the bills. 250,000 yen. Pathetic.

I shoved the money into my pocket, already calculating. Rent was due in three days. And I had to make a donation to the orphanage. This would cover it, with enough left over for a pair of jordans. Maybe. If I was careful.

I pushed through the sweating mass of bodies, desperate for fresh air. The alley behind the abandoned warehouse was blessedly cool, the night breeze carrying away the stench of violence and cheap cologne.

I leaned against the brick wall, letting out a long breath. Another night, another fight. The rush was fading already, leaving behind the familiar ache of... what? Emptiness? Disgust?

I pulled out my phone, tapping out a quick message.

[Text to: Sister Maria]

Sending over this month's donation tomorrow. Should cover the orphanage's air conditioning bill and then some.

I hit send before I could second-guess myself. It wasn't much, but it was something.

My fingers hovered over the keypad. There was more I wanted to say. How are the kids? Is little Izumi's cough any better? Do you need–

I shoved the phone back in my pocket. No use getting sentimental.

A figure emerged from the shadows, and I tensed. But it was just Ryuji, my... handler? Manager? The lines blurred.

"Nice work in there," he said, lighting a cigarette. "Though you could have taken a few hits. The punters like a show."

I scoffed, pushing off the wall. "I don't take hits for anyone's entertainment."

Ryuji shrugged, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "No? Then why are you here, Akuma?"

The question hung between us, sharp as a blade. I turned away, unable to meet his knowing gaze.

"You know why," I muttered.

Ryuji chuckled. "Ah yes, your noble crusade. Tell me, how many orphans have you saved this week? How many lives changed by your generosity?"

"Fuck off, Ryuji."

He held up his hands. "Hey, I'm not judging. We've all got our demons to wrestle. Speaking of which..."

Here it came.

"I've got a... proposition for you. Something big."

I scoffed, pushing off the wall. "Not interested."

Ryuji's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Come on, Akuma. You haven't even heard what it is yet."

"Don't need to," I said, already walking away. "I've got other plans."

He fell into step beside me, undeterred. "Oh? And what might those be? Which lucky lady gets the pleasure of your company tonight?"

I flipped him off without breaking stride. "Fuck off, Ryuji. And try not to spend too much of my hard-earned cash at the brothel, yeah?"

He chuckled, a low, rasping sound. "Always so charming. One of these days, that smart mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble."

"Looking forward to it," I shot back.

We walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of the city washing over us. Neon signs buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly glow. A group of drunk salarymen stumbled past, their laughter too loud in the quiet alley.

Ryuji cleared his throat. "Seriously though, Akuma. This job... it's big. Could set you up for life."

I snorted. "Right. And I'm sure it's completely above board, yeah?"

"Since when do you care about that?"

I stopped walking, turning to face him. "I don't. But I do care about not ending up in a ditch with my throat slit."

Ryuji held up his hands. "Hey, you know me. Would I ever steer you wrong?"

"In a heartbeat," I said, but there was no real heat behind it.

He grinned, all teeth. "Fair enough. But hear me out, at least. What've you got to lose?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Fine. You've got two minutes. Make it good."

Ryuji's eyes lit up. He leaned in close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's a heist. Big score, minimal risk. In and out, clean as you please."

"Uh-huh," I said, unimpressed. "And what's the catch?"

"No catch," Ryuji insisted. "Just a simple smash and grab. Well, maybe not so simple, but nothing you can't handle."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's the target?"

Ryuji's grin widened. "The Sinclair family vault."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "You're out of your fucking mind."

"Maybe," Ryuji conceded. "But think about it, Akuma. All that wealth, just sitting there. Ripe for the taking."

I shook my head. "The Sinclairs have more security than the Emperor himself. It's suicide."

"Not with your skills," Ryuji pressed. "Come on, where's that famous Akuma confidence?"

I started walking again, faster this time. "It's right here, telling me this is a terrible idea."

Ryuji jogged to keep up. "Just sleep on it, yeah? No need to decide right now."

I waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask," Ryuji said, finally falling back. "Sweet dreams, Akuma. Try not to let the orphans keep you up all night."

The next morning dawned grey and drizzly, matching my mood perfectly. I dragged myself out of bed, every muscle protesting.

I stumbled to the tiny kitchen of my crappy apartment, fumbling for the coffee maker. As the bitter aroma filled the air, I caught sight of my reflection in the grimy window.

Red eyes stared back at me, set in a face too young for the shadows it held. I looked away.

My phone buzzed, a text from Sister Maria.

[Thank you for your generosity, Akuma. Please, come visit soon. We miss you.]

I swallowed hard, something tightening in my chest. With trembling fingers, I typed out a reply.

[Soon. I promise.]

Another lie to add to the pile.

The coffee maker gurgled its last, and I poured myself a cup, inhaling the steam. As I sipped the scalding liquid, my mind wandered to Ryuji's offer.

There was no fucking way I was doing it.

I finished my coffee and headed for the shower. As the hot water sluiced over me, washing away the grime of last night's fight, I tried to quiet the voice in my head. The one that whispered this was a mistake. That I was in over my head.

But isn't that where I'd always thrived? In the deep end, sink or swim?

I dried off and dressed, pulling on my usual ensemble of dark jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. As I laced up my boots, my gaze fell on the small shrine in the corner of my room.

A faded photograph. A withered flower. A child's drawing.

Reminders of why I fought. Why I bled.

Why I couldn't stop.

I touched the photo briefly, then turned away. No time for sentimentality.

The city was coming to life outside my window, the steady thrum of traffic and distant shouts creating a familiar cacophony. I grabbed my jacket and headed out, melting into the crowd.

Just another face in the sea of humanity. Another lost soul searching for... something.

Redemption? Purpose?

Or maybe just the next fight.

As I walked, my mind drifted to the upcoming tournament. What kind of opponents would I face? How far would I need to push my abilities?

And more importantly, could I trust Ryuji?

The answer to that last one was a resounding 'no,' but that had never stopped me before.

I found myself at the steps of an old church, its stone facade weathered by time and pollution. Without conscious thought, my feet had carried me here.

Sakura Home for Children. My own personal purgatory.

I hesitated, one hand on the iron gate. Did I really want to do this? To see the hope in their eyes, knowing I could never be what they needed?

But before I could turn away, the door creaked open. Sister Maria stood there, her lined face lighting up with a smile.

"Akuma! What a pleasant surprise!"

I managed a weak grin. "Hey, Sister. Just... in the neighborhood."

She ushered me inside, her thin hand warm on my arm. "The children will be so excited to see you. Come, come!"

And just like that, I was swept into the controlled chaos of the orphanage. Little faces peered around corners, eyes wide with a mix of awe and fear.

"Mr. Akuma!" A small blur launched itself at me, and I caught it reflexively.

Izumi. Six years old, with a gap-toothed smile and courage that put me to shame.

"Hey, squirt," I said, ruffling her hair. "How's that cough?"

She beamed up at me. "All better! Sister Maria says it's 'cause of the medicine you bought."

"That's... that's good."

More children appeared, crowding around us. Their chatter washed over me, a tidal wave of innocence.

"Did you fight any bad guys, Mr. Akuma?"

"Can you show us some moves?"

"Are you gonna stay for lunch?"

I answered as best I could, carefully editing out the uglier truths. These kids had seen enough darkness. They didn't need mine added to the mix.

As the excitement died down, Sister Maria shooed the children off to their lessons. She turned to me, her kind eyes searching my face.

"You look tired, Akuma," she said softly.

I shrugged. "Just been busy."

She pursed her lips, clearly not buying it. "You know you always have a home here, don't you? If you ever need–"

"I'm fine," I cut her off, more sharply than I intended. "Really. It's just... work stuff."

Sister Maria nodded, though her expression remained concerned. "Well, you're always welcome. For a meal, or just to talk."

I managed a smile. "Thanks, Sister. I should get going."

She walked me to the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. "Akuma... whatever it is you're mixed up in... please be careful."

I just nodded. "Always am, Sister."

As I stepped back out into the grey day, the weight of my choices settled heavily on my shoulders. I'd come so far from the scared, angry kid who'd first arrived at St. Mary's.

And yet, in many ways, I was still running. Still fighting.

Still searching for something I couldn't quite name.

I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. Time to face the music.

Whatever came next, I'd handle it.

I always did.