The grappling slowed, tension thick in the air as sweat gleamed on both their bodies. Muscles strained, breath mingled, and somewhere beneath the noise of the roaring crowd—a faint crack echoed. A joint? A rib? Pride? No one knew.
Then it happened.
Rikuya's "sword"—his fighting spirit—seemed to rise with its own will, a twitch in his hips that couldn't be ignored.
Tasha felt it.
She glanced back over her shoulder, smirking.
"Not used to this kind of position, are you?"
The crowd gasped. The arena trembled.
Then, with deliberate confidence, she shifted her stance—raising her hips—before slamming her rear down with bone-shaking force.
The sound of Tasha's hips slamming down echoed like a war drum across the coliseum.
BOOOOM.
Rikuya grunted beneath her, eyes wide, soul halfway to the astral plane. The contact wasn't just pain—it was divine revelation. His brain stopped processing language and started downloading primal chants.
And then… the crowd went berserk.
From the commoners' stands:
"HE'S BEING BLESSED BY THE GODDESS OF CAKES!"
"IF I DIE, REINCARNATE ME AS THAT MAN'S FACE!"
"THIS AIN'T A TOURNAMENT—THIS A HONEYMOON WITH VIOLENCE!"
A half-drunk dwarf screamed, "I'LL SELL MY AXE, MY HOUSE, MY BEARD—JUST SWITCH WITH HIM!"
A group of elf maidens fainted, blushing.
One orc simply roared, "LUCKY! LUCCKKYYYY!!" and tried to charge the arena before getting tackled by guards.
In the VIP box:
The Grand Wizard of the Ivory Tower adjusted his runescope with a shaking hand.
"My arcane vision confirms… she's using Class-S grade gluteus enchantments. No mortal man can survive this."
Beside him, the Empress of the Eastern Winds choked on her grape wine. "My husband has never been slammed like that…"
The King's Advisor muttered, "Should we intervene?"
The King whispered, "Shut up. Let the boy cook."
At the Announcer's Booth:
One announcer threw his papers into the air.
"I THOUGHT THIS WAS A FIGHT, NOT A THIGHSTIVAL!"
His co-host was on the verge of tears.
"WE TRAINED IN JOURNALISM FOR THIS! I CAN'T EVEN DESCRIBE THIS WITHOUT GETTING BANNED IN THREE KINGDOMS!"
Meanwhile, back in the arena:
The other participants watched in envious agony.
A rogue muttered, "I've stolen crowns and kissed queens, but I've never been this jealous."
A cleric whispered a prayer, eyes glowing, "Oh divine spirits, strike me down and respawn me underneath her…"
A demon prince, watching through a magic mirror, slammed his fist. "Why him?! I have abs too!"
A necromancer in the crowd raised the skeleton of a past champion, tears in her eyes. "FIGHT THROUGH HIM, BONESY! FOR THE CHANCE TO BE SAT ON AGAIN!"
And there, at the eye of the storm—
Rikuya… was smiling. His body crushed, his ribs crying, his pride ascending to the heavens.
He whispered up toward the heavens.
"…I don't know if this is combat…
…or courtship…
…but I'm never forfeiting."
WHUMP!
With a sudden twist of his core and a powerful spin, Rikuya flipped their positions—so fast it blurred the air. Now Tasha was flat on the arena floor, arms pinned above her head, legs slightly parted from the sweep's momentum. And Rikuya… was kneeling over her, face close, one hand on her wrist, the other pressing down beside her head.
His face? Calm. Too calm.
Tasha blinked up at him. Her chest rose and fell, skin slick with sweat. She scowled—but there was color in her cheeks.
Rikuya smirked.
"You lost the high ground," he murmured. "But I don't mind the view."
The crowd detonated:
"HE FLIPPED HER LIKE A DAMN PANCAKE!"
"THIS ISN'T A TOURNAMENT, THIS IS A PUBLIC SIN!"
"BRO'S IN MISSIONARY POSITION IN FRONT OF THE WORLD!"
A bard began scribbling furiously. "This shall be my next epic—'The Pin That Broke Nations.'"
Even the monks from the Celibate Temple were chanting, "ONE OF US! ONE OF US!"
VIP Section Chaos:
The War Queen stood, sword trembling in her grip. "Why did no one flip me like that in battle?!"
The Archmage's monocle exploded. "They've entered the Forbidden Position of Chapter 69!"
Even the High Priest gasped, whispering, "...my celibacy is in danger."
Back in the arena, Tasha hissed under her breath.
"This position's... dangerous."
Rikuya leaned closer, voice low.
"Only if you can't handle it."
She blushed—but her legs shifted, flexing like a coiled spring.
Tasha's eyes narrowed. "You got guts," she whispered, lips brushing dangerously close.
Then—she smirked.
In a blur of motion, her hips twisted upward.
WHAP!
Tasha slammed her knee right between Rikuya's legs—not with full power, but just enough to make him flinch and lose his pin. She rolled with the momentum, legs wrapping his arm like a serpent.
"Too slow, sweet talker."
Suddenly, she twisted—pulling him down while flipping herself up and over, now straddling him in one motion that had the entire arena screaming.
Crowd EXPLOSION:
"SHE DID THE REVERSE MOUNTED TAKEOVER—THAT'S AN S-TIER MANEUVER!"
"MOM COME PICK ME UP I'M JEALOUS!"
"BRO GOT REVERSED AND I STILL RESPECT HIM FOR IT!"
Even the announcer stammered, "Uh...uh... folks, I—uh—this is art."
Tasha's fist shot down—
BOOM!
It hit the ground an inch from Rikuya's face, cracking the stone.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A wild barrage followed. Her fists came down like meteors, each one smashing into the arena floor as Rikuya twisted, rolled, and ducked with hair-slicing precision.
"You can dodge," she growled, "but can you take a hit while distracted by these?"
She leaned in, sweat glistening on her chest, and Rikuya slid back just in time, nose barely missing her bounce.
Rikuya grinned, hair ruffled, eyes sharp.
"You're dangerously close to making me fall in love."
Rikuya's fist hovered inches from Tasha's blushing face.
"I don't want to ruin something that perfect," he murmured with a half-smile.
Her eyes widened, just a flicker—and in that breath of hesitation, he found it.
Boom—
A short inch punch to her stomach, sharp and silent. Tasha gasped, air pushed from her lungs as her body instinctively tensed.
Then he moved.
A stance of elegance, grace, and lethal precision.
He stepped forward, barefoot gliding like a wind-drawn brushstroke.
"Rikuya Original Seven... Hakuro."
His voice didn't thunder—it whispered.
And yet it echoed.
He flicked his hand forward, light as silk, deadly as thunder.
A swift strike to her neck—Tasha's vision stuttered.
Then a jab to the inside of her arm—her fingers lost strength, grip faltering.
Two calm taps to her chest—she gasped again, breath short, her heartbeat skipping.
A palm pressed into her navel—Tasha staggered, her core unable to hold firm.
Then he danced.
He twirled around her with steps like falling petals, tapping joints and nerves as if tuning a divine instrument. His fingers skimmed ribs, spine, wrists.
Then...
He paused—fingers raised, poised.
"Hakuro… Rokujuuyon Retsu."
He whispered it.
Then—his body vanished into motion.
His arms became a blur—elbows, palms, knuckles, fingertips—tapping, jabbing, striking.
Each hit a precise raindrop, falling where it mattered most.
Tasha's body shook, trembling under the storm—muscles locking, nerves screaming, yet no blood spilled. No bones shattered.
Only grace, only control. Lethal control.
Then silence.
Rikuya took a single step back, one arm still raised in form.
Tasha collapsed onto one knee, breathing shallow, sweat rolling down her cheeks. Her body spasmed, overwhelmed. Not broken—just… mastered.
The crowd didn't roar.
They whispered.
They gasped.
"What did we just witness...?"
"Was that even... human?"
"Even her fall looked beautiful, dammit!"
"I'd let him Hakuro me too..."
Even the nobles in their balconies leaned forward, fanning themselves or gripping the rails.
And high above, the announcer whispered, "This… this is a new chapter in combat history."
Rikuya, after delivering his final strike, stood still as Tasha knelt before him, still reeling from the calculated onslaught. For a moment, there was nothing but the silence of the arena, the hum of anticipation from the crowd, then Rikuya moved.
With a single, fluid motion, he crouched down, scooping Tasha into his arms, effortlessly lifting her as though she weighed nothing at all. The crowd erupted in cheers, but beneath it, there were envious murmurs. It was impossible not to notice the way Rikuya handled Tasha, the effortless grace, the way his hands lingered a moment longer than necessary on her body as he adjusted his grip.
A few voices rang out from the stands:
"Is he really going to carry her like that?"
"That's some strength… and I'd give anything to be in her position."
"Tasha's about to faint from the pain, but look at Rikuya—he's enjoying it!"
Despite the teasing from the crowd, Rikuya walked with purposeful steps toward the side of the arena. He made sure to keep his movements slow, like he was showing off, deliberately drawing out the attention. He glanced down at Tasha, her head resting gently against his chest, and though she was still winded, there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"You know," Tasha began, her voice light and breathy, "I didn't expect you to be so gentle after that whole... beating."
Rikuya smirked, his voice low, a teasing edge to it. "You were strong—probably stronger than most. But," he paused, letting the tension between them build. "I don't go easy on anyone. I just know when to pull back."
Tasha's lips curved into a sly smile, her eyes studying him with a new interest. "And here I thought you were the type to enjoy the fight."
Rikuya's eyes flickered with amusement. "I do. But it's more fun when my opponent can keep up," he replied, his voice dropping lower. "And don't think I haven't noticed how well you handle yourself... You may be more than just a brawler after all."
Tasha's blush deepened, but she quickly masked it with a playful grin. "Maybe you'll find out more about me... if you're not too tired from carrying me around."
He chuckled, his grip tightening slightly around her waist. "Trust me, Tasha. I'm not tired yet. In fact, I'm starting to think I should've made you stay on the floor longer."
"Is that a challenge?" she asked, her voice tinged with both defiance and something else—something that hinted at her own desire to prove herself.
Rikuya's smirk deepened, his eyes glowing with mischievous light. "Always."
The crowd continued their banter, laughing and making teasing comments as they watched the two of them. Some even began whispering about the obvious chemistry between the two fighters.
As Rikuya carefully carried Tasha off the arena floor, the crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers, loud applause, and jealous murmurs. The arena filled with energy as people from all corners of the venue shouted, some even jokingly wishing to be in Rikuya's place.
Tasha's eyes fluttered, still dazed from the fight but slowly coming to her senses. She gave a soft laugh, brushing her hair back from her face as she gazed at Rikuya with a playful, teasing expression.
"You're quite the charmer, huh? Lifting me like that… not a bad way to win a fight," Tasha said, her voice a soft but teasing purr. Her earlier intense demeanor seemed to fade, replaced by a more relaxed and flirtatious tone.
Rikuya grinned, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than he meant to. "You don't make it easy, you know," he teased back, his voice smooth and confident. "But I have to admit, it was a good fight. You're strong. More than I expected."
Tasha's lips curled into a smile, her eyes shining with pride. "Flattery won't save you next time, Rikuya. But… I'll take the compliment." She paused, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Though, I'm not one to be carried like this often." She leaned in a little closer. "But I guess for you, I could make an exception."
Rikuya chuckled, looking down at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Consider it a reward for a great fight, then."
Tasha raised an eyebrow, her expression turning into something more challenging. "A reward, huh? Maybe you're just trying to soften me up for the next round. But let me make one thing clear… If we're going again, I won't be going easy on you."
Rikuya's grin only widened. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
As the two exchanged teasing glances, the crowd around them cheered even louder, sensing the playful chemistry between the two. It wasn't just about the fight anymore. The spectators were hooked on the banter, eagerly waiting to see how the rivalry—or maybe something more—would unfold.
---
Mevius Quent, a gambler-warrior known for his mix of charm and brutality, sat on a nearby ledge, eyes locked on Rikuya. He was a striking figure, his sharp features and disarming smile almost out of place in such a violent setting. He had bet everything on this tournament: his sword, his coin, his very life. And now, after seeing Rikuya's skills firsthand, he couldn't help but wonder if he had made the right bet.
As Rikuya walked past him, still holding Tasha, Mevius' eyes followed with intense curiosity. "Quite the show you put on, kid," Mevius remarked, his voice smooth and laced with amusement.
Rikuya turned his head slightly, noting the man's presence. "You look like someone who's seen their fair share of fights."
Mevius' smile widened. "I've seen enough to know when someone's worth watching. And I'll admit, you're a lot more interesting than most of the others here." He studied Rikuya carefully, his gaze calculating. "But the question is… What's a guy like you fighting for, huh? What's the point?"
Rikuya looked back at him, his expression unreadable. "Does it matter?" he replied with a shrug. "Maybe I'm just here for the challenge. For the thrill."
Mevius chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the conversation. "Ah, I see. A man who's in it for the ride." He leaned back, tapping his fingers against his knee. "But eventually, everyone has something to lose. That's the nature of these things."
Rikuya took a step closer, narrowing his eyes. "What's your bet then, Mevius?"
Mevius laughed, a low, almost predatory sound. "My bet? That depends on how long you can keep this up. But one thing's for sure… I'm going to be watching you closely. Who knows, maybe you'll make me a fortune."
Rikuya tilted his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "I don't make promises I can't keep. But, I'll make sure to keep things… interesting for you."
The two locked eyes for a moment, the tension between them almost palpable as they both sized each other up. The crowd, having now shifted its focus to the conversation, buzzed with excitement, wondering what would come next in this unfolding drama.
Mevius leaned forward, his voice low but filled with challenge. "You'd better, kid. Or I'll be collecting my debt from you, one way or another."
Rikuya smiled, his eyes gleaming with a quiet resolve. "We'll see about that."
As Mevius Quent steps into the arena, his smooth, almost theatrical movements leave no doubt about his confidence. With a cocky grin on his face, he twirls his sword in one hand, the hilt flashing under the sunlight. He wears a coat of dark leather, and his eyes gleam with the thrill of the gamble. Everything—his coin, his sword, his life—he's staked it all on this fight. But it's not just about victory for him. It's the excitement, the rush.
Rikuya, on the other hand, stands calm and composed. His body is already shifting into a stance, a natural flow of motion. His eyes are sharp and calculating. There's no cockiness, no boastfulness. Just quiet confidence. He knows his opponent is dangerous, but he's fought this battle a thousand times in his mind already.
Mevius stretches, casually flicking his sword, then grins at Rikuya. "You're calm," he says, his voice a mix of charm and mockery. "I like that. But don't think that'll save you."
Rikuya narrows his eyes, his stance firm as he replies in a calm tone, "In battle, it's not about confidence. It's about control."
With that, both fighters make their moves. Mevius steps forward, moving with the fluid grace of someone who knows the art of a showy entrance. He doesn't just fight; he makes a spectacle of it, turning his footwork into a dance. His sword hums through the air with smooth, practiced motions, aiming for quick, slicing jabs designed to distract and confuse.
Rikuya's movements are quicker, cleaner, as he steps sideways, letting Mevius's sword whiz past. A momentary smirk plays on his lips as he counters with a sharp, precise jab aimed at Mevius's ribs. Mevius grins wider, barely managing to twist his body and avoid the strike, but the speed and precision of Rikuya's attacks leave no doubt that he's not here to play games.
Both men stare each other down, the tension thick in the air, before they clash again, swords ringing as steel meets steel, their footwork a blur of practiced expertise.
The crowd is silent, their eyes fixed on the fight. Even the political figures in the stands are entranced, awaiting the outcome of this clash between two fighters.