Riku Thanawan is a prodigy born into violence. At just seventeen, he’s already survived countless underground fights, trained under brutal street legends, and earned the nickname "The Silent Fist"—because he never speaks in the ring.

But behind the cold stare and bloodied fists is a boy who never chose this life.

Dragged into the underground MMA world by a father obsessed with power, Riku only knows one thing: fight, survive, repeat. He doesn’t care about titles. He doesn’t care about fame. All he wants is to escape the endless violence and find meaning in a life outside the cage.

That fragile hope arrives in the form of Akari Misaki, a quiet, kind classmate who doesn’t flinch when she sees his broken hands and bruised face. Her warmth begins to thaw something Riku thought was long dead.

But in a world where weakness is death, love is a luxury he can’t afford.

When a new underground tournament begins—one that pits the deadliest fighters across the city in brutal, unsanctioned combat—Riku is forced to step back into hell. His fists become his voice. His silence becomes his weapon. And his path to freedom is paved with shattered bones and spilled blood.

In this world, emotion is a weakness—but maybe, just maybe, it’s what makes him human.


---

“I don’t fight to win. I fight to stop fighting.”
— Riku Thanawan

Lunch had just ended. The sun cut through the windows of Class 2-B, slicing across desks and soft faces.


Riku sat as always, by the window, hood pulled halfway over his head. He was half-asleep, elbows on the desk.


Akari returned from the vending machines with two juice boxes and a shy smile.


She placed one beside his hand. "You didn't eat again."


He didn't respond. But he didn't move away either.


Her fingers brushed the edge of his bandage-wrapped hand, just briefly.


"Oi," someone said, loud enough to cut the room.


Three senior boys in sloppily worn uniforms strolled in, ignoring the stares. One of them—a tall, broad-shouldered guy with dyed blonde hair and a fake earring—walked straight toward Riku and Akari's desks.


"Yo, you're the kid who put three guys in the hospital last week, right?" the blonde one grinned.


"Quiet type, huh?" The guy turned to Akari, who was trying to sit down. "This your girl? Cute. You sure you wanna hang around a psycho like him?"


He reached out and tugged gently on her red scarf.


There was no warning. No threat. No line.


A head snapped sideways. A tooth hit the floor.


The blonde stumbled back, screaming as blood poured from his nose.


Riku grabbed his wrist and twisted — POP — the elbow dislocated instantly.


THUD! A backstep and a rising elbow caught his chin.


He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.


Hands bloody. Chest rising. Eyes still blank.


Akari stood frozen beside her desk, scarf slightly loosened.


He stopped cold at the scene: two unconscious boys, blood on the tile, and Riku—calm, breathing slowly, face unreadable.


The hallway was silent. Emergency services were called. Riku sat alone outside the faculty room, elbows on knees.


Suspension. Maybe worse. He didn't care.


She reached into her bag, pulled out a handkerchief, and gently dabbed the blood from his knuckles.


"I'm not scared of you," she whispered.


Chapter 4 - Red Scarf, Broken Nose