The arena lights glared down as Raiji and Dirty Dam faced off, the crowd's roar a distant hum. Dirty Dam was seven feet of whipcord muscle zero fat, a human blade. He cracked his knuckles, his voice a dry rasp.
"You're the one they say is fast?" A smirk twisted his lips. "Let's see if Rank 50 is really your level."
First Move:
Dam lunged, his hand scraping the sand then flinging it upward in a shockwave of grit and slicing air.
Raiji blocked, yawned, and sidestepped. "Bring it, skinny. I'll show you speed."
Dam attacked again a flurry of overhead strikes, speed punches, and kicks so fast the crowd only heard the wind scream. "Fast. But no damage," Dam sneered.
Raiji smiled.
Counter:
A leaping slash. Dam blocked with his left arm, grinning.
CRACK.
Raiji's blade shattered.
Midas' voice boomed over the speakers. "And there goes the 'Wind Blade'! Folks, we don't cover broken weapons! Buy better steel next time!" The crowd laughed.
Raiji tossed the hilt away. "One blow."
Dam raised his arms, but he was too late.
Raiji blurred past, a single diagonal slash splitting the air.
A beat of silence.
Then, blood sprayed. Dam collapsed, the sand turning rust-red.
Midas groaned. "Raiji wins. Ugh. Someone check this rookie for cheats."
Raiji stepped out of the arena, wiping blood from the cut on his chest as Kiro fell in beside him.
"Fast as your other fights," Kiro grinned. "But you held back. That's why you lost a blade."
"Showing off costs credits," Raiji said with a shrug. "That thing was rusted anyway." He flicked the broken hilt into a trash heap. "Need a replacement. And food. Still got my second blade. I know a place. But first payment."
The Credit Stall was manned by a hunched, glass-eyed hag, her fingers tapping a holoscreen flickering with debt logs.
Kiro slapped the counter. "Fights done. Our credits. Thanks."
The hag didn't look up. "Kids these days. Think I'm stupid enough to short-change arena dogs?"
The screen flashed:
PAYMENT
KIRO: 100 credits (low-rank fight, minus "arena fees")
RAIJI: 700 credits (high-rank KO bonus)
Kiro's eyebrow twitched. "...The hell's this math?"
"You lost three teeth mid-fight. Dental tax." The hag smirked. "You're a no-card."
Raiji pocketed his credits, dragging Kiro away before he could flip the table.
"Next time," Kiro muttered, "I'm fighting rank 50."
Raiji snorted. "Next time, don't get hit."
They left, headed for the shop as the sun dipped below the jagged skyline, casting long shadows through the slums.
"Where is this place?" Kiro asked.
"Up ahead," Raiji said, not breaking stride. "Not far. Down the road to the right."
Raiji halted before a corroded doorway, its unoiled hinges shrieking in protest.
"This is the place," he said. "Heard through the grapevine."
Kiro smirked. "Real subtle."
Three precise knocks. "Weapons," Raiji's voice was gravel.
The door groaned open to reveal a mechanic woman sunset-orange hair cascading down her back, dark skin glistening with machine oil, a wrench slung like a sidearm at her hip.
Veyra's amber eyes narrowed. "Fresh meat. Who gave you my name?"
Kiro jabbed a thumb at Raiji. "Your fanclub president over here. I'm Kiro, he's Raiji. Dumbass shattered his sword, I need new gloves."
She ushered them into her workshop the atmosphere thick with ozone and metal. The walls displayed her deadly craftsmanship: a humming plasma cutter, shock-gauntlets crackling with restrained energy.
Veyra booted open a munitions crate. "Blades here, gloves there. Prices start at 'your firstborn' and go up from there." She gestured to a scrawled list:
Gloves: 10k up to 50k
Sword: 20k up to 100k
Cheapest Gloves: 400
Cheapest Sword: 500
"Damn, these prices are criminal," Kiro said, though his eyes lingered on a pair of advanced gloves. "I'm out. But fuck, those look good…"
"Yeah, they're steep," Raiji agreed, eyeing a fine sword. "I'd buy that one... if we weren't starving."
Kiro sighed, shoving his meager credits at Raiji. "Sacrifices, I guess. Take my cut too."
"Next time, we feast proper," Raiji promised.
Veyra snorted. "You two are twenty-two and broker than jokes. One scrawny brat, one 'scary' softie."
"Who you calling scrawny?!"
"Who you calling a softie?!"
They protested in unison.
Veyra disappeared into the back, returning with two items glowing under the workshop lights: a pair of gloves woven with what looked like lion's hide, and a sword with a shimmering, dragon-scale-patterned edge.
"Shock gloves," she said to Kiro. "Can punch through concrete. Worth 1K." She turned to Raiji. "Sword's got 'dragon tooth' alloy. Bullshit, of course. But it'll cut tanks. Also 1K."
"We can't afford that!" they both exclaimed.
"Obviously," Veyra grinned. "You're getting both for 100 credits." She paused, her eyes landing on Kiro. "He pays."
"Why me?!" Kiro yelled.
Veyra patted his head like a disobedient dog. "Attitude tax. Good pets get discounts."
Raiji chuckled. "Thanks."
"Mmhm," Veyra said, still ruffling Kiro's hair.
"THIS WOMAN'S EVIL!" Kiro yelled, slamming the credits down on the counter. The whole block heard him.
AFTER THE SHOP
Kiro stomped down the neon-lit alley, still fuming. "That woman... argh... I swear, next time I'll"
Raiji suddenly stiffened, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his new sword.
Kiro blinked. "What?"
Behind them, an 8-foot titan of muscle ducked into Veyra's shop, the doorframe splintering slightly as he passed.
Raiji exhaled slowly. "...Nothing."
INSIDE THE SHOP
The giant ruffled Veyra's hair like she was still five. "Veyyy. Who were those twerps?"
Veyra swatted his hand away. "Arena fighters. Might even beat you someday."
Her brother laughed, the sound rattling tools off the shelves. "Cute. Tell 'em to try."
Kiro and Raiji found a small eatery to settle in. As they walked, the encounter with the giant and the familiar, oppressive presence of the city sent Kiro's mind reeling back...
KIRO'S FLASHBACK – 15 YEARS AGO
Rain hammered the memory. A child Kiro, knees scraped raw, clutched his grandfather's sleeve.
"Granpa, why are they after us?!"
No answer. Just a bloodied hand shoving him forward, a final, rasped command: "Run, boy."
THE NIGHT HE RAN
Rain slashed through the main road as young Kiro sprinted, bare feet slapping against cracked pavement. Behind him, his grandfather's voice boomed:
"Kiro! Don't look back!"
The boy skidded to a stop.
His grandfather stood facing four naval officers, their pristine coats splattered with blood and rain.
Red Vice Admiral: "Pathetic. You actually turned back?"
Green Vice Admiral: "He thinks he can take us."
Blue Vice Admiral, gripping a bleeding arm: "...Idiot."
Lieutenant Commander, coughing blood: "Enough games. Finish him."
Kiro's grandfather spat, his fists crackling with raw, untamed energy. "All you weaklings. At once."
Then a detonation.
The main road erupted in crimson light, the shockwave hurling Kiro forward. When he looked back, the street was gone replaced by a crater of smoldering steel and silence.
He ran.
A desert highway, cracked and endless. The air shimmered with heat, the skeletons of old-world cars jutting from the sand like rusted teeth.
Young Kiro ran.
His bare feet split on scorched asphalt, but he didn't stop. Behind him, the skyline exploded in red. His grandfather's final stand lit the horizon like a dying sun. Navy dreadnoughts hovered, their shadows swallowing the ruins. Bullets kicked up sand at his heels, but Kiro didn't look back.
He ran until his lungs tasted like blood.
He ran until the sun rose twice.
He finally collapsed at a dojo's gates, its wooden sign creaking in the wind.
He didn't stop for days.
PRESENT DAY
The tiny eatery was a haven in the slums steel tables scrubbed raw, walls stained with decades of grease, the sweet char of real meat cutting through the city's usual stench.
Raiji slid into a booth, cracking his neck. "Order anything. On me."
Kiro grinned at the menu. "Then I'll take the... instant noodles."
Raiji didn't blink. "No." He flagged the clerk. "Two chicken-rice platters. Extra fries. Gas drinks."
Kiro opened his mouth to protest.
"And," Raiji added, "real meat. Not that lab-grown scrap."
The clerk nodded. "Coming right up."
Kiro drummed his fingers on the table. "I owe you one. Wait…" He did the mental math. "Is it 400 credits now? Plus that 50 from"
"Correct," Raiji cut him off, his voice low. Then, under his breath, too quiet for Kiro to hear, he added, "...Other way around." For a second, his gaze flickered to the window where navy searchlights skimmed the rooftops.
FLASHBACK – 16 YEARS AGO | MASTER'S DOJO
Rain lashed the clay tiles as a starving, feverish boy collapsed at the gates.
The Master knelt beside him. "Breathe, child." His hands, calloused from decades of swordwork, gently peeled back the blood-caked rags.
Young Raiji loomed over them. "Who's his father?"
"The storm, maybe," the Master said softly. "Or the war."
Days Later – Recovery
The boy Kiro sat cross-legged, shoveling rice into his mouth as if it would vanish.
Raiji leaned in, his scarred face splitting into a grin. "Name's Raiji. You?"
"Kiro," the boy said, his mouth full. "You look scary. Funny name."
A beat. Then both laughed.
The Master watched them. "No family? Then this is home now. Train hard. Eat. Grow."
Weeks Later – First Spar
Kiro swung a wooden sword, clumsy but relentless. Raiji dodged effortlessly, but his eyes narrowed with interest.
"First time?"
Kiro grinned, sweat-drenched. "Yeah. Fun."
Later, the Master gave them a command that would define their lives:
"Find these four masters:
Lee (fists like thunder),
Tai (mind like ice),
Rose (body like steel),
Kai (wisdom like fire).
Go. Learn. Survive."
PRESENT – FOOD ARRIVES
The food arrived, breaking Kiro from his trance. He slammed his palms on the table, rain dripping from his hair.
"From today," he declared, "no more starving. No more broke days. I'll be the richest bastard alive."
Raiji smirked, swirling his gas-drink until the liquid hissed. "And I'll beat every swordsman worth a damn..." He looked out at the navy searchlights cutting through the downpour. "...AND create my own dojo. The best dojo in world"