Yuki walked slowly, the city lights beginning to flicker on around him as evening approached. His mind churned, searching for a way to convince Conrad Leonhart to call off the wedding.
But every path led back to the same problem.
He didn't want to talk to that pervert.
If he sat across from Conrad again, he wouldn't be able to hold himself back. He'd break the man's teeth before a single word left his mouth.
Then a thought struck him.
"Kira," he said quietly. "What businesses does Conrad Leonhart actually own?"
The AI's voice hummed in his ear, crisp and efficient. "None."
Yuki blinked. "None?"
"The Leonhart clothing brand isn't his. He owns a few shares here and there—minor holdings, essentially decorative. But the majority of the family's wealth and assets belong to his father, Arthur Leonhart."
A slow smile spread across Yuki's face.
Of course.
Conrad was a parasite living off his father's fortune. Which meant the wedding—the alliance, the contracts, everything—had almost certainly been orchestrated by the old man.
Yuki laughed softly.
The sound caught the attention of passersby. His smile alone—bright, sharp, unguarded—drew glances from people on the street. Several stopped walking entirely, staring at the tall, silver-pierced boy who looked like he'd stepped off a billboard.
Yuki didn't notice. He was already moving.
"Kira. Where can I find Arthur Leonhart?"
"His primary residence is the Leonhart Penthouse, approximately thirty stories in the central business district. He spends most evenings there."
Yuki raised an arm and hailed a taxi.
"Take me there."
---
The Leonhart Tower rose against the darkening sky like a monument to wealth—all glass and steel, each floor lit in neat geometric rows.
Yuki walked through the revolving doors into a marble lobby that probably cost more than most people's homes. A grand chandelier hung overhead. The reception desk was curved white stone, and behind it sat an attendant with immaculate makeup and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
He approached the counter.
"I need to see Arthur Leonhart."
The attendant tilted her head, skeptical. "And what would a kid like you want with Mr. Leonhart?"
Yuki smiled—polished, pleasant, and utterly unreadable.
"Tell him a Kinatarou is here. I'm a friend of his future daughter-in-law."
The attendant's eyes widened. She picked up a telephone without another word.
A brief conversation. A few nods.
She hung up and pointed toward the elevators.
"Mr. Leonhart will see you. Thirtieth floor."
Yuki stepped into the elevator, and as the doors slid shut, he let out a quiet breath.
His last name was terrifyingly powerful.
Just saying Kinatarou had gotten him past gates, guards, and now a corporate lobby. No one questioned him. No one doubted. Because no one was stupid enough to lie about being a Kinatarou.
Useful, he thought. And disgusting.
The elevator chimed.
The doors opened onto a massive living space that stole his breath.
Floor-to-ceiling windows curved along the far wall, offering a panoramic view of the city—thousands of lights flickering to life as dusk settled. To the left, a sunken living area with couches so white they looked untouched. To the right, a fully stocked bar with crystal decanters and glasses that caught the fading light.
And at the bar, sitting on a tall stool, was an old man.
He wore a silk velvet robe in deep burgundy, his grey hair slicked back with precision. A glass of amber liquid rested in his hand. He looked up as Yuki approached, and his eyes—sharp, calculating, the same golden-brown as Conrad's—swept over the boy with clinical assessment.
Arthur Leonhart waved him over.
Yuki crossed the room and sat on the stool beside him. Up close, the man looked older than the tournament footage had suggested. Early sixties, maybe. Fine lines around his eyes. Hands that had signed a thousand contracts.
"I recognize you," Arthur said, turning slightly on his stool. "You're the Kinatarou from the tournament. The one they're calling the Phantom." He took a slow sip of his drink. "You've gotten rather famous."
Yuki scratched the back of his head, grinning. "Really? I feel like I deserve a little more attention."
Arthur chuckled—a dry, rumbling sound. "Confidence. I like it." He set down his glass. "Now. Why would a Kinatarou grace an old businessman with his presence?"
"It's about your son. Conrad."
Arthur's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. "Has he offended you?"
"No." Yuki's voice was calm. Level. "It's about the wedding. With the Uzushi family."
He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
"Conrad is a pervert. He treats his wives like objects—worse than objects. Like numbers on a spreadsheet." He met Arthur's eyes. "The Uzushi family wants to back out of the marriage. They're hoping you'll agree to call it off. They don't need this alliance anymore."
Arthur reached for the decanter and poured himself another drink.
"No."
Yuki's jaw tightened.
"The Uzushi family still has influence," Arthur continued, swirling the amber liquid. "Even if they're broke, their connections are valuable. Their name carries weight. With their help, I can expand my businesses further—new markets, new contracts." He took a sip. "I'm not throwing that away."
Yuki's fingers curled against the bar.
"What about the Kinatarou family?"
Arthur paused.
"I'm sure the Kinatarou family has more influence. More resources. Better connections." Yuki's voice was steady, measured. "So let me rephrase. Call off the wedding. Form an alliance with the Kinatarou family instead."
Arthur set down his glass and turned fully to face the boy. His eyes narrowed.
"You don't have the authority to promise that. The authority belongs to Satoshi Kinatarou."
Yuki pulled out his phone.
"Yeah, that's true. But all I need to do is call him, and he'll approve." He held Arthur's gaze. "No offense, but my brother couldn't care less about forming a petty alliance with the likes of the Leonhart family."
Arthur's jaw tightened at the insult.
But he didn't argue.
Because it was true.
The Kinatarou family operated on a level the Leonharts could only dream of. Satoshi—the youngest head of a Royal family in history, Captain of the Number One Club—probably would shrug at an alliance offer from Arthur Leonhart.
Arthur was a businessman. He calculated risks and rewards.
And the reward of a Kinatarou alliance was immeasurable.
He sighed, then extended his hand.
"Fine. Call off the wedding. I'll have the paperwork drawn up for the alliance."
Yuki smiled and shook his hand.
Arthur's grip was firm—respectful, even. "You know," he said, leaning back, "you should consider becoming a businessman. Forget the Zenith Vanguard. You've got instincts."
Yuki just smiled.
Then he remembered something.
"I have one more favor."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"I want Conrad to divorce all his wives."
The old man's composure cracked. Surprise flickered across his features.
"Divorce them? Why?"
Yuki leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping.
"Conrad is a pervert who treats his wives like objects. They don't love him—they married him because they had no choice. Because your family had leverage over theirs, or their families needed money, or they were sold off like Sophia almost was."
He let that hang in the air.
"Make Conrad divorce them. Give each of them a severance—millions. Enough to start over. To be free."
Arthur's jaw dropped.
"That's... unreasonable."
Yuki shrugged.
Arthur stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Unreasonable. But... interesting." He tapped his fingers against the bar. "Fine. I'll make it happen. But you have to do something for me in return."
Yuki tensed. "What?"
"I enjoyed your performance at the tournament. I like being entertained." Arthur gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "My friends are coming over tonight. We organize fights on the top floor. Kizo users. Bets. Entertainment."
He leaned closer.
"You want my son to lose all his wives. You want me to pay them millions. Fine. But you'll fight for it."
Yuki's expression didn't change.
"I'll pick an opponent. You fight him. No Kizo allowed—just hands, feet, and will. If you win, I honor the deal. Divorces, payments, everything."
He paused.
"If you lose... you fight for me. Outside the country. Professional circuit. Until you're twenty-five."
Yuki's heart hammered against his ribs.
His freedom. His future.
All of it on the line.
He thought about Sophia's tears. About the way she'd closed her eyes when Conrad touched her. About the hollow emptiness behind her golden eyes.
He nodded.
"Deal."
Arthur smiled. "One more thing. I meant what I said—no Kizo. Fists only."
Yuki almost laughed.
He couldn't use his Kizo even if he wanted to. The tournament had drained him. His channels were still recovering.
"No problem."
Arthur stood and led Yuki to the elevator.
They rode to the roof in silence.
---
The top floor wasn't enclosed.
It was an open rooftop, surrounded by a low glass barrier that offered a dizzying view of the city below. The sky was a bruised masterpiece of orange and purple, the sun bleeding gold across the horizon.
At the center of the roof stood an octagonal cage—heavy steel mesh, reinforced flooring, floodlights positioned at each corner.
Surrounding the cage were perhaps ten chairs. Leather. Expensive. The kind of seating reserved for people who bet millions without blinking.
Arthur settled into one of them and pointed toward a cabinet at the far end of the roof.
"Clothes in there. Get changed."
Yuki did as instructed.
When he emerged, he wore a black sleeveless shirt that hugged his frame and black shorts with a subtle wolf design stitched along the hem. His hands and feet were wrapped in kickboxing wraps—tight, secure, ready.
He stepped into the cage and waited.
---
Within twenty minutes, the chairs began to fill.
These were Royals—Yuki could tell from the way they moved, the way they held themselves. Heads of families, most likely. Men in tailored suits. Women in evening gowns that cost more than cars.
One woman stood out.
She was beautiful in the way aging royalty often was—ageless, sharp, dangerous. Black hair swept into an elegant twist. Dark eyes that seemed to devour everything they touched. A gown the color of spilled wine.
She couldn't have been younger than forty, but she looked decades younger.
And her eyes locked onto Yuki the moment she sat down.
Held onto him.
He felt it like a hand on his throat.
Arthur stood, spreading his arms wide.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome." He gestured toward the cage. "Tonight, my fighter—the Wolf."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Arthur pointed at the dark-haired woman. "Miss Anna. Please bring out your fighter. We'll begin placing bets shortly."
Anna smiled—slow, predatory—and raised a single finger toward the elevator.
The doors opened.
And a mountain stepped out.
He was at least seven feet tall, with a shaved head and shoulders so broad they barely fit through the elevator frame. His arms were thick as tree trunks, crisscrossed with old scars. He wore only shorts, and his chest was a canvas of muscle and violence.
He smiled as he entered the cage.
Yuki's face darkened.
He turned to Arthur.
"What the fuck?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"
"You said a fight. Not—" Yuki gestured at the giant, who was now cracking his neck with sounds like rocks grinding together. "This is a giant."
"And you're a Kinatarou. Get in the cage."
"I want to back out."
Arthur smiled. "You're funny."
The crowd laughed.
The giant—Tiger, as he would later introduce himself—looked down at Yuki and grinned. "You're a tiny kid. I'll kill you fast."
Arthur raised his hand.
"BEGIN!"
---
Yuki raised his fists.
Boxing stance. Tight. Chin tucked. Knees bent.
He'd fought monsters before. This was just another one.
Tiger crossed the cage in three massive strides and threw a haymaker that could have caved in a car door.
Yuki stepped to the side.
The punch whistled past his ear.
Tiger blinked. Then smiled wider. "Fast little wolf." He cracked his knuckles. "They call me Tiger. Because I pounce."
"Did I ask for your name?" Yuki said flatly.
Tiger's smile vanished.
He threw two more punches—fast for a man his size, but telegraphed. Yuki weaved through both, the wind from the strikes ruffling his hair.
From her chair, Miss Anna watched with rapt attention. Her tongue touched her lips.
Interesting, she thought. Very interesting.
Tiger adjusted. He threw another punch, but this time, as Yuki dodged, his leg snapped out—
CRACK.
His shin slammed into Yuki's knee.
Yuki grunted, stumbling sideways. His balance wavered.
Tiger didn't hesitate.
A fist like a cinderblock crashed into Yuki's face.
The impact was devastating. Yuki's head snapped sideways. His body lifted off the ground and slammed into the steel floor—which cracked under the force.
The crowd gasped.
Yuki lay still for two seconds.
Then he pushed himself up.
Blood streamed from a cut beneath his left eye. His vision was blurry, the world swimming at the edges. But he was standing.
Arthur leaned forward, smiling.
He's still standing.
Yuki wiped the blood away with his wrapped hand.
I have to end this fast.
He exhaled.
Then he moved.
No fancy footwork. No weaving. He closed the distance with explosive speed and slipped inside Tiger's guard before the giant could react. His right fist drove toward Tiger's face—
Tiger stepped back, dodging by inches, and countered.
Yuki slipped under the counterpunch and drove a solid uppercut into Tiger's jaw.
CRACK.
The giant's head snapped backward. He stumbled, caught himself, and stared at Yuki with something like confusion.
How does a kid hit that hard?
Yuki started bouncing lightly—side to side, weight shifting, warming up.
Tiger snarled and lunged.
Another haymaker.
This time, Yuki didn't dodge.
He punched the arm mid-swing.
His fist connected with Tiger's forearm—not the fist, not the shoulder—just the moving limb. The impact threw Tiger's punch off course, sending his momentum sideways. His body twisted, exposing his left side.
Yuki stepped into the opening.
A heavy right hook slammed into Tiger's liver.
The sound was sickening—a wet, percussive thud.
Tiger's eyes bulged. His body folded. He flew sideways and crashed into the cage wall, the steel mesh groaning under his weight.
He tried to push himself up.
But his right arm wouldn't obey.
He looked down.
His forearm was bent at an angle that should have been impossible—bones displaced, joints screaming. The arm he'd used to punch.
Broken.
Then the liver pain hit.
It was deep. Nauseating. The kind of pain that made strong men vomit.
Tiger dropped to his knees, blood spilling from his mouth. He clutched his side, wheezing, and looked up at the boy who had just broken him.
What kind of monster is he?
Then everything went dark.
The crowd erupted.
Arthur laughed—loud, genuine, delighted. He turned to Anna, gesturing at the unconscious giant. "Your Tiger is all roar, no bite! My Wolf, on the other hand..."
Anna smiled. "He's impressive." Her dark eyes never left Yuki. "How much would you sell him for?"
Yuki was already climbing out of the cage.
He walked straight to Miss Anna, stopped in front of her chair, and met her gaze.
"I'm not for sale."
Anna tilted her head, amused. She stood slowly, her wine-colored gown rustling, and stepped close—too close. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw. Her thumb brushed across his lower lip.
"Then be mine," she whispered.
Yuki gently pushed her hand away.
"No thanks."
He turned to Arthur. "The deal?"
Arthur waved a hand. "I'll hold up my end. Divorces. Payments. The alliance paperwork."
Yuki smiled—tired but genuine—and gave him a thumbs-up.
"Oh. And I'm keeping the outfit."
Arthur laughed. "Take it."
Yuki walked toward the elevator, but before the doors closed, he heard Anna's voice behind him.
"What's his name, Arthur? The Wolf."
Arthur's reply was muffled, but Yuki caught the tail end: "...ten million yen..."
Anna's annoyed scoff followed him into the elevator.
---
The night air hit Yuki's face as he stepped out of the tower.
He was exhausted. His eye throbbed. His knuckles ached. Blood had dried in a dark streak down his cheek.
But he was smiling.
He hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address.
As the city lights blurred past the window, he thought about Sophia. About the Uzushi parents. About the wives Conrad would finally have to free.
It's done.
He wiped the remaining blood from his face with the back of his hand and walked through the front door.
The smell hit him first.
Warm. Savory. Home.
Yuki's feet carried him to the dining area before his brain could catch up.
Yukari and Luna sat at the table, bowls in hand, chopsticks poised mid-bite. Steam rose from a pot of stew. Rice gleamed in small ceramic bowls.
Yuki spotted it.
An egg. Golden. Perfect. Sitting on Yukari's rice.
Mine.
He lunged.
His chopsticks snatched the egg off her bowl in one fluid motion. Before Yukari could react, he had shoved the entire thing into his mouth.
"MMPH—"
"YUKI!"
Yukari shot to her feet, face flushing with outrage. "THAT WAS MY EGG!"
He chewed, swallowed, and grinned.
"Not anymore."
She chased him around the table, Luna giggling between bites of her own dinner, and for a few minutes—just a few—the world felt almost normal.