Mizue vs Kaien
The two fighters circled each other carefully, tension heavy in the air. From her earlier study of his fights, Mizue already knew Kaien's clan taijutsu: blindingly fast, but often predictable in sequence.
Kaien struck first, lunging in with his signature three-hit combo — ankle, body, jaw. Mizue's eyes tracked every movement; she blocked the first strike, caught the rhythm of the second, and slid out of the way before the third could connect. She countered with a quick feint-kick, forcing Kaien to dodge, then whipped a backhand toward his face. Kaien slipped past it effortlessly.
The speed made Mizue's stomach tighten. He's even faster than I thought. This would be a fight of precision, not brute strength — a match of chess played at the speed of lightning.
The crowd began murmuring, recognizing the battle for what it was. This wasn't going to be a wild brawl; it was a duel of wits.
⸻
Mizue shifted gears, charging in and opening with a jab toward Kaien's face. He slipped aside and immediately unleashed a storm of strikes — elbows, knees, and sweeping kicks — a blur of motion that had the audience gasping. Mizue gave ground, dodging and deflecting, refusing to be caught in his rhythm.
Then it happened: Kaien snapped a high kick toward her head. Mizue redirected it with a sharp forearm, knocking him off balance. His footing staggered for a split second — just enough. She smashed a kick into his supporting ankle, dropping him.
But Kaien wasn't clan heir for nothing. He rolled instantly, springing back to his feet with a grim look. Now he understood: Mizue was targeting his legs, trying to cut his speed down. He resolved not to let her.
They clashed again. Mizue let minor strikes graze her arms and shoulders, but never allowed a clean, decisive blow. Kaien, straining for an opening, suddenly locked her guard with his hands and smashed his forehead into hers. The crack echoed through the arena. Mizue reeled, blood at her lip.
He pressed — another three-hit combo. His fist drove into her liver, making her flinch, but Mizue twisted, slipped the second strike, and parried the third. Her finger darted out and jabbed him clean in the eye. Kaien cursed, stumbling back as the crowd roared.
From then on, the rhythm tilted. Each time Kaien surged forward, Mizue disrupted his flow — feints, redirects, and counters. Every exchange ended with Kaien forced to retreat, while Mizue's confidence grew.
⸻
Snarling, Kaien unleashed his fastest assault yet: the ankle-liver-jawline combo at blinding speed.
But Mizue was ready. She dropped her weight to blunt the ankle strike, twisted her hip to deflect the body blow, and slammed her palm into his chest mid-step. Kaien staggered back, gasping, vision rattled.
He expected the next feint — Mizue always opened with a feint. So when she rushed him, hands raised, Kaien braced himself to ignore the fake.
Only this time, it wasn't a feint. Mizue's fist smashed straight into his face.
His head whipped back. The crowd erupted. Mizue didn't stop — she poured on her own relentless flurry: an eye-poke, a sharp kick to his leg, a snapping uppercut, then a brutal roundhouse to his bad ankle. Her final strike — a vicious heel kick to the back of his head — sent Kaien sprawling into the dirt.
The crowd exploded in cheers, chanting Mizue's name.
⸻
Beaten and bloodied, Kaien rose again, pride burning hotter than the pain. He grit his teeth. If feints are her weapon… then I'll turn them on her.
He rushed one last time, sending a sweeping fake at her ankles. But Mizue had already unraveled his style. She leapt, spinning in midair, and her heel cracked into his chin with a thunderous impact.
Kaien collapsed. His body twitched, vision flashing white. Somehow, he staggered to his knees — only to see Mizue's blur closing in.
This time she mirrored his own art — his clan's treasured three-hit combo. Her heel smashed his ankle, her fist slammed his liver, and her final uppercut rocked his chin.
Kaien crashed to the floor unconscious.
⸻
The referee raised Mizue's hand as the arena shook with applause. She had just defeated a clan heir — not through power, but by dismantling his discipline and beating him at his own style.
Kaien, bruised and dazed, opened his eyes later with a bitter smile. So this is what it feels like… when someone reads you completely.
Kaien sat alone in the empty corridor beneath the arena stands, his knuckles split and still trembling. The cheers for Mizue still echoed above, stabbing at his ears like knives.
Twice… I've lost twice.
First to Daichi, the brute who fought with nothing but fists and stubborn grit. Then to Mizue, a civilian girl who read his clan's perfected taijutsu like a cheap scroll. His jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack.
Two civilians. Two nobodies. And both made me bleed. Both humiliated me in front of the village.
He slammed his fist against the wall. Dust shook loose, but the ache in his knuckles barely matched the ache in his pride.
His clan's style — the art his ancestors built and polished for generations — was supposed to be invincible among students. Precise. Deadly. Superior. And yet Mizue had torn it apart, adapting and throwing it back in his face.
Rage boiled hotter. If I can't even defeat civilians, how can I represent my clan? How can I call myself their heir?
Kaien's breath grew heavier. His mind replayed every exchange, every time Mizue or Daichi stood tall while he faltered. His hands shook not from exhaustion now, but from a need — a need to erase those images and replace them with victory.
He muttered to himself, low and venomous:
"They made me bleed. They made me look weak. They disgraced my name. I'll tear them both down… Mizue, Daichi — I'll break you both, no matter what it takes."
The thought gave him a twisted calm. A resolve.
If skill alone isn't enough… then I'll sharpen it with everything I have. If discipline isn't enough… then I'll abandon restraint. If honor isn't enough… then I'll do whatever I must.
Kaien's eyes hardened like tempered steel. The humiliation still burned, but it was no longer shame alone — it was fuel.
One day, Mizue and Daichi would look into his eyes again. And on that day, they wouldn't see the defeated heir of a clan. They would see the storm he had become — a storm willing to swallow everything in its path.
The next match was called, and Daichi stepped onto the arena floor with his usual swagger. Across from him stood a lean student from the general class — not a clan heir, not a standout, just another face in the crowd. The crowd's murmurs were already clear: this would be quick.
The ref gave the signal.
⸻
Jin charged in nervously, leading with a wide punch aimed at Daichi's chin. Daichi didn't even flinch. He swatted the strike aside with one arm and slammed a fist into the boy's chest, sending him stumbling back and gasping for breath.
Daichi rolled his shoulders, smirking.
"C'mon, don't tell me that's all you've got."
The student grit his teeth and came again, throwing kicks this time — fast but sloppy. Daichi absorbed one to the ribs without budging, then caught the next kick under his arm. He twisted sharply, dumping his opponent on the ground.
⸻
Humiliated, Jin scrambled up and tried a desperate flurry of punches. Daichi stood his ground, blocking high and low, eating the weaker hits. Then, with a sudden step forward, he ended the exchange with a brutal hook to the liver.
Jin doubled over, eyes wide. Daichi grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the arena like a sack of rice. The crowd erupted at the display of raw strength.
"Pathetic," Daichi muttered, brushing the dust from his fists.
⸻
The boy tried one last rush, screaming as he charged. Daichi let him come — then ducked under a wild swing and drove his shoulder into the boy's gut, tackling him to the ground. He climbed on top, raining heavy punches down. Each strike echoed like a drumbeat, forcing the student's guard to crumble.
The ref finally stepped in, waving the match off before Daichi broke something permanent.
⸻
Daichi stood, breathing hard but smiling. Jin lay groaning on the dirt. The crowd chanted Daichi's name, impressed not by finesse, but by the sheer dominance of his power.
Daichi raised his fist toward the stands.
"Who's next?!"