The Graver lunged, but he didn't draw his blade. He kept it sheathed at his hip, hand resting casual on the pommel. He was confident in his own skill. Too confident. "Don't need a blade for you, street rat." His grin was all teeth.
Raizen's hands curled into fists, heart pounding. The Graver's first punch came fast - a testing jab. Raizen tried to slip it like he'd practiced with the rods, but his timing was off. The fist clipped his temple and his vision sparked white for a split second. He stumbled back.
The Graver didn't press. He reset his stance, grinning. "Aww, are we nervous?"
Raizen's jaw clenched. He was. A real fight felt nothing like the training rods. Faster, way more unpredictable, the consequences written in the Graver's casual confidence. The next combination came - jab-cross. Raizen threw up his guard, arms too wide, and the cross slipped through to catch his ribs. Air wheezed out.
But something clicked.
The pattern. He'd seen this before - not the exact moves, but the rhythm. The way the Graver's shoulder dipped before the cross, the way his weight shifted. Just like the rods, just faster.
The Graver threw another jab. This time Raizen slipped it clean - minimal movement, just like Kori taught. He countered with a hook to the body. Connected. The Graver grunted, genuinely surprised.
"Huh." The Graver's grin faltered slightly. "Not completely hopeless."
They circled. Raizen's nerves were fading, replaced by focus. The training was there, buried under the fear, waiting for him to trust it.
The Graver came in with a combination - jab, jab, cross, hook. Raizen read the first two, slipped them both. Blocked the cross - better form this time, elbows tight. The hook came wide and he ducked under it, stepped inside the Graver's guard.
Close range. Kori's voice in his head: When you're finally inside his guard, make it count.
Raizen drove an elbow into the Graver's ribs - not perfect technique, but committed. The Graver's breath hitched. Raizen followed with a short uppercut that caught the Graver's chin and snapped his head back. The youngster stumbled - actually stumbled, and reset his stance harder.
From the sideline, one of the wounded Gravers sat up straighter. "Kid's got hands, but I've never seen him before…"
Obi's tension shifted from dread to hope. Hikari's eyes tracked every movement, sharp and assessing. Her fingers twitched every time Raizen could counterattack, but she didn't move.
The Graver came in again, faster this time, more serious. But Raizen was finding his rhythm now. Block, slip, counter. His footwork wasn't perfect - he still telegraphed some moves, still thought a half-second too long - but it was working. The weeks in the Rust Room weren't wasted. His body was starting to apply what his mind had learned.
They traded blows - Raizen took one to the shoulder, gave back a clean shot to the Graver's jaw. Took another to the ribs, answered with a leg kick that made the Graver's stance waver.
"Not bad," the Graver admitted, breathing slightly harder now. "Not bad at all."
But there was something in his tone. Like he'd made a decision he really didn't want to make.
The fight was close now, genuinely close. Raizen could feel it - could see the Graver's rhythm, predict his movements. He was still getting hit, still making mistakes, but at least he was landing back just as much. The crowd had gone quiet, but they stopped watching. There were better things to do that watching just another fight on the street. Those were daily things in the Underworks. And sadly, so were wounded Gravers that needed urgent care.
The Graver threw a combination and Raizen slipped most of it, caught one punch on his forearm and returned a clean counter that broke the Graver's guard. His leg connected with the sternum and the Graver's eyes widened - actual surprise.
For a moment, just a moment, Raizen thought: I can win this.
Then the Graver's hand dropped to his weapon.
Didn't draw it. Just gripped the sheathed blade. The dull green glow intensified, pulsed brighter, like something woke up inside it.
"Good fight, kid. More than I thought of a street rat" the Graver said, almost respectful. "But that's enough."
The glow spread - faint, barely visible - creeping up the Graver's arm like a veil of light over his skin.
The next punch came with the same form, same speed Raizen had been reading. He saw it coming, started his slip - but the impact was wrong. Even grazing his shoulder, the force felt heavier, denser, like the punch carried weight that shouldn't have been possible. It spun him harder than it should have.
Raizen tripped and fell on one knee. The graver gave him time to get up and adjust. Then he pressed forward and threw another combination. Raizen redirected the first - the impact rattled his forearms harder than before. Fully blocked the second - pain shot up to his elbows. The third one broke through his guard entirely and caught his ribs. Not harder technique. Just more force behind the same moves.
He tried to counter but the Graver was faster now - not in form, but in raw speed. Like everything had been dialed up ten percent. Each punch carried that extra weight, that unnatural force.
Raizen's blocks started failing. His counters fell short. The gap that hadn't been there a moment ago was opening with every exchange.
The Graver's fist came forward – aimed at the same spot where Raizen had been blocking all fight. Raizen saw it coming and threw up both arms to block. Perfect guard this time - elbows tight, forearms aligned. The fist met his guard and force exploded through it. Not a punch, but a blast, like the impact carried weight that just passed through his block. His elbows bent inward, bones rattled, and the force drove through his guard and into his body, blasting him a few meters back.
His back hit the wall hard. He slid down, couldn't breathe, chest unnaturally heavy, vision blurred. He tried to stand but his legs wouldn't answer.
The Graver released his weapon and the green glow faded. He rolled his shoulder, breathing only slightly harder. "You're good, kid. Pretty good. Few more months of training and you might've actually won." He tapped the weapon at his hip, and said one more thing before turning and leaving:
"But that's why these exist. Makes all the difference."
The Underworks was already resuming its motion. The community helpers returned to bandaging wounds and setting bones straight, not ignoring Raizen but accepting this as normal. Fights happened. Life continued.
Obi moved first, crossing the distance in quick steps. He didn't lecture, didn't say "I told you so," just offered his hand. Raizen took it and let himself be pulled up. Everything hurt - ribs, chest, arms, pride. Especially pride.
Hikari appeared at his other side, her fingers checking his ribs with careful movements. Bruised, not broken. "Can you walk?" she asked quietly.
Raizen nodded, barely.
"Hey. Kid." The wounded Graver - the one with the leg wound - called out. Raizen looked over. "You've got guts. And your form wasn't that terrible." He coughed and winced. "That one who just beat you? Rich family. Good connections. Better gear." He gestured weakly at his own chipped weapon. "Get yourself a real weapon, then you… You could join us."
The words landed different than he probably meant them. But Raizen nodded and turned away, leaning on Obi.
✦ ✦ ✦
The walk back was silent. Raizen's body ached with every step, Obi on one side and Hikari on the other. The Underworks hummed around them - steam pipes hissing, distant voices echoing, the constant mechanical heartbeat of the city beneath the city. They passed a few people carrying those same weapons with pale-colored gems inside, cheap ones and chipped ones, but still weapons. Still something Raizen didn't have.
The gap wasn't just between him and that Graver. It was everywhere. Every corner of the Underworks reminded him that technique meant nothing without the tools to make it count.
Obi finally spoke when they neared Takeshi's building. "You almost-"
"No," Raizen cut him off. "I didn't."
"But if you'd just-"
"I lost before he even used the weapon. Everything after that was just... making it obvious."
✦ ✦ ✦
The door opened onto silence. Takeshi's place, but it felt wrong - too still. The workbench was clean, tools organized in neat rows instead of scattered mid-project. His mechanical arm sat assembled on it, not half-torn apart like usual. The map on the wall had new pins and new red strings connecting dots Raizen didn't understand.
But Takeshi was gone.
On the table sat two bowls of stew - if you could call it that - still warm. He'd left recently. No note, no explanation, just bowls waiting like he knew they'd be late, like he knew they'd be hungry.
Raizen stared at the empty chair. Something was off, but his body hurt too much to think about it. Hikari took her bowl without comment and sat on the floor, eating quietly. Her eyes tracked to the map occasionally, but she didn't speak.
Obi lingered in the doorway. "I should head back." He looked at Raizen. "You good?"
Raizen nodded. Obi didn't look convinced, but he left anyway. The door closed.
Hikari finished eating first, set her bowl down carefully, and moved to the thin mattress in the corner. She curled up small and her breathing evened out within minutes. Asleep.
Raizen sat at the table, staring at his bowl. The stew had gone cold. He didn't touch it. His mind kept replaying the fight - every mistake, every moment he'd been too slow, every punch that found its mark because he'd thought instead of moved. The Graver's glowing weapon. The impact that went through his guard like it wasn't even there. The gap.
He stood quietly so he wouldn't wake Hikari and moved to the center of the small room. Got down on the floor. His arms protested immediately - bruised, aching, telling him to stop. He didn't stop.
First pushup. His ribs screamed and his arms shook. Second pushup, worse. Third. He counted in his head, no words, no vows, no dramatic promises to himself. Just the work, the pain, the silence, and the determination burning in his chest - hotter than any bruise, sharper than any ache.
Four. Five. Six.
The lamp burned low in the corner and shadows stretched long across the walls. Hikari slept. Raizen kept going.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
His form started breaking down - elbows flaring, back sagging. But he forced them back into line.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Tomorrow, he'd be faster. Tomorrow, he'd be better. Tomorrow, he'd learn what he needed to learn, back in the Rust Room. But tonight, he'd just work. Because somewhere in the Underworks, people had weapons that made them stronger. And he didn't. Yet.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen…