Memories were no longer pictures… but a slow bleeding inside Kravos's head. Between each note, the old gate in his mind creaked open, and from it, that child stepped out. He walked to the market in his tattered clothes and stood in the corner. He placed his hat in front of him and began to sing with a broken voice.
The sunset poured its shadows over the faces of the passersby, but no one stopped. Worse… the street kids started laughing. They threw rotten fruit and pieces of spoiled tomatoes at him. He stopped singing for a moment, looked up at them with teary eyes, then smiled. He tried to continue the melody, to convince himself that his voice still had meaning.
Then he saw a man at the end of the road. His father. Standing there with a face that showed nothing… no pride, no anger, no sorrow. Just emptiness.
He approached with heavy steps. Each one tore a note from the child's throat. When he reached him, he said nothing. He grabbed the boy by the collar and dragged him across the ground under the gaze of onlookers.
The child was crying, trying to explain, whispering in a trembling voice:
"I was just… singing, Father… just singing…"
But the father didn't listen. His fists were faster than his words, his kicks more frequent than his breaths. And in a moment never forgotten, they reached the kitchen. The father threw the boy to the floor, opened a drawer, and pulled out a sharp metal fork. He looked at him with eyes full of disgust and said in a quiet voice:
"I'll silence that voice… forever."
He lunged forward. The child screamed… not for help, but for releasing his final melody. The fork pierced his neck. The pain was fire devouring his voice. Yet strangely… though he bled, he didn't die.
And in that moment, Kravos heard the echo of his childhood whispering inside his head, now, amid the arena:
🎵 "He tried to silence my voice… but turned it into a curse that never sleeps." 🎵
The boy's scream was the last sound that house ever heard. No more light, only the echo of his father's angry footsteps leaving the room and the door left wide open. Young Kravos lay on the wooden floor, his body trembling, his small hands touching the wound on his throat.
The fork was still lodged there… metallic, cold, and the blood was pooling slowly around it. He tried to breathe, to scream, but no sound came out. Only a faint whistling, like the wind mocking him inside his throat.
Minutes later, the father grabbed the boy by the leg and dragged him outside, tossing him into the street like something worthless.
He fell on the gravel, blood mixing with dust. The sky above him was gray, people walking past as if they saw nothing.
He wanted to cry, but tears no longer came. He lifted his head with difficulty, gazed at the world that had hated him since birth, and tried to say something… anything. But all that came out was a hoarse, broken note, trembling between his breaths, followed by a shattered sigh.
And thus… his new voice began. A voice not sung… but bled. The scene closed on the small body of Kravos lying in the street, the fork still embedded in his neck.
Kravos raised a hand to his throat slowly. His fingers brushed over three small scars lined vertically. Those old wounds pulsed faintly, as if he's remembering the pain more vividly than he did.
Across from him, Ann watched carefully, moving on her toes, her eyes tracing every detail, from his distant gaze to his unreadable silence. But there was no time to ask questions. The battle wasn't over. She stepped forward, clenched her fists, and the air around her grew heavier, as if being pulled inward.
She moved in a flash, her body splitting into two shadows at once. Dust erupted beneath her feet, and the reflected light gleamed off the shuriken she hurled mid-lunge, while her second form attacked from the opposite side.
Her next strike seemed impossible to follow, as if she existed in several places at once. But Kravos, amid his broken song and ragged breath, lifted his eyes toward her. The smile returning to his face wasn't one of mockery this time, but the smile of someone who had seen death before and no longer feared it.
Kravos spoke with a fractured voice, each word escaping on fading breath:
"Thank you… for hearing… my voice at last."
He didn't flinch. He didn't raise his arm to defend himself. He only smiled calmly, peacefully… as if he had finally found rest in the moment of greatest pain.
Ann's fist struck his face with force. The air trembled. The blow echoed through the arena. Kravos collapsed. His frail body finally relaxed. Blood mingled with his tears on the cold floor, and that faint smile remained frozen on his lips.
Silence filled the arena for long seconds. Ann raised her fist slowly, wind moving through her sweat-soaked hair. She looked at him for a moment before turning away quietly.
Then the president's voice rang out across the arena:
"The winner… Sarutobi Ann!"
Cheers erupted from every direction. The arena shook with applause and shouts, admiration, shock, excitement all at once. Ann looked around, breath uneven, still not fully realizing what had happened, the heat of victory running like fire through her veins.
At that moment, Ken was returning to the front rows, moving calmly, holding a new pack of cigarettes. People eyed him curiously as he passed, but he ignored them, opened the pack, took one out, and placed it between his lips without lighting it yet.
He stopped in front of the arena, eyes lifted toward Ann as she waved lightly to the crowd, and exhaled a silent breath that carried no smoke.
When Ann stepped out of the ring, she found herself standing beside Ken and Akio in the front row, almost instinctively. Akio was clapping excitedly, waving his hand like a child, while Ken stood in his usual silence, his eyes watching the arena, neither impressed nor bored.
Ann glanced at him briefly and smiled faintly:
"I wasn't bad, right?"
Ken didn't answer immediately. He lit his cigarette quietly, looked up at the gray sky above the arena, and said flatly:
"Crowd cheers mean nothing. They'll forget the winner in five minutes."
Ann's smile faded. Ken exhaled smoke slowly, his eyes never leaving the clouds. She stared at him, noticing for the first time how sharp his features were and refined, almost sculpted to perfection, with a calm that made him untouchable.
He looked like the princes written about in stories, but he was colder, deadlier. After a long pause, he lowered his head until his gray eyes met hers directly. Her breath caught for a moment.
He asked in a flat quiet tone:
"Is there something?"
Ann instantly turned away, her face flushing red.
"N-no! Nothing!"
Inside, she muttered to herself, struggling to calm her pulse:
'He's so handsome… damn it!'
The clash of the next match filled the air. Steel collided, echoing like a restless rhythm. Akio turned to Ken with a wide grin, as if he'd known him for ages.
He stood confidently beside him, talking without stoping:
"Did you see that strike, Ken? Incredible, right?! I think I'd do the same if I were in his place… or maybe even better! Hah, what do you think?"
Ken didn't answer at first. He sighed softly, his eyes still fixed on the ring. After a moment, he spoke in a low indifferent tone:
"You talk too much."
Akio only smiled wider.
"I fill the silence. You're too quiet. Anyway, we're a team now… at least for this moment."
Ken raised an eyebrow, still not looking at him.
"A team? Who decided that?"
Akio laughed lightly.
"Me. No one else had the guts to say it."
Beside them, Ann watched quietly. She didn't interfere, but she couldn't ignore the strange contrast between the two. The talking volcano (Akio) who never stopped, and the frozen mountain (Ken) who spoke only when he's forced to.
She observed them both for a while, thinking to herself:
'What a sight… one lives life out loud, the other seems afraid to be heard. And yet… somehow, they already fit perfectly as friends.'