The arcade was a temple of synthetic noise and garish light, a world away from the desolate ruins Hakai usually haunted. He'd entered on a whim, the relentless monotony of his days driving him to seek any stimulus, no matter how trivial. The cacophony of beeps, synthesized music, and the frantic tapping of buttons was a strange, vibrant chaos. He moved through the aisles, a shadow amidst the glow of screens, his sharp eyes scanning the games with detached curiosity. It all seemed so… pointless.
And then, he felt it.
A presence. An energy signature so dense, so profoundly immense, that it made the air around one particular machine seem to warp. It was a low, thrumming frequency of absolute power, a calm, deep ocean of latent potential that dwarfed anything he'd ever sensed, even from the Deep Sea King. His head snapped toward the source.
There, bathed in the flickering light of a fighting game's attract screen, was a large man with a stern, intimidating face and a iconic scar. King. The man known as the "Strongest Man on Earth." The stories of his impossible feats echoed in Hakai's mind. This was no mere hero. This was a fortress of power, so confident that he didn't even need to radiate his energy. It simply was.
A genuine, eager smile touched Hakai's lips. Finally. A true challenge, hidden in this den of illusions.
He approached. The legendary "King Engine," a low, rhythmic thrum that Hakai interpreted as the sound of a colossal heart pumping unimaginable power, was audible even over the arcade's din. Hakai stopped beside the machine.
King, mid-combo, froze. The thrumming intensified, becoming a palpable thump-thump-THUMP in the air. Internally, King was screaming. Not another one! A challenger! He looks dangerous! His eyes are so scary!
"King," Hakai said, his voice not challenging, but respectful. "I have heard the tales. Your strength is legendary."
King slowly, very slowly, turned his head. His face was a masterwork of stoic terror. He said nothing. He couldn't. His throat had sealed shut.
Hakai misinterpreted the silence as the ultimate confidence. "I would test myself against that strength. Not with fists," he clarified, gesturing to the game. "But here. In this arena of skill and reflex."
Internally, King wept with relief. A video game. He could do a video game. Maybe. This guy looked really, really intense. The thumping grew louder.
A single, slow nod was King's only response.
Hakai took the adjacent seat, inserting a coin. He selected his character with swift, decisive taps, mirroring his fighting style—direct and aggressive. King, with trembling fingers hidden by the cabinet, selected his main.
The match began.
Hakai was a quick study. His reflexes were superhuman, his understanding of mechanics instantaneous. He saw patterns, openings, and combos a normal person would miss. He was, by any objective measure, a prodigy.
He was utterly outclassed.
King's movements were not fast; they were preternatural. He didn't react; he knew. Every one of Hakai's attacks was predicted and punished with frame-perfect counters. Every aggressive advance was met with an impenetrable, patient defense that suddenly exploded into an inescapable combo string. Hakai's character was juggled, corner-locked, and perfected with an effortless, devastating grace.
K.O.!
Hakai stared at the screen, his red pupils wide. He hadn't just lost. He had been dissected. It was a humbling of a different kind.
"Again," he said, his voice tight with focus.
The result was the same. And again. And again. Hakai adapted, changed characters, tried new strategies. He was learning at an exponential rate, pushing his own understanding of the game's limits. But King's play was like a natural law. Unchanging. Absolute. The "King Engine" never wavered, a steady, intimidating bassline to Hakai's defeat.
Through it all, King remained silent, his expression unreadably stern. Inside, he was a torrent of panic. He's getting better! Oh god, he's adapting! What if he gets angry and decides a real fight would be better?!
But Hakai didn't get angry. A slow, genuine grin spread across his face. This was a new kind of fight. A battle of pure intellect and instinct, and he was being schooled by a master. The unshakable calm his opponent displayed, this utter dominance without a hint of exertion, was the most fascinating thing he had encountered in this world.
After the seventh consecutive loss, Hakai leaned back, a look of profound respect on his sharp features. "Incredible," he breathed. "Your strength is not just physical. It's here," he tapped his own temple. "Your calm in the face of any challenge… it is the mark of a true sovereign."
King gave another slow, stiff nod, his internal monologue a scream of Please leave please leave please leave!
Hakai stood. "This was enlightening. I have much to learn." He met King's eyes, his own burning with a new, determined fire. "I will master this. And one day, I will beat you."
He turned and walked away, melting back into the arcade's chaos, his mind racing. He had found a new peak to conquer, a new depth of power to understand.
King waited until he was absolutely sure the terrifying man was gone before he slumped forward, forehead hitting the cool plastic of the arcade cabinet with a soft thunk. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his entire body trembling. He had survived. But for how long? The memory of those intense red eyes, now fixed on him with a gaming rivalry, filled him with a unique, bizarre dread. He had never been more relieved to see a "challenge" end, yet he had a sinking feeling this was only the beginning.