Author note: Double chapter - twice so long
Yamo's hearing still hadn't returned, but the ring was already cleaned from his throw up, blood and Pressure Drum's sonic blasts.
Just a constant, thin ringing slicing through Yamo's head.
He stood near the edge of the ring, blood crusted at his ears, watching mouths move without sound.
When the man with nine eyes approached again, Yamo raised two fingers and pointed at his ears.
Nine Eyes nodded once and turned his tablet around.
[Inner ear trauma. Temporary. Don't shake your head.]
Yamo gave a short thumbs-up. The tablet refreshed.
[Second fight payout finalized.]
Numbers scrolled.
– Appearance fee: $100
– Fighter cut (1%): $370
– Personal bet payout: $4,969
[Total: $5,439]
Yamo stared. Not smiling under his mask. Not blinking.
'That's… more than I expected, I wanted to make as much money as I could tonight, but if the Mutants in Tier 4 are already this strong then..'
Yamo looked up at the betting boards, then pointed at the ring, then held up three fingers, questioning.
Nine Eyes' eyes narrowed with interest. He typed again.
[Tier 3? Officially: three wins required.]
Another line appeared almost immediately.
[Unofficially: you're already being discussed.]
The tablet updated again.
[Tier 3 compensation:]
– Appearance fee: $500
– Fighter cut: 2%
– Minimum personal bet: $500
Yamo didn't hesitate.
He tapped the screen twice, then pointed at himself, then at the betting board, then drew a tight circle with his finger.
"....."
Nine Eyes laughed silently and typed.
[All of it?]
Yamo nodded.
Nine Eyes tilted his head, studying him like a dangerous asset.
[Tier 3 fighters don't forgive mistakes.]
Yamo wiped the dried blood from his ear and straightened.
He pointed at the ring.
Nine Eyes' smile widened.
[Very well. Tier 3 match incoming. If you win this match, then you will become a wolf, thats what the Tier 3 are called. If you lose, you will go back to being a Rat]
Yamo nodded and turned back toward the arena, the ringing still there but fading into the background.
'Different animals,' he thought and this time, the house wasn't laughing anymore.
The lights dimmed.
Not completely—MMM never let the room go dark—but enough that the ring became the only thing that mattered. Camera drones drifted into position, lenses humming softly as they locked on.
The broadcaster's voice cut through the arena, crisp and amplified, made for ears far away.
"Ladies and gentlemen, sponsors watching from home, and everyone reckless enough to bet in person—thank you for staying with us."
The camera panned across the crowd. Stacks of chips. Sweaty hands. Eyes wide.
"This is a special moment tonight."
A pause. Just long enough.
"For the first time this evening, we are opening Tier Three this early."
The crowd reacted instantly. Shouts. Whistles. A few groans.
"Oh shit—Tier Three already?"
"Someone's getting carried out!"
"And even more unusual," the broadcaster continued, voice carrying a hint of disbelief, "this will be the first night appearance for a fighter entering Tier Three."
The camera snapped to Yamo.
Blood still faintly visible at the edges of his ears. Calm posture. No wasted movement.
"Known to you as Young Monkey—strong, agile, and stubborn enough to survive two Tier Four matches back-to-back."
Footage flashed briefly on the screens: Deadweight collapsing. Pressure Drum choking for air and coughing blood.
"Two fights. Two wins. Both adaptations mid-match."
The betting boards lit up again.
"Make no mistake—this is not normal."
Odds flickered as money poured in. Some people betting looked possessed.
"Tier Three fighters are not warm-ups. They are not experiments. They are specialists."
The camera cut back to the ring.
"And yet—Young Monkey requested this fight himself."
The crowd roared at that.
"INSANE!"
"FIRST NIGHT?!"
"THIS KID'S BROKE OR BRILLIANT!"
The broadcaster chuckled softly.
"Probably both."
A new graphic appeared.
Tier 3 — First Bout of the Night
Young Monkey (Debut)
Opponent: Inverso
The voice lowered slightly, conspiratorial.
"If you're betting at home—remember this: Tier Three is where careers start… or end. No other Tier has as many deaths as Tier 3"
The camera lingered on Yamo's face. He wore a mask, but his eyes and eyebrows showed no smile and no fear, just focus.
"And whether Young Monkey belongs here—"
The lights snapped brighter.
"We're about to find out." The bell hadn't rung yet, but the intensity of the crowd exploded.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The lights shifted again, harsher this time, flattening shadows and making the ring look smaller than it really was.
The entrance gate opened and a naked handsome guy walked out.
No robe. No jacket. No rush. Just a man in swimming trunks, bare feet hitting the concrete with quiet confidence.
It took a second for the crowd to react—then they really looked at him.
Same height as Young Monkey. 175 centimeters, but heavier. Thicker. Built like someone who spent years under iron, not for show, but because his body was his weapon.
Early twenties. Calm eyes. Relaxed smile.
Someone in the crowd whistled.
"The Handsome scary bastard."
"I hate how confident he looks."
"I'm seeing him for the first time. That guy kills people, right?"
The broadcaster didn't wait for the noise to settle.
"Inverso fights with minimal clothing by necessity," he said clearly. "His mutation requires direct skin contact. Fabric interferes with activation."
Yamo's injured ears heard the announcer and he concentration intensified.
The camera zoomed in as Inverso stepped onto the canvas. The ring creaked softly under his weight.
"Inverso's ability increases an opponent's effective weight the longer he maintains physical contact."
A short replay flashed on the screens—fighters slowing, collapsing, bones screaming under invisible pressure.
"The effect ramps up during contact and fades gradually afterward. The longer the touch, the heavier the opponent becomes—and the slower gravity lets go. He's mutation also gives him defense strong enough to stop knifes and blades. INVERSOOO!"
The crowd reacted instantly.
"So it's like a bad hug!"
"DON'T LET HIM TOUCH YOU!"
"BRO JUST SLAP AND RUN!"
Inverso rolled his shoulders once, aura pressing outward just enough to make the ropes sag.
"Tier Three record," the broadcaster continued. "Multiple wins. Over ten confirmed fatalities."
That shut a few people up.
Then someone yelled, "STILL HOT THOUGH!"
Inverso smiled faintly and looked across the ring.
Young Monkey stood waiting, mask on, posture loose, eyes sharp.
Inverso tilted his head. "What do you call a monkey without a tail?" he asked casually.
The crowd groaned in advance.
"A chimpanzee."
Mixed laughter and boos exploded. Yamo didn't hear him, but he guessed that Inverso insulted him just now.
"BOOOO! YOU SUCK"
"IT WAS BAD BUT COMMITMENT COUNTS!"
"MONKEY BETTER WIN NOW!"
Yamo felt the pressure settle over him—not crushing, just present. He exhaled slowly, chest buzzing as the last of the dizziness faded into the background.
'Same height,' he thought calmly. 'More muscle. Well trained, but he's human.'
And then the important part clicked immediately.
'He's a mobile gravity chamber from Dragon Ball Z. Sajyans can easily endure higher gravitiy.'
.
The referee stepped between them, voice tight.
"Tier Three rules. No leaving the ring. Fight until one can't continue."
Yamo noticed that the referee didn't say this time 'Killing discouraged'.
Inverso raised his hands, open-palmed, relaxed and smiled menacingly at Yamo.
"Run fast," he said. "It'll make the catch better."
Yamo smiled under the mask. He couldn't hear him, but he still said "Try to keep up."
The crowd leaned forward. Chips clinked. Odds flickered.
The bell rang.
DING.
"LET'S GO!"
"DON'T TOUCH HIM!"
"MONKEY MONEY, BABY!"
Inverso didn't rush. He took two measured steps forward, shoulders loose, arms half-raised, cutting off angles instead of chasing.
It was obvious he knew exactly what he was doing—no wild swings, no lunges. He was waiting.
Yamo felt it immediately. The space in front of him shrank, not physically, but intentionally.
'He's not fast,' Yamo thought, shifting his feet. 'But he knows where I want to attack.'
Inverso smiled faintly. "Run," he said. "I'll catch you either way."
The crowd ate that up.
"BRO TALKING LIKE A MOVIE VILLAIN!"
"JUST GRAB HIM ALREADY!"
Yamo moved. Not straight back. Not sideways.
He shot forward at an angle, speed snapping tight around his body. To most eyes he blurred, but Inverso tracked him—not fast enough to intercept, but fast enough to predict.
Yamo dipped low and leg swept Inverso, sharp and clean.
Contact.
The moment his shin clipped Inverso's ankle, Yamo felt it—light at first, like a weighted vest being draped over his shoulders.
'There it is.'
Inverso lost his balance, but caught himself again – A second of contact.
Yamo's body protested immediately. His body felt heavier, slower, like it suddenly belonged to someone else.
"Ohhh!" the crowd yelled.
"HE GOT HIM!"
"DON'T LET HIM HOLD YOU!"
Yamo dissapeared again and stood opposite Inverso again. Inverso chuckled and insulted Yamo again, but he couldn't hear it. His ears were still dsmaged from the previous fight.
'The weight doesn't disappear right away, but less than a second of contact and 5 seconds of heavy weight'
His feet sank a fraction deeper into the canvas. His breath came a little heavier.
Then—slowly—it eased.
Not all at once. Just enough to tell him the truth.
'It fades, another seconds till returning to normal. Are all Third 3 fighters as strong as he?' Yamo realized his opponents strength.
Inverso rolled his neck once, clearly pleased. "See?" he said. "You're learning."
The crowd was split now.
"THIS IS SMART FIGHTING!"
"NO IT'S TERRIFYING!"
"BRO THIS IS LIKE TAG BUT WITH DEATH!"
Yamo shook out his arms, feeling his original weight return fully. His grin widened, not nervous—excited.
'Okay,' he thought. 'No lingering. No getting greedy.'
He exploded forward again, faster this time. Too fast for Inverso to properly react.
A jab to the ribs—tap and gone.
Contact.
The weight surged, sharper than before, tugging at his shoulders.
A right low kick to the carf—tap and gonem
Contact.
Yamo vanished sideways before Inverso could grab.
The crowd roared.
"HIT AND RUN!"
"MONKEY'S PLAYING GAMES!"
"STOP TOUCHING HIM, THAT'S THE POINT!"
Yamo landed near the ropes, already lighter again, breathing steady. The ringing in his ears was still there, but drowned out by adrenaline and noise.
Inverso's smile was gone now. Not angry—focused.
"You're fast," he said. "But you're working harder every time."
Yamo bounced once on his feet, testing. Everything felt normal again.
"You are strong," he replied. "But I recover faster."
The crowd loved that.
"OHHHH!"
"HE TALKIN' BACK!"
Inverso charged at Yamo, closing distance more aggressively now, trying to force a clinch instead of waiting for one.
Yamo didn't retreat. He went straight at him. The crowd gasped.
"WHAT IS HE DOING?!"
Yamo ducked under Inverso's arms, shoulder brushing his side.
Contact.
The weight slammed down harder than before, immediate and heavy.
Yamo grunted as his knees bent involuntarily—but he didn't stop. He pivoted, using momentum instead of strength, and slipped out the other side.
He staggered back two steps, heavier than he'd been yet.
The decay was slower this time. Noticeably slower. Yamo breathed through it, smiling wider.
'Longer contact, slower release' he thought. 'I have been putting more and more strenght into my attacks, but he is barely feeling it.'
Inverso turned to face him, eyes sharp. "You're adapting," he said. "Most don't."
Yamo straightened as the weight finally faded, rolling his shoulders. He still couldn't make out what his opponent was saying so he just trash talked bad.
"You aren't half bad, old man"
The crowd went wild.
"THIS KID'S INSANE!"
"TIER THREE IS CRAZY!"
Both fighters reset, circling now. Just two predators measuring distance and everyone watching knew it.
This wasn't a quick fight, but it could end in an instant. The crowd didn't settle, If anything, it got louder. Every moment could be the final outcome of the match when Inverso fought.
Money kept moving. Chips clacked together. Screens flickered as odds danced nervously, reacting to every exchange.
"THIS IS TIER THREE, BABY!"
"DON'T BLINK!"
"MONKEY'S GONNA GET HUGGED TO DEATH!"
Inverso advanced again, measured and deliberate, bare feet gripping the canvas as if he could feel every vibration through it.
His shoulders rolled once, muscles flexing—not to intimidate, but to prepare.
Yamo circled lightly, knees bent, weight centered. The ringing in his ears was still there, thin and constant, like a blade slicing through the back of his skull, but adrenaline dulled it just enough to function.
'Stay sharp,' he told himself once again 'No long contact. No greed.'
Inverso suddenly stepped in hard. Yamo reacted instantly, slipping to the side and driving his fist in—a clean, brutal punch aimed low. 'Half my strenght, half a ton punch'
THUD.
His knuckles buried deep into Inverso's kidney. Inverso grunted sharply, body folding just enough for the crowd to scream.
"OHHH!"
"KIDNEY SHOT!"
"THAT'S A KNOCKOUT!"
Yamo felt it immediately.
Contact.
His arm didn't recoil the way it should have.
Weight slammed into him, heavier than before, dragging at his shoulder, his spine, his legs.
'Pull back—' he realized instantly. Inverso's hand snapped up. Fingers dug into the back of Yamo's neck.
Firm. Precise. Not crushing. Holding.
"Got you," Inverso said calmly. The crowd erupted.
"UH-OH!"
"THAT'S THE GRAB!"
"MONKEY'S IN TROUBLE!"
Yamo's body screamed. His weight multiplied violently, like gravity had been dialed up with malicious intent.
His knees buckled. His feet dug into the canvas so hard it cracked faintly beneath them.
'Heavy—! Too heavy—!'
Inverso didn't rush. He leaned in, using leverage instead of force, his grip steady, controlled, trained. Yamo tried to twist free.
Too slow.
Inverso drove a knee up into Yamo's ribs.
THUD.
Then another punch—short, compact—into his side.
THUD.
The announcer's voice rose, barely controlled.
"INERSO HAS HIM! THIS IS EXACTLY WHERE HE WANTS THE FIGHT!"
Yamo's vision blurred. His ears screamed.
The ringing intensified until it drowned everything else out. Inverso's punch was heavy as the gravity affecting him.
Bang.
Yamo headbutt him and broke free from his grasp. Inverso ignored his bleeding nose and shifted his stance, feinting high.
Yamo reacted instinctively, raising his arms—Too late.
The feint was fake. Inverso stepped in and wrapped both arms around Yamo, pulling him tight into a crushing clinch.
Chest to chest.
Cheek to cheek.
Skin to skin and his arm wrapped around Yamo who had his guard up.
The crowd lost its mind.
"NO NO NO NO!"
"GET OUT OF THERE!"
"HUG OF DEATH!"
Inverso's arm wrapped around Yamo like iron bands. Yamo couldn't move, his arms were stuck between his chest and Inverso's chest.
Yamo felt it all at once. The weight didn't just increase—it anchored.
His body felt like it weighed several tons, muscles screaming, lungs struggling to expand, bones groaning under pressure that wasn't supposed to exist.
He tried to fly, but couldnt. He tried to shoot a small KI laser at his fingertips, but couldn't. He concentrate enough with the gravity crushing him.
His injured ears buzzed violently. Then— He heard it.
Not clearly, but close enough.
Inverso's lips brushed his ear as he whispered: "It's over, kid"
Something inside Yamo snapped.
The pressure crushed down harder, and for a heartbeat, the arena disappeared and Yamo himself disappeared.
---
–5 years ago
Yamo and Peter were ten years old.
The apartment was quiet at night.
Yamo stood in the hallway, barefoot, clutching a cup of water he'd forgotten to drink. The light from the kitchen spilled out in a thin line.
Ben's voice was low. Tired.
"…the glasses aren't optional, May."
May sighed. "I know. I know. But the eye doctor alone is—"
"We'll figure it out," Ben said, trying to sound calm and failing. "We always do."
A pause.
Then softer.
May said in a worried tone "But between rent, food, and now this… I don't know where it's going to come from."
Yamo pressed his back against the wall. He hadn't meant to listen.
May spoke again, quieter now. "Peter doesn't even complain. He just squints and pretends he can see."
Silence.
Then Ben exhaled slowly. "He shouldn't have to."
Yamo stared at the floor and then at his own small hands. He was in trance.
At the fact that he ate more than both his Mom and Dad combined.
'I'm lazy,' he thought. 'I don't do anything. Since arriving in this world, I just laze around and barely train'
That night, lying on his mattress, Yamo made a promise he never said out loud.
'When I'm older…'
'I'll help.'
'I'll make money.'
'I won't be a burden to this family.'
That night 10 year old Yamo cried a little.
---
The memory shattered.
Back in the ring, Inverso tightened his grip. He was confident now and patient.
Yamo's vision darkened. His chest burned. His thoughts raced.
'No.'
'Not here.'
'Not like this.'
His lips trembled, barely able to move.
"No…" he whispered.
The pressure climbed again. Inverso's breath brushed his ear. Yamo's voice cracked.
"No."
His fists clenched uselessly. His legs shook. His chest hurt.
"NOOOOO!"
BOOM!
Something exploded.
Then—
A shockwave tore through the ring.
Whitish-blue ki erupted from Yamo's body like a detonation, ripping the air apart. Inverso's couldn't hold on and flew a few feet away.
The pressure reversed, slamming outward as the entire warehouse vibrated, lights flickering, metal screaming in protest.
The ring shook violently. The ropes snapped taut. People screamed.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
"THE BUILDING'S SHAKING!"
Inverso tried to grab Yamo again, but was thrown further back as if struck by a truck, his footing ripped away instantly.
Yamo stood upright.
His body was wrapped in violent, flickering ki—white edged with blue—crackling and unstable.
For a split second, his eyes flashed teal, and his hair shimmered gold and yellow strands of KI flickered in his white-blue KI He wasn't fully transformed, but unmistakably he was close to super sajyan.
The Nine Eyes mutant while holding his tablet froze in the back of the warehouse. All nine eyes widened.
'…That's not a mutant.'
The announcer forgot to speak. The crowd went silent in terror and—Yamo vanished.
Not moved. Vanished.
He reappeared directly in front of Inverso before the man could even react.
Then—
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
Ten punches landed faster than he could react. In a less than a second Yamo attacked 10 times.
Each strike drove deep, precise, merciless—ribs, chest, jaw, stomach—shockwaves detonating with every impact.
Inverso didn't scream.
He couldn't. His body was already airborne.
The final punch sent him flying out of the ring, smashing through the air and slamming into the arena wall with a deafening CRASH, concrete exploding outward as his body embedded itself halfway into the structure.
"...."
Silence.
Utter Silence.
Then chaos.
"OH MY GOD!"
"HE KILLED HIM!"
"WHAT WAS THAT?!"
Yamo stood in the ring, ki still flaring violently around him, chest heaving, blood trailing from his ears.
The energy flickered. Then collapsed inward. The explosive pressure vanished.
The blue-white ki snapped out like a blown fuse. Yamo dropped to one knee, gasping for air. His hands trembling, vision spinning.
Inverso slid down the wall slowly, unconscious and barely alive.
Medical alarms screamed. The referee didn't move. Didn't know how.
Nine Eyes stared at Yamo, tablet forgotten in his hands.
"Not a mutant... but he is valuable"
A two minutes passed until the confusion of what they saw settled.
The announcer finally found his voice, shaking.
"…Ladies and gentlemen… this fight is—"
He swallowed.
"…over."
The warehouse shook one last time as the crowd erupted into chaos—fear, awe, panic, greed.
Yamo looked down at his hands. Still shaking.
'I didn't want to, but I felt like I needed to kill him'