The heat in the hospital was unbearable. The air conditioner in the corner of the corridor was working at its limit, but only weakly hummed, releasing warm air. A tiny midge circled in the rays of light breaking through the dirty blinds. It flew past the air conditioner's grille, made a loop, and landed right on Genzo's face. He twitched, but did not wake up. The midge crawled into his nostril. A sharp itch made him flinch and open his eyes.
"Fuck…" Genzo swore hoarsely, brushing his face with his hand.
He had already been sitting for more than an hour in the empty reception office. The hospital seemed abandoned: no footsteps, no voices, only the distant hum of fluorescent lamps. Documents lay in front of him on the table: a fresh passport received a week ago, a medical card, and a clearance permit. All of this was needed for illegal fights. The hospital, as he had heard, was closely connected with the organizers of underground arenas. Here they checked the "material."
The office door creaked. A fat nurse of about forty-five came out of it. The white coat barely closed over her ample chest and stomach. In her hand she held a half-eaten burger from which sauce was dripping.
"Come on in, kid. I was having lunch," she said lazily, licking her fingers.
Genzo stood up, feeling how the shirt stuck to his back from sweat.
"Yeah, I'm coming."
He entered the office. The old hospital chair creaked pitifully under his weight. Genzo put the passport and documents on the table. The nurse heavily sank into the armchair opposite, sighed loudly, and began sorting through the papers.
"Seventy-three kilograms," she raised her eyebrows. "Kid, why did you bulk up like that? Time to lose weight."
She bit off a large piece of the burger. Sauce dripped onto the table and onto her coat. Genzo silently sighed, looking aside. The nurse finished chewing and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Now some good people will come and take you. Just don't kick, okay? We'll check how tough and strong you are. Then we'll register you and you'll take part in the fights."
Genzo frowned.
"What the hell is this nonsense?"
At that moment the door opened sharply. Two strong men in black T-shirts entered the office. Without warning they grabbed Genzo by the arms, twisted them behind his back, and pressed his face to the cold floor. Handcuffs clicked on his wrists.
"Hey, what the fuck?" Genzo said, trying to break free.
"I already told you, kid, everything will be fine. This is a test."
"What fucking test?!"
They roughly pulled him to his feet and dragged him down the corridor. Genzo resisted, but it was useless. They went down a narrow staircase into the basement. It smelled of dampness, mold, and something metallic. In the dark room they sat him on a chair, and one of the men quickly injected something into his neck.
"Easy, guy. This is so you don't jerk around too much…"
The world swam. Genzo felt his body becoming heavy and cotton-like. They tore the clothes off him, leaving him in just his underwear. The cold metal of a collar settled on his neck, and chains fastened his arms high above his head. His legs were also fixed, stretched apart. He hung almost suspended, barely touching the cold concrete floor covered with a thin layer of sand with his toes.
The light went out. Only a dim red lamp remained.
And then he heard footsteps. Heavy, rhythmic.
"Well then, shall we begin?"
Genzo raised his head. In front of him stood a woman in black sportswear. Her hands were wrapped in bandages, and a cold smile was frozen on her face.
"What do you want?" Genzo asked.
"Your endurance," she answered. "Let's see how much you can take."
She came closer and without warning punched him in the stomach. Genzo arched, but the chain held him.
"This is only the beginning," she said.
The next blow landed on his shoulder. Then on his side. Then on his chest. Genzo clenched his teeth, trying not to scream. Blows rained down one after another, methodically, without pity. His body was covered with bruises and abrasions, but he held on.
"You're enduring?" the woman asked. "That's good. But endurance isn't the most important thing. The main thing is not to break."
She took a whip from the floor and swung. The lash cut across Genzo's back, leaving a thin bloody trail. He hissed through his teeth but did not scream.
"More," he said, looking at her.
"Brave," she smirked. "We'll see how you talk in an hour."
An hour turned into two. Two into three. Genzo did not count the blows. He felt only the pain that was becoming deeper and sharper. His body was covered with contusions and wounds. The whip left deep marks, the fists did their job. Sometimes they doused him with cold water so he would not lose consciousness. Sometimes they gave him a few seconds of rest so he could catch his breath.
"Do you know what this is for?" the instructor asked, stopping for a moment.
"To test me," Genzo exhaled.
"Not only," she said. "So that you remember. Remember that pain is just a signal. You have to learn not to react to it. You have to become a machine."
She swung again.
On the second day they gave him water. But after a sip they hung him up again. Now he stood with his arms stretched forward, weights hanging from them. His muscles burned, but the instructor continued to hit him on the arms, shoulders, and back.
"You can give up at any moment," she said. "But then you won't pass the test."
"I won't give up," Genzo answered.
"Good," she smiled. "Then we'll continue."
On the third day they took away his water and food. Now he hung in complete darkness, occasionally hearing the instructor's footsteps. She approached him and delivered blows without warning, without giving time to prepare. Genzo lost track of time. He felt only hunger, thirst, and pain.
"Still alive?" the instructor asked.
"Yes," he answered barely audibly.
"Excellent. The last stage remains."
She left the room and returned with a thin metal rod. Genzo did not ask what it was for. He simply clenched his teeth and prepared.
Blows rained down one after another. The rod struck his legs, back, shoulders. It seemed to Genzo that he could hear his bones cracking. But he did not scream. He did not ask for mercy. He simply waited for it to end.
When he opened his eyes, there was silence around. The instructor stood in front of him and looked at him with cold curiosity.
"Well?" she asked.
"What?" Genzo asked barely audibly.
"What's your answer?"
Genzo raised his head. His voice was hoarse, almost soundless, but there was no hesitation in it.
"Where's my next test?"
The instructor smiled. She nodded and left the room. A few minutes later the door opened and the same fat nurse entered.
She came closer, chewing gum, and looked at him appraisingly.
"Well done…" she drawled. "What do you feel, Takeda?"
Genzo raised his heavy eyelids. His voice was hoarse, torn from the strain.
"I don't know…"
The nurse smiled, showing her teeth.
"You don't know?"
"Yes," he whispered.
She nodded and took out a tablet.
"Excellent. We'll write it down like that. Genzo Takeda, place of birth, Japan, Fukuoka. Withstood physical and mental testing for three days. High pain threshold. Psychological resilience at a high level. Fit for fights."
She patted him on the cheek.
"Congratulations, kid. You passed the test. Now you're one of us."
Genzo closed his eyes. Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, through the fog of exhaustion, he knew. Illegal fights awaited him ahead, but the price of admission turned out to be much higher than he could have imagined.