Gasps rose among the crowd, their eyes fixed on Mabushi's body sprawled on the ground, swaying between life and death. His chest rose and fell in a desperate struggle for air, but his breaths came broken, as though even the air itself refused to enter his lungs. His half-open eyes were lost, seeing nothing but fog and pain.
Medics rushed into the arena, their faces frozen against the panic spreading among the audience. They split into two groups: one hurried to Silvara's pale body, while the other knelt over Mabushi, fastening a breathing mask to his face to force life back into his lungs.
Ann stood there, her hands clasped at her chest, yet her mind was in turmoil. She stared at Mabushi's limp form between the medics' hands—the fool who never knew how to retreat, even as death hovered over him. Something clenched inside her, as if her heart was chasing after him. But she shook her head lightly, trying to drive the feeling away.
Why? Why am I worrying this much? He's just a client… just a reckless idiot who came to me with money to buy my strength. That's all.
She wanted to convince herself that their connection was nothing but a simple equation: he pays, she helps. No friendship, no bond, nothing worth shaking her like this. Yet the more she repeated those words inside, the heavier they became. As if another voice deep within mocked her: If he was just an idiot… you wouldn't have screamed his name a moment ago.
Seconds later, Ann felt slow, heavy steps approach. She turned and found Ken standing before her, his gray eyes locked directly on hers, piercing through her defenses. For a moment, no words passed between them, only the noise of the crowd fading as this first encounter settled.
Ann froze, staring at his face as if seeing him up close for the first time. Ken wasn't only the fighter everyone saw in the ring. There was something deeper, something different in his gaze.
He spoke in a low voice.
"You screamed his name earlier… but you thought he was just an idiot, didn't you?"
Ann tightened her fist at her waist, trying to keep steady, but his words pierced the mask she had just put on. A faint, mocking smile curled on her lips, but it wasn't her usual confident one.
"And who said I care? I don't mind if he lives or dies. He just owes me money."
Ken answered with calm coldness.
"Lies… don't hide the shake in your voice."
Ann raised her brows, laughing softly as she waved her hand.
"Oh, come on… are you always this blunt with strangers? We haven't even introduced ourselves, and you act like you've known me for years?"
She gave a wide grin, but it couldn't hide the slight tremor in her eyes. Her hands rested on her waist as she added,
"Believe me… I'm not hiding anything. I just don't like people thinking I'm attached to a fool like him."
At that moment, the president's voice thundered from atop the stone tower, cutting between them.
"Let us begin the next draw!"
His hand slid among the papers, then he raised one and read aloud.
"Sarutobi Ann!"
Her feet froze for an instant as the crowd gasped. Ann smirked, tapping her fist lightly against her chest.
"Heh… finally, it's my turn!"
She turned with steady steps toward the arena, as if moments ago she hadn't been torn by worry over Mabushi. The president reached into the box again, slowly unfolded a slip, and announced:
"Kravos the Dancer."
All eyes turned toward the shadowed rows. There stood a tall, thin man, his body bent in an odd, uneven way. Faded gray hair hung in messy strands on either side of his face, while his pale turquoise eyes gleamed with mystery.
His steps were not steady like other fighters, but tilted, as if the ground itself wavered beneath him. His hands swayed slowly at his sides. His clothes were simple, ragged dark fabric, yet the way he wore them made his entire form seem uncanny.
Whispers spread.
"It's Kravos…"
"They say he doesn't use weapons or swords… yet he's never lost a fight."
He stopped at the center of the arena. His eyes didn't turn to the crowd or the president—they fixed only on Ann. She drew three sharp shuriken from her side pocket with practiced ease, never taking her eyes off him. She held them with precision, like someone trained for this moment a thousand times. She didn't smile as usual, but her violet eyes burned with cautious fire—a flicker of tension, restrained excitement.
So… this is my opponent? she muttered inwardly.
The president's voice rang out.
"Begin the fight!"
Kravos stepped forward. But he didn't raise his fists. He didn't draw a sword. He didn't even take a stance. He began to sing.
His voice came out strange, hoarse like a broken old instrument, yet terrifyingly in tune. He sang improvised words, with a wavering melody, phrases that felt from another world.
🎵 "A flower among the thorns… a serpent with angel's eyes…
You devoured my heart with a glance, and poured salt and laughter on my wound…
Shall I dance in your shadow before you tear me apart?" 🎵
He twisted his thin body while singing, spinning on his heel, bending backward at an impossible angle, his arm writhing as if not human, his feet sliding like a broken puppet with loose strings.
Ann furrowed her brows and shouted,
"Are you mocking me, you lunatic?!"
She hurled all three shuriken at once with deadly precision. But Kravos tilted his head aside, his body bending with eerie fluidity, and the blades slipped past him harmlessly.
🎵 "To the right, oh tune of rage… now to the left!" 🎵
Kravos winked as he spun, dropped to one knee in an acrobatic move, then leapt backward with his spine arched like a magician.
Ann clenched her teeth.
"What kind of fight is this? We're not in a circus!"
He didn't move by human rules. His body didn't follow muscle—it followed melody.
🎵 "I came to dance upon your blood… will you make the dance dull?" 🎵
It wasn't just his taunts. His voice, his movements, his entire presence… everything in him pricked at her nerves. Without a word, she pulled a small smoke bomb from her pocket and smashed it to the ground. A cloud of gray mist burst out, shrouding them.
Ann moved in a flash. She leapt silently behind him, crouched low to avoid his glance, and drew two curved daggers from her waist.
She whispered to herself.
"No more games."
She struck, blades slicing toward his back with lethal grace. But—
🎵 "Ah… your breath is behind my ear…" 🎵
Kravos twisted with monstrous agility, turning just before the blow landed. His arm whipped back suddenly, his grin mocking, as if he had only been playing.
Meanwhile, Akio came running from afar, breath ragged, scanning the arena until his eyes found Ken standing at the edge.
He stopped beside him, bent with hands on his knees, breathing loudly. Then he raised his head toward the ring. His eyes widened at once when he saw Kravos spinning, singing, writhing like a serpent in the center.
He muttered with a raised brow.
"What is that thing? A fighter or a dancing puppet?"
Then shouted with sudden enthusiasm, pointing at Ann.
"Hey! Ninja girl! Don't let him beat you! Crush him!"
Akio hopped in place in excitement. Ken, watching silently, calmly placed his hand on Akio's head and pushed him aside without even looking at him. His presence in front of him was more annoying than the fight itself.
Akio paused, then glanced up at Ken and asked softly, confused.
"You mean… I'm ruining the moment?"
Ken gave no answer. His focus was entirely on the arena, on the fighter facing a bizarre opponent. Slowly, he pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket, flipped it open with his thumb, checked… empty.
"Damn…"
He snapped it shut and flicked it neatly into a trash bin behind him, like a pro player kicking a ball. He turned his back on the fight, walking away as if the battle no longer mattered—or as if his craving for a cigarette outweighed the roar of the crowd.
Akio watched him leave, then shouted after him in his usual voice.
"You're too young to smoke! Do you enjoy killing yourself?"
Ken stopped for a moment without turning. His cold reply fell like a stone into Akio's chest.
"Some of us don't need to wait for death to feel dead already…"
Then he walked on, slow steps carrying a weight heavier than anything he left behind.