The ground of the arena suddenly trembled beneath everyone's feet, and the sound of a sword striking the center of the ring echoed like thunder splitting the silence. In just one instant, the entire place turned into chaos. The stone walls shuddered, the statues trembled on their pedestals, and people screamed as they tried to hold onto anything nearby.
Some spectators fell, others stumbled. Akio lost his balance immediately, shouting,
"What's going on?! An earthquake?!"
He reached out for something to grab, but found only air, nearly falling completely—while beside him, Ann also stumbled, her steps faltering as her hair fluttered through the rising dust.
Then, before either of them hit the ground, two steady hands reached through the chaos. Ken grabbed Akio's arm firmly, and at the same time caught Ann's wrist, pulling both of them toward him with unshakable stability—like he was the center of gravity in the middle of the storm.
Ann, still reeling, turned her head toward him. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, she heard nothing but her racing heartbeat—and the warmth of that hand holding hers with both strength and calm. She could feel the heat of his skin seeping into her fingers, the softness she never expected from someone like him. Her mind told her to pull away, but her body didn't obey.
Ken, however, seemed completely unfazed. He lifted his gaze toward the fighter in the ring who caused all the commotion and said in a cold, steady voice through the swirling dust,
"Looks like someone still doesn't know how to control their strength."
He spoke as if it was nothing more than a minor disturbance… yet his hands didn't let go of them. Akio coughed loudly, waving a hand in front of his face, annoyance spreading across his features.
"Damn it, man! You grabbed the hand holding my cigarette! Are you trying to choke me?!"
Ken released him quietly, as though he hadn't heard a word, then returned the cigarette to his mouth with complete composure. He exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on the arena still filled with dust and shouting—never sparing Akio a single glance.
Ann, meanwhile, was still on the ground, unmoving. Her half-lidded eyes and frozen expression mixed awe with something she didn't fully understand. She looked down at her hand, still warm from his touch, then up at Ken standing before her, his head tilted slightly, his cold features gleaming beneath the flickering light.
At that moment, she didn't hear the crowd or see the dust or the blood. It was as if she had been pulled into another world—silent, suspended within that single moment.
'His hand… it was so warm…'
A small smile formed unconsciously at the corner of her lips before she whispered softly, unheard by anyone,
"Oh God… I'm doomed."
She rose slowly. The dust still drifted in the air, the cheers of the audience fading into a distant hum. Ahead of her, Ken drew in a long breath from his cigarette, then exhaled it calmly. The smoke mingled with the sunlight filtering through the haze, forming a gray halo around him, as if the world itself had paused to honor his quiet presence.
Ann's eyes followed him without blinking, her expression caught between amazement and fascination—as if she was seeing something deeper than a boy smoking a cigarette… something that looked like sorrow wrapped in indifference.
'He looks… distant from this whole world.'
She thought that to herself as she looked up at him, when suddenly the scene behind him changed. Medics rushed by, pushing a stretcher quickly—on it lay Kravos' frail body, his head wrapped in bandages stained with blood, motionless.
Ann's eyelids twitched. The scene burned into her mind, and the sound of her fist striking his face echoed again in her ears. She turned away instantly, as if trying to erase the image, whispering softly,
"I went too far… maybe he didn't deserve that."
But she forced herself to shut the thought down.
"No… he chose to fight. If I hadn't, he would have."
She tried to convince herself, as always, to ignore the guilt—to tell her heart that it was fine to be ruthless sometimes. Yet the other voice inside her, the one that never went silent, whispered faintly:
'He was just singing… maybe he wasn't even fighting at all.'
Ann sighed and turned her face aside, hiding her unease behind a fake smile. She murmured under her breath,
"Damn you, Kravos… even unconscious, you make me feel guilty."
Time passed. One match followed another until the audience lost their sense of it. Ann sat unusually quiet now, no longer following the fights, lost instead in the storm of her thoughts.
She stared blankly at the ring, wondering to herself,
'Is Mabushi okay now?… or still between life and death?'
She tried to shake the feeling off, but couldn't. Every time she remembered his screams, her thoughts grew louder. Akio, on the other hand, was the complete opposite—perched on the edge of his seat like a child waiting for his turn to play, a grin of pure excitement on his face as he muttered to himself,
"Soon it'll be my turn… and I'll show them what I can do!"
Then suddenly, the atmosphere changed again. A sharp metallic sound pierced the air, followed by a heavy silence—just one heartbeat—before blood sprayed across the ring.
Every gaze froze. There stood a tall warrior, his sword dripping with blood, his opponent's head rolling at his feet before splitting in two. The arena fell silent for a few seconds before whispers and panic spread among the rows.
Even Akio, who had been laughing moments ago, went pale, his expression frozen. Ann gasped softly, her chest tightening.
The referee raised his hand, his booming voice silencing the murmurs:
"The winner… Rindo Rain!"
Scattered cheers rose, some clapping nervously, others remaining silent, still unable to grasp what they'd witnessed. Rindo Rain stood in the middle of the blood, his face expressionless, as if he hadn't just killed a man. His sword still dripped slowly, unwilling to stop.
In the front rows, Ken spoke in his calm tone,
"Someone's dream… just ended."
Akio turned to him quickly, eyebrows raised, his voice filled with disbelief,
"Hey, don't say it like that, man! Someone just died!"
Ken turned his head slowly toward him, giving him a sidelong glance—one that treated his words like the naïve outburst of a child. Then he said steadily, without emotion,
"If he wasn't ready to die, he shouldn't have stepped into the ring."
Akio froze, biting his lip, unable to reply. Ken continued, his gaze drifting back to the scattered blood in the arena:
"The only place you're allowed to dream… is before the fight, not after."
The referee raised his head toward the crowd and declared loudly,
"There are only ten cards left in the box… which means the first trial is nearing its end."
The audience buzzed with tense excitement. Then the referee slowly reached into the box, shuffled the few remaining cards, and pulled one out. Opening it, he read aloud:
"Ryusei… the Star Reaper."
A strange silence filled the air, as if the name itself carried invisible weight. Then all eyes searched for the owner of the name. From the back rows, Ryusei emerged—walking calmly, confidently, as if used to being watched.
He was a young man in his early twenties. His fiery red hair spiked upward like flames, his green eyes gleamed like meteors in the night, and a deep scar ran from his right eyebrow down to the middle of his cheek—adding both harshness and mystery to his features.
He wore a long black coat, frayed at the edges, with a dark red collar and two metallic shoulder guards the color of ash. The lower half of his face was hidden behind a black mask, concealing his jaw and mouth.
When he stepped into the center of the ring and sunlight hit him, he looked like someone who didn't belong to this world. His gaze was calm—not the calm of peace, but the calm before a storm.
Ken watched him quietly, smoke fading between his fingers, and said,
"That man… I've heard of him. They say he's one of the strongest samurai from the Empire of Zitara."
Akio turned to him with shining eyes, unable to contain his excitement.
"Really?! From Zitara? I'm from there too! But… I've never heard his name before."
Ken replied without looking up,
"Maybe because people like him don't live under the spotlight."
Akio's voice wavered slightly as he wiped sweat from his forehead.
"I wonder… who's the unlucky one that has to fight him?"
The answer didn't take long. The referee reached into the box again, shuffled the cards, and read aloud in a clear, commanding tone:
"Sakamoto… Akio!"
A brief silence swept through the front rows. Akio's eyes widened slowly, as if he hadn't understood. He pointed at himself, then turned to Ken and Ann, stammering,
"T-That's… me!"
Ken lifted his gaze toward him quietly, while Ann looked on with a mix of surprise and curiosity. Akio's name still echoed through the arena as his heart pounded—not from fear… but from the beginning of something unknown.