The roar of the crowd in the MBL Rookie Championship arena was a physical shockwave, palpable even through the cheap, flickering public vid-screen, Kai and Leo were crammed around in the back of a District 7 noodle bar. On screen, amidst the detritus of the shattered arena floor and the lingering scent of ozone from discharged energy attacks, stood Leon. He was a MOD, one of the rare individuals gifted with Anima, and his was spectacular. Moments before, he had been a whirlwind of leonine fury, his Black Mane Anima manifesting as a powerful, bipedal lion form, claws extended, fangs bared. Now, as he reverted to his more human appearance, the transformation receding like a tide, only the impressive cascade of his actual black mane and an intense, golden glint in his eyes hinted at the beast within. His fists, still radiating a faint shimmer of Anima energy, were raised in victory.
"He did it! Leon did it!" Leo yelled, bouncing with an energy that threatened the precarious stacks of empty noodle bowls. "The Lion of District 7! Rookie Champion!"
Kai watched, a familiar ache of awe and longing tightening his chest. Leon. Their idol. Living proof that a kid from the forgotten alleys of District 7 could become a MOD, could master an Anima, and dominate in the Mods Battle League. His Black Mane Lion Anima was legendary, a Tier-S manifestation – the kind of power whispered about in awed tones, especially for someone who hadn't been born into the gilded cages of the lower-numbered districts. The MODS Corporation Academy, the sole institution sanctioned to train and certify MODS, rarely scouted from places like District 7. Leon was an exception, a miracle.
"Can you believe he used to sling data-chips right where we do, Kai?" Leo's voice was thick with a mixture of pride and disbelief. "Skinny Leon, dodging Scrapper crews down by the old canal. Now look at him! A full-fledged MOD, an MBL champ!"
Kai nodded, his own thin, almost fragile frame feeling particularly inadequate. He, too, was a courier, navigating the same grimy streets Leon once had. But the dream of awakening an Anima, of becoming a MOD, felt impossibly distant. Such power was usually inherited or bought through exorbitant MODS Corp programs, far beyond the reach of anyone in District 7.
As Leon was presented with the championship belt, a sleek, black armored ground-car, its windows opaque, purred silently onto the arena floor. It bore no obvious logos, but its severe, imposing lines screamed Apex Conglomerate. Leon, after a brief, almost imperceptible nod to someone unseen within the vehicle, was swiftly ushered inside.
"Huh," Leo mused, scratching his head. "His backers are super low-key. Apex, you think?"
The official MBL broadcasts were always vague about Leon's sponsorship, usually citing a private talent initiative. But the street-level whispers, the ones that slithered through the undercurrents of District 7's data streams, often linked Leon to Apex. Apex was the silent giant, its influence a bedrock beneath Veridia City's glittering facade. They controlled Anima research, had deep ties to the MODS Corp Academy, and their hand was often felt, if not seen, in the MBL. If Leon, a MOD of such rare power, was affiliated with them, it wasn't surprising. It was just the way the world worked for those who ascended.
The vid-screen switched to blaring commercials for synth-protein bars, and the electric thrill of Leon's victory began to dissipate, replaced by the familiar, cloying scent of stale cooking oil and the quiet hum of District 7's struggles.
Back to the grind, Kai sighed, shrugging on his patched courier jacket. His next delivery was for a minor info-broker whose territory lay within the stomping grounds of the Steel Hounds, one of the many local crews that marked their turf in the outer districts. These weren't gangs in the archaic sense, more like loose-knit collectives, a recognized, if often volatile, part of District 7's social fabric. The Steel Hounds were known for their boisterousness and their leader, a minor MOD whose Anima reportedly gave him enhanced olfactory senses – a Bloodhound, they called him.
His route took him past the District 7 community center later that afternoon. A small, excited crowd had gathered. In the midst of it, looking slightly out of place in well-made but unassuming civilian clothes, was Leon. He was back, unannounced, for a quick visit. His signature black mane was tied back loosely, but the sheer presence of the MOD, the quiet intensity in his leonine eyes, was unmistakable. Even in his human form, an aura of leashed power clung to him.
As Kai tried to steer his sputtering electro-cycle discreetly past the edge of the gathering, Leon's gaze, surprisingly sharp and unexpectedly warm, met his. A small, genuine smile touched Leon's lips, and he gave a subtle nod.
"Stay sharp out there, kid," Leon's voice was a low, resonant rumble that still managed to cut through the excited chatter of the onlookers. "This district's got teeth, but it makes you strong."
Kai, momentarily stunned, could only manage a quick, jerky nod in response before pedaling away, his heart thudding against his ribs. Leon, the MBL Rookie Champion, a top-tier MOD, had spoken to him. And he'd been… kind. It was a fleeting interaction, but for Kai, it felt like a flare of light in the pervasive gloom, a reminder that even those who reached the pinnacle sometimes remembered the grit of their beginnings. He didn't notice the almost invisible comm-bead nestled in Leon's ear, nor the way Leon's eyes briefly, professionally, scanned the rooftops a second later, a flicker of something far more serious than a celebrity homecoming in their depths.
The encounter replayed in Kai's mind as he navigated the decaying streets. Leon's unexpected kindness felt genuine. It made the hushed rumors of his Apex ties seem less like a shadowy compromise and more like a pragmatic step for a MOD from District 7 reaching for the stars. For a fleeting moment, the dream of the MBL, of awakening his own Anima, of becoming a MOD and escaping the daily grind, felt a fraction less impossible, even as the familiar weight of his own frail body and the emptiness of his pockets settled back in.