Then he walked through the curtain — into the sunlight, into the sound.
Into the fight.
The ring was alive — thunderous with cheers, echoing with chants, drowning in sound. Dust swirled across the arena floor. A low wall separated the crowd from the fighters, but the energy bled across, suffocating in its pressure.
An announcer's voice rang out above it all, introducing the match with theatrical bravado. But Tanaka barely heard it. His eyes were locked on the man standing across from him.
Ringo Bondigon. Tall. Lanky. A sliver of silver hair and a stitched on grin. No weapons. Just fingerless gloves and a wild, twitchy stance like he was trying to hold back laughter — or violence.
"You ready to dance, brochacho?" Ringo called, bouncing from foot to foot.
Tanaka lowered his stance, breathing in deep.
"Si, partner."
The bell rang. And their battle began.
Ringo moved first. His feet barely touched the sand before he was in front of Tanaka, arm snapping out. The air buckled where his punch passed, a warped shimmer like heat rising off stone. Tanaka sidestepped — or tried to.
The shimmer followed him.
The impact came a split second later, invisible and delayed — like the punch had been stored and then released.
Tanaka gritted his teeth as the blow caught his ribs. "Ow. Okay… that's new."
Everyone in the arena knew the basics: if you were blessed with prana, you could channel it into your body — strengthening your limbs, sharpening your reflexes. That was Stage 1, called Prana Flow, and it was the great equaliser. Every trained fighter here could leap higher, hit harder, and react faster than any ordinary human.
But past that… things got strange.
A few, through either sheer will or breaking-point moments, awakened their Stage 2 — their Soul Art; these are only accessible when awakened, and they call for you. These were as unique as fingerprints, shaped by the user's nature, dreams, and deepest truths. One fighter might summon storms; another might turn shadows into weapons.
And then there was Stage 3. Nobody spoke much about it. Few believed it was real. Whispers claimed it was a forbidden state — a fusion of body, mind, and prana so complete it could tear the world around you.
Tanaka flicked his wrist — the pink card appeared between his fingers, ready to teleport him out of trouble. But Ringo was already grinning wider.
"You ever hear of Echo Fist?"
His Soul Art's name landed like a challenge.
Ringo's punches didn't hit you once. They hit you twice — first in the moment, then again seconds later, with every ounce of stored force slamming back into the exact same spot. Like reality was forced to remember the impact.
Tanaka dodged the first strike — but a heartbeat later, his jaw jerked sideways from the delayed echo. He stumbled, vision flashing.
Ringo advanced, chaining blows — the first impact knocking Tanaka back, the second slamming him into the air before he could regain his footing. Each time, the grin never left his face.
If one of those delayed hits catches me in the head… I'm done.
Tanaka hit the sand hard, gasping. His red card wouldn't help — he couldn't set it without Ringo being on top of him. The green card's force-link might buy space, but Ringo's timing was too chaotic to predict.
Another blow came — the first impact grazing his shoulder. The second one will—
Tanaka's eyes flicked to the pink card in his hand. An idea. Stupid. Dangerous. His kind of idea.
As Ringo stepped in for the next combination, Tanaka deliberately let the first punch connect clean to his chest. The crowd roared.
One heartbeat before the second echo hit, Tanaka flicked the pink card onto the sand behind Ringo. The moment the delayed force triggered, he teleported — switching places with the card.
The echo slammed into empty air where Tanaka had been — and instead, smashed into Ringo's unguarded back with his own stored power.
Ringo stumbled forward with a strangled laugh, the grin twisting into something feral. "Oh, you're clever."
Tanaka twirled a green card into his hand, smirking despite the ache in his ribs. "You haven't seen anything yet, brochacho."
The fight wasn't over. But now?
It was the beginning of a performance.
Ringo rolled his shoulders, still grinning, but there was a twitch in it now.
"Gotta admit, I didn't expect you to dodge my own punch with my own punch."
Tanaka gave him a lazy salute with the green card. "What can I say? I'm a crowd-pleaser."
The announcer's voice was a faint, excited blur in the background. The real noise was the crowd — the gasps when Tanaka vanished, the laughter when Ringo got nailed, the mounting rhythm of their chants.
Alright, Tanaka, he thought. You've got his attention. Now make it stick.
Ringo surged forward again, his footwork almost playful — skipping, darting, feinting — but every movement carried the threat of that delayed pain. He fired off two quick jabs. Tanaka slipped the first and slapped a green card to Ringo's wrist.
A crackle of green energy webbed between them, linking fighter to fighter. Ringo didn't notice until he swung for Tanaka's head. The moment his fist moved forward, the tether yanked Tanaka's body toward him — but Tanaka had expected it. He rode the pull, sliding under Ringo's guard.
"Red time", Tanaka whispered.
The red card appeared in his other hand, already primed. He slapped it onto Ringo's belt mid-slide. The bomb card glowed faintly, waiting for Tanaka's will to trigger it. But detonating it point-blank would be suicide.
So he didn't. Not yet.
Instead, Tanaka cut the green tether, kicked away, and flicked the pink card behind Ringo again.
"Come here, partner," Tanaka taunted.
Ringo bit — lunging in with another heavy swing.
At the last instant, Tanaka triggered the pink card, swapping places with it. Now he was behind Ringo… and just far enough away.
He made the shape of a gun and aimed at Ringo and said "bang", and the red card detonated.
A flash. A deep, concussive whump. Dust blasted out in a wide circle, the shockwave rattling the arena boards. The explosion wasn't lethal — Tanaka had dialled the force to bruise, not break — but it was enough to send Ringo skidding forward, tumbling to his knees.
When the dust settled, the silver-haired fighter was still grinning… but it was the grin of someone who'd just been outplayed.
"You're… a slippery one." He coughed, brushing soot off his gloves. "Guess the curtain drops here."
The bell rang.
The crowd exploded — chanting Tanaka's name in a rolling wave.
Tanaka offered Ringo a hand up, which he took with a chuckle. "Not bad, Showman. Not bad at all."
"Next time, maybe I'll charge admission," Tanaka said, turning toward the curtain where his teammates waited.
Roy was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smirking faintly. Kieran gave a slow clap. Brock just shook his head.
"Thought you were gonna die in there," Brock muttered.
"Nah," Tanaka said, still feeling the ache in his ribs, still buzzing from the fight. "Just setting up the grand finale."
The noise didn't die down — it grew. By the time Tanaka stepped off the platform, the air was thick with chants.
"SHOW-MAN! SHOW-MAN! SHOW-MAN!"
A few kids in the front row waved makeshift playing cards they'd scrawled with red and green markers, shouting his name until their voices cracked. The arena staff practically had to push the crowd back as he passed.
The announcer's voice thundered from above:
"An unbelievable display of improvisation! Tanaka Ewu — advancing with a clean victory! The Showman's stock just went through the roof!"
The backstage hallway smelt of dust and adrenaline. Fighters and handlers moved like currents in a stream, some congratulating, others sizing up potential threats.
A small projection orb in the corner flared to life — broadcasting the updated tournament bracket. Tanaka glanced at it as he walked, only to pause when he saw the position.
He was pushed straight into the main tournament since he showed outstanding performance, meaning that he doesn't have to participate in the setup tournament to guarantee his place.
But it wasn't just their position that caught his attention. Several names near the top had little golden stars beside them — a sign of "spotlight targets". Fighters who drew massive crowd interest and, therefore, more sponsorship money… and more dangerous matchups have already been guaranteed their spot in the main tournament.
And there it was.
Tanaka Ewu — Spotlight Target.
Roy raised an eyebrow when he noticed it. "You do realise that means every lunatic in the top ten is going to gun for you now, right?"
Tanaka grinned, flipping a red card between his fingers. "Good. They'll have to get past the curtain first."
Before they could head out, a shadow crossed the hallway. A tall woman in an elegant black coat stepped from the opposite corridor, her heels clicking against the stone. She looked them over with a cool smile — the kind of smile that made the air feel colder.
"Impressive," she said, her voice smooth as glass. "But tricks can only get you so far, Showman. I wonder… What will you do when the stage lights turn into fire?"
She didn't wait for an answer, just walked past, leaving the faint scent of iron in her wake.
Tanaka twirled his card once more. "Guess I'll have to improvise."
As he looks back to have a quick peek at her booty. After all, he is just a boy.