"I'm not saying it to disrespect you, Red, but Zivan… he's a monster," Haruki said, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.
His worry was contagious, chipping away at my confidence.
"I've taken down monsters before," I shot back, trying to maintain my confidence. "Have some faith."
But Haruki shook his head, unconvinced.
Asuna spoke up from the sidelines, her voice trembling. "Z-Zivan's an ex-gymnast," she said.
I laughed, the tension breaking. "A gymnast? Hardly sounds monstrous."
"Ex-gymnast," she repeated, her red eyes sharp. "His body grew too massive to continue. He switched to a well known Rusvenian martial art…"
"Combat sambo," Haruki finished, his tone cold.
My blank stare told him I'd never heard of it.
In all my 143 street fights, no delinquent had ever claimed to know combat sambo.
"It's like MMA," Haruki explained, his voice uncertain. "Strikes, grapples; both are fair game. But in combat sambo, you win by slamming your opponent to earn points, or by knocking them out cold."
A lump formed in my throat.
"So you're saying he's probably a better striker and grappler than me?"
"There's more," Haruki responded, his words heavy. "Combat sambo fighters compete constantly. In ten years, Zivan's racked up over 300 fights."
My body froze. 300 official fights?
Suddenly, my 143 street brawls felt like child's play.
They were right. Zivan Aslanov was a monster.
"And that's not all," Haruki added, his voice almost a whisper. I nearly fainted.
"Zivan is 6'5' tall, and weighs over 120 kilograms."
---
Announcer 1's voice thundered through the Mokyo Arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the second round of the Association of the Gods!"
Cheers from 50,000 spectators shook the stadium, a wave of sound that vibrated through my bones.
My fight was fourth, so I managed to watch the first two on a massive TV in my waiting room.
King's system ensured only winners competed here, while losers fought elsewhere. Similar battles took place globally of course, as 250 fights in one arena would've been chaos.
Shadow, Haruki's black cat, curled in my lap, purring softly. Haruki and Asuna sat on either side, their eyes glued to the screen.
The first two fights were savage. Blood sprayed, bones cracked, and the arena floor became a painting of gore.
These weren't men, they were beasts, tearing each other apart with no judges to save them.
Haruki asked me questions during each fight, not about the matches but the fighters.
He constantly asked if i believed i could beat them if it were me in there. I answered with uncertainty, as my mind was more focused on Zivan Aslanov.
Compared to the monster I was about to share the arena with, these fighters seemed like ants.
Then, the third fight was announced.
Announcer 1 roared, "Entering the arena, a student turned convict! Once known for battering bullies, now known as the Jailed Reaper! Standing 168 cm, weighing 85 kg, with a 1-0 record, representing Cherry Gaming Studio: LEO YOSHIDA!"
My ears perked up. "The fucking Jailed Reaper? What was he up to in prison?"
Asuna glanced at me, curious. "You know the stocky blonde guy?"
"Like my own blood," I said, grinning. "Before his sentence, me, Leo, and another guy were a delinquent-killing trio."
Her red eyes widened. "And you kept going alone after? Fighting by yourself?"
I chuckled, smug. "Yeah. There was no way I was gonna—"
"WINNER!" Announcer 1's voice cut me off, nearly jolting my soul from my body.
Haruki's face paled. "It can't be…"
On the screen, Leo stood at the arena's centre, shirtless, his short blonde hair swaying over a sculpted, muscular frame. His arms hung limp, his right hand dripping with blood and gore. Below him lay his opponent, face battered beyond recognition, one eye bulging grotesquely from its socket.
I stared, heart racing. Not in fear, but rather admiration.
"Leo… what have you become?" I whispered, a twisted grin spreading across my face.
Asuna flinched, frightened by the sick look on my face.
Haruki stood, shaking his head as if to remove the brutal image from his memory.
"It seems Zivan's not the only monster in this organisation." He said with a nervous sigh.
His eyes met mine, noticing my clenched fists and manic grin. Sweat glistened on my shirtless body, as if I'd already fought.
I leapt to my feet, blood pounding.
It was my turn.
"Send me out there already. I need to smash something." I snarled.
---
Announcer 1 bellowed, "Entering the arena, the Delinquent Killer we all know and love! Standing 178 cm, weighing 78 kg, with a 1-0 record: RED TAKAHEN!"
Stepping into the Mokyo Arena felt different. As Jepon's largest stadium, in the heart of the capital, it dwarfed the Yokohan Arena.
The sandy floor, still stained with blood from earlier fights, sent a thrill through me. The roars of 50,000 spectators deafened my ears as I strode to the centre.
Announcer 2's voice followed. "Next, a man known as the Northern Bear! With a 1-0 record, standing at a staggering 6'5" and weighing 120 kg: ZIVAN ASLANOV!"
The cheers for Zivan were much louder than mine. He was clearly a fan favourite, but I didn't care.
I liked being the underdog.
Then my opponent emerged.
For a moment, I thought they'd let a real bear into the arena. But no... It was Zivan.
He towered over me, easily a head taller, his muscular frame twice as wide and defined as mine. Pale skin stretched over rippling muscles, framed by a thick brown beard that connected to his short hair. A jagged scar sliced from his eyebrow to his chin, making his rough features even more menacing. He wore only loose grey joggers, his naked upper body showcasing his power.
Zivan approached the centre slowly, ignoring the crowd's cheers. His hard gaze locked onto mine.
I'd fought big guys before, but Zivan was something else. He was by far the most menacing.
As we faced each other, his presence hit me like a wave of force. It felt like staring up at Mount Everest.
His dark eyes tore into me, and he spoke in a thick Rusvenian accent.
"Surrender. You might die."
I grinned, settling into my boxing stance. My fists tucked under my eyes, and my guard tight as i bounced lightly on my feet.
"Fuck that. You're a man, same as me. I never back down from a fight."
Zivan's expression didn't shift. He widened his stance, muscles rippling as the sand rippled beneath him.
His scarred face locked onto mine with keen focus, his loose fighter's stance giving off calculated power.
"Fine," he rumbled, voice heavy. "Just remember, Zivan warned you."
Announcer 1's voice exploded. "Let the fight begin!"