News Report: Bloodbath at Mokyo Arena.
Jenton Times, July 13, 2025
"Good evening, Jepon! Last night's second-round fights at the Mokyo Dome sent shockwaves through the Association of the Gods tournament, with two fighters emerging as the epitome of brutality.
Zivan Aslanov, the Northern Bear, obliterated Red Takahen with a bone-shattering knee strike, leaving the Delinquent Killer unconscious in a cloud of sand.
Meanwhile, Leo Yoshida, the Jailed Reaper, turned heads with a savage beatdown, reducing his opponent's face to a bloody pulp in mere seconds. They say that he has now been dropped from the organisation due to his life threatening injuries.
These vicious warriors have set a terrifying standard, proving the AOTG is no place for the faint-hearted, and yet there is more fighter news to come. Stay tuned for more updates from the arena!"
———
"Don't move. There's a slight chance that you could die."
Blinding lights burned my eyes as I woke, a throbbing pain pulsing in my skull. I lay in a hospital bed, my voice hoarse, and memories faulty.
"What the fuck happened to me?" I croaked, easing myself to a seated position.
A sharp voice snapped beside me. "So you're one of those. A fighter too stubborn to follow advice. I said don't move, red boy."
The snarky tone was full of arrogance, like someone who thought they were above everyone.
I turned, expecting a spoiled rich kid. Instead, I saw the most regal man imaginable.
He sat beside my bed, his face incredibly handsome, long blonde hair styled flawlessly with gel. His all-white suit, adorned with silver patterns, shimmered under the hospital lights, a black cape draped over one shoulder, reaching to his crocodile-skin shoes.
Gemstone rings glittered on his slender fingers, and a diamond-encrusted necklace and watch caught the light. He looked like royalty plucked from a fairy tale.
"Who the hell are you?" I managed, the pain in my head momentarily forgotten.
He remained seated, one leg crossed over the other, displaying calm authority. "Me? I am Prince."
Prince? That's a weird name…
Then it hit me.
Before I could ask, he nodded, reading my thoughts.
"That's right. I'm the son of the one and only King."
My breath caught. The all-powerful King had a son, and for some reason, that son was here, in my hospital room, after I'd been obliterated by Zivan.
Memories of the fight flooded back to me. Zivan's crushing throws, his knee smashing into my skull. The pain lingered where his strike had landed.
Shame washed over me. It was my first knockout, my first true loss.
My fists clenched, not at Zivan, but at myself.
I was a loser.
"You're not a loser," Prince said, his voice elegant, almost musical. I blinked, wondering if he could read minds.
"Well, technically you are, but not in the way that you might think."
He tapped a finger to his jaw.
"Your knee fractured Zivan's cheekbone. A hairline crack. Even if he wasn't using his full power, for an untrained student like you, that's remarkable. And your injuries? Minor, thanks to King's finest doctors."
I studied Prince. His frame was unremarkable; maybe 5'9", 65 kg, no visible muscle. Unlike his father's suffocating aura, he radiated... nothing.
"What do you know about fighting?" I challenged. "In the arena, there are only winners and losers. I was—"
"Everything," he cut in, his voice absolute, devoid of pride. "I know every single thing there is to know about fighting."
I fell silent, stunned. He wasn't boasting. He believed his words completely.
Prince stood, dusting off his immaculate suit with a sigh. "Once you've recovered, I'll visit again. I'll teach you true combat before your third match."
I nearly leapt from the bed, stopped only by the pain in my skull.
"Why? What does a guy like you gain from helping me?"
Why not Zivan? Or Leo?
Prince's expression didn't change.
"You're simply the best choice to help me reach my goal."
Without another word, he stepped out of the room, his cape trailing behind him like a shadow.
---
After being discharged from the hospital, I found Haruki and Asuna waiting outside.
Shame burned in my chest for making a fool of myself in the arena, but Haruki clapped my shoulder, praising my fearlessness.
Asuna offered a faint smile, easing my embarrassment.
"The AOTG's just begun," Haruki said as we headed to the Wind and Hope headquarters, trying to soften the blow. "You can still redeem yourself. King's announced a major change after the third round. A ranking system of some sort. Your next fight will determine everything."
He was right. A loss would leave me at 1-2, a losing record. A win would flip it to 2-1...
I had to win.
"But with this morning's visit, that shouldn't be hard," Haruki added.
"You knew?" I asked. "What does a guy like Prince want with me?"
Haruki's face turned serious. "Who knows? But we'd be fools to reject the help of the organisation leader's son. Don't assume he's soft just because he looks it."
He was right, but something felt off. Prince, son of the world's most powerful man, backed by global leaders, yet I'd never heard of him.
Why was he interested in a Jenton student like me?
I shook my head free of the thought. A foolish decision considering my concussion.
"He said he'll visit once I've recovered. Guess I'll just have to wait."
---
The Next Day...
At the Wind and Hope gym, I pounded the punching bag with all my strength. My head felt surprisingly clear, despite Zivan's brutal knee just days ago.
That knee was the reason behind my training. I practised knee strikes relentlessly, mimicking Zivan's technique.
"HA!" I exhaled sharply, leaping as sweat dripped from my shirtless body and red hair.
My knee slammed into the bag with explosive force, honed by constant repetition.
I paused, gasping for breath. Then, a voice suddenly broke the silence.
"Futile."
I spun on my feet, instantly raising my guard. The gym should've been empty.
Prince stood there, his white suit pristine and his black cape draped over his shoulders. His arms were crossed and his calm eyes tore into me.
My body relaxed itself, but I was still filled with confusion. "How did you… wait, what do you mean 'futile'?" I asked, offended.
He nodded at the bag. "Basic strikes against a stationary target. It doesn't suit you, and it'll never get you to the top."
My fists clenched, irritation flaring. "This is a martial arts organisation. What else am I supposed to do?"
Prince threw off his cape, tossing it to the side.
Even through his suit, his frame was slim. He had no visible muscle, and his smooth face suggested that he had never seen combat.
Yet as he stood, an unshakable confidence radiated from him, unlike anything I had felt before. Even during my face off with Zivan.
"The AOTG is not for martial artists," he said codly. "It is for killers."
His eyes locked onto mine as he stepped forward, raising a single hand in front of him tauntingly.
"Let's dance. Strike me like you're trying to kill."