The air in the stark white arena was thick with anticipation. Every pair of eyes from the viewing platform was fixed on the two figures standing inside the octagon Zemin and Kiichi, locked in a tense silence.
Shuren stood between them, her presence slicing through the stillness like a knife. A soft glow illuminated her face as she took a drag from her cigarette, the ember flaring brightly under the harsh white lights. Smoke drifted lazily above her head as her sharp gaze shifted from one fighter to the other.
"Well," she said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke, "it's clear what you two need to do." She took another drag, her voice steady and indifferent. "No rules. Just hurt each other as much as you want, I couldn't care less."
Her words hung in the air, flat and unforgiving.
Kiichi cracked his knuckles, a grin sharp as glass spreading across his face. Zemin straightened up, his silver eyes narrowing. They both nodded slowly, their cold stares locking in the center of the arena.
On the surface, they appeared calm. Composed. Ready.
But deep down, a single, shared truth sliced through the tension like a whisper neither of them dared to voice.
What a cold bitch.
Shuren let out another puff of smoke, flicking the ash to the floor as she lazily raised her hand.
"…Start."
Silence enveloped the room.
The stark white walls seemed to swallow the word, leaving only the soft hum of the lights and the steady rhythm of Zemin's breathing. Neither man budged.
Kiichi tilted his head, rolling his shoulders like a predator preparing to pounce. A smirk slowly spread across his face.
"Here's the deal, rookie." He held up three fingers. "I'll give you some free shots but I attack sometimes. Go ahead, hit me wherever you want. I'll even rate them for you. Think of it as… charity."
His voice echoed in the stillness, but Zemin didn't flinch. His silver eyes remained fixed, unblinking, as if Kiichi's taunt had never even registered.
Kiichi chuckled, lowering his hand. "No? What's wrong? Afraid you'll make a fool of yourself?"
Still, there was no response. Zemin stood there, as calm as a statue.
The smirk on Kiichi's face faltered for just a moment before sharpening again, his voice dropping, each word dripping with venom.
"…Or maybe you're just what everyone says dead weight. All talk, no action. Just another pretty face hiding behind that silver-eyed gaze. No wonder your—"
He leaned in closer, eyes narrowing, his voice twisting like a blade.
"—family didn't make it."
The words hit like a bolt of lightning.
Zemin's eyes flickered, a crack appearing in his calm facade. His jaw tightened, breath hissing through his nose.
From the viewing platform, Taura leaned forward, whispering, "Oh man… he shouldn't have gone there."
The moment Kiichi's words hung in the air, Zemin sprang into action.
No warning. No build-up. Just a blur.
His fist connected with Kiichi's jaw like a steel hammer, the sound echoing through the sterile white room. The force lifted Kiichi off his feet, sending him crashing sideways across the octagon floor.
Gasps rippled through the viewing platform. Even Taura's jaw dropped, caught between cheering and disbelief.
Zemin slowly lowered his fist, his silver eyes fixed on the still figure before him. For a brief moment, he thought,Is that it? All bark and no bite? A chilling realization crept into his mind. Broskie was way too cocky. Then, the silence shattered.
A laugh.
It started low, muffled, but quickly grew louder. Kiichi's shoulders shook as he pushed himself off the floor, a wide grin spreading across his face despite the bruise darkening his jaw.
"Wow…" he rasped, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His eyes sparkled with a wild, manic energy.
"That was kinda… good." He stretched the words out, his voice cracking with laughter. "Gotta give it… hmm…"
He straightened up, flexing his neck with a satisfying crack.
"…a solid zero point one outta ten."
The crew above erupted in chaos Taura shouted, Pixia groaned in annoyance, and Tasia laughed so hard she slapped the railing.
Down below, Zemin's lips pressed into a thin line. He hadn't expected gratitude, but mockery? His pulse steadied, his stance lowered, and for the first time since stepping into this room, his fighting instincts kicked in.
Kiichi licked his teeth, grinning like a wolf. "Now it's my turn."
Zemin didn't waste a moment. The instant Kiichi steadied himself, Zemin lunged forward again fast, precise, slicing through the air like a blade.
But Kiichi merely tilted his head slightly. The strike whiffed through empty space.
Before Zemin could regain his footing, a fist like iron slammed into his chest.
It wasn't wild or flashy it was calm, almost gentle in its execution. But the power behind it sent Zemin flying back across the octagon, his boots screeching against the floor before he crashed into a pillar with a heavy thud.
Dust rained down from the ceiling.
Taura gasped from the stands. "He just—!"
But Zemin was already on the move again. He spat out copper-tasting blood, dug his heels in, and launched himself back at Kiichi with double the force. His fist sliced through the air and landed squarely.
Kiichi's head jerked to the side, his body stumbling back a step from the impact.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then that laugh came back. Deep, guttural, and completely unfazed.
Kiichi straightened up, rubbing his cheek where Zemin had hit him, his grin growing wider by the second.
"Now that…" he said, his voice echoing around the room. "That one actually tickled a bit." He tilted his head, pretending to think. "I'll be generous and give it a solid…"
His eyes sparkled with wild excitement.
"…two out of ten."
The crowd erupted again, half groans and half cheers. Pixia rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. "This idiot's having way too much fun."
Meanwhile, Zemin's face remained unchanged. No laughter, no playful banter. Just a cold, calculating focus.
He can take hits. He can mock.
To hell with this, I'm going to beat the living daylights out of him.
The air crackled as fists met flesh.
Zemin lunged again, his movements sharp and unpredictable. His strike slammed into Kiichi's ribs, sending shockwaves across the arena floor. Kiichi staggered back a half-step, coughed once then grinned, wiping the blood from his lip.
"Mm… I'll give that a 3 out of 10. You're getting better, rookie."
Zemin's eyes narrowed, his muscles coiling like springs. He didn't hesitate his foot shot out in a spinning kick, slicing through the air with brutal speed.
Kiichi bent backward at an impossible angle, Zemin's heel barely grazing his nose before Kiichi snapped forward with a palm strike that sent Zemin flying back across the octagon.
The impact cracked the floor beneath him, dust swirling up around his boots.
Zemin slid, teeth gritted, before charging forward once more.
Another punch, this time aimed at the jaw. Kiichi's head snapped sideways, blood spraying from his lip.
He laughed through the blood. "Hah! That's a 4 outta 10! At least you've stopped tickling me."
Zemin didn't let up. His fists moved like lightning jab, cross, elbow, knee. Each blow pushed Kiichi back, shockwaves rippling from their collisions.
Finally, a clean strike landed on Kiichi's cheek with a thunderous crack. The floor shook, and for a moment, the crew in the viewing stands leaned in, eyes wide with disbelief.
Kiichi spat blood onto the floor, his smirk still intact.
"…Five outta ten."
"FIVE?" Taura shouted from above, slamming her fist against the railing. "That was at least an eight, you smug bastard!"
Pixia cackled. "He's just playing with him."
Sévon leaned forward, eyes fixed on Zemin, silent but intense.
Back in the octagon, Zemin exhaled sharply, sweat trickling down his temple. His knuckles were red and raw, but his glare remained unwavering.
Doesn't matter what score you give me.
I'll break through you.
Kiichi licked the blood off his lip and raised his hands again, almost teasingly.
"Come on, rookie. Let's see if you can even hit double digits."
The rhythm of fists and kicks was deafening now. Every strike Zemin threw cracked through the air, and every block Kiichi made sent tremors through the floor beneath them.
Zemin's fist connected hard with Kiichi's temple, snapping his head sideways. The sound of the hit drew gasps from the viewing platform Tasia nearly dropped her drink. But Kiichi just laughed again, spitting blood onto the pristine white floor. He steadied himself, rolling his shoulders with a casual shrug.
"Not bad, rookie. Not bad at all." His grin widened, sharp as broken glass. "I'll give that a seven outta ten."
Zemin froze for half a second, chest heaving. Seven?
Kiichi stepped closer, his voice dropping, dripping with mockery.
"But let's be real you're still just a stray dog swinging blindly. Every punch you throw? Just scraps. Every move? Amateur hour. You could train a thousand years, and you'd still be nothing more than the crew's charity case."
The words cut deeper than any physical blow. Zemin's eyes narrowed, a flash of silver catching the arena lights. His fists shook not from fear, but from a barely contained fury.
Kiichi leaned in, a smirk playing on his lips, close enough for only Zemin to hear.
"You'll never be part of the family. You're just a guest at the table, rookie. And guests… they don't stick around for long."
The arena fell into a heavy silence, every spectator holding their breath in anticipation.
Then, with a thunderous stomp, Zemin's foot hit the floor. He lunged forward, quicker than ever, his aura practically crackling with energy.
His fist shot out like a bullet, aimed directly at Kiichi's smirk.