In a secret basement, converted into an underground arena, the air was thick with noise and the smell of sweat and cheap alcohol. Spectators crowded the upper railings, while a more opulent VIP section overlooked the central pit, a small, brutal colosseum.
The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, cutting through the din.
"Welcome, everyone! Tonight, we have a very interesting debut! Invited by the one and only Giran himself... and would you believe it, he's just a kid! Let's give a warm welcome to... BELIAL!"
A wave of mixed applause and murmurs washed over the crowd as Kouta emerged. He walked in with his hands in his pockets, wearing a simple black hoodie and a mask that resembled Ultraman, but was black with red eyes. He stepped into the harsh light of the fighting area, looking profoundly out of place
"He's a kid! I thought that was a joke!"
"I almost feel bad for him."
"This is gonna be a one-sided massacre."
The announcer continued, undeterred by the crowd's skepticism. "And for his opponent... a man they call the NEWBIE SLAYER!"
The murmurs grew louder.
"That's his first match? Brutal."
"Easy money, then."
The announcer's voice rose to a crescendo. "The hulking monster who has trampled every fresh face he's ever met! Give it up for... ONI!"
Kouta's opponent entered the pit. He was surprisingly skinny, wearing just a tank top and shorts. A ripple of confusion passed through the crowd.
Unfazed, Kouta began a light warm-up hop in place. Unseen by all, his foundational rules were already active, syncing his body with the planet's spin.
"LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE! 3... 2... 1... FIGHT!"
As the bell sounded, Oni's body erupted. Muscles ballooned grotesquely, surging outward until he stood over eight feet tall, his skin hardening into a spiked, armor-like carapace.
In the VIP booth, Giran took a seat next to another patron, an elegant woman with striking blonde hair and crimson eyes, her entire demeanor screaming of wealth.
"Giran, there you are. You're just in time to watch your little investment get crushed," she said, her voice like polished glass.
"Miss Roxana," Giran nodded, keeping his expression neutral. Internally, he sighed. 'Ah, well. This was a losing investment from the start.'
Down in the pit, the transformed Oni roared and charged, a mountain of spiked muscle bearing down on the hooded figure. Kouta didn't retreat. He simply planted his feet, drew back his right fist and met the charge.
His fist didn't just punch; it punctuated the air, glowing with a concentrated, blistering orange-white energy.
THOOOM.
The impact was less a sound and more a physical force. A visible shockwave rippled out from the point of contact, shaking dust from the rafters and causing the entire structure to groan. Oni's colossal form didn't just stop; it reversed course, hurtling backwards as if launched from a cannon to slam into the far wall with a sickening crunch.
A massive cloud of dust filled the pit. When it settled, only one figure was left standing.
Kouta stood calmly in the center, his right sleeve vaporized up to the elbow, revealing a forearm that steamed slightly in the cool air. Around him was stunned silence, then an explosion of disbelieving noise.
In the VIP booth, Giran's neutral mask shattered into a wide, genuine grin. His eyes glinted behind his glasses. 'Well, well, well... What kind of Quirk do you have, kid?' The mental ledger in his head flipped from "loss" to "massive future profit."
Down in the pit, Kouta looked at his own fist, flexing his fingers. 'He should still be alive. I held back... quite a lot.'
Roxana watched Kouta leave the pit, a slow, predatory smile gracing her lips as she licked them. 'Interesting boy,' she thought.
After the fight, Kouta was directed to a private room where Giran and Roxana awaited. Kouta glanced at the woman, taking in her elegant, foreign attire and poised demeanor. 'Definitely wealthy. And not from around here,' he surmised.
"You won your first match. Congratulations," Giran said, a genuine smile on his face. "I assume your winnings will go toward those materials you mentioned?"
"Yes. Here's the list." Kouta pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over.
Giran scanned the list, his eyebrows rising slightly. 'Is he building a weapon? What a dangerous kid. I was planning to hand his half-dead body to the boss if he failed... Now I'm certain I've just gained a very lucrative client.'
"Are you two quite finished?" Roxana asked, her voice cool as she fanned herself slowly.
"For now, Miss Roxana," Giran replied politely.
Her eyes, sharp as rubies, settled on Kouta. "Belial," she began, using his new moniker. "I have a proposition for you. You have... potential. I would like you to fight under my banner. The financial rewards would be substantially greater." Her tone was laced with a seductive promise; she had intended to recruit the Oni, but this untethered, powerful boy was a far more valuable prize.
"Hmm," Kouta hummed, thinking it over. 'I don't think I lose anything by fighting for her. More money means faster progress.'
"Sure. Just inform Giran. I'll be there," Kouta agreed. "But if the fight is overseas, you handle the transportation."
Giran felt a flicker of displeasure at the arrangement but knew better than to interfere.
Roxana's smile turned wickedly triumphant. She addressed Giran first. "He is mine now. If anything happens to him, you will pay the price." She then turned her gaze back to Kouta. "You will fight under my name from now on. Do not disappoint me."
"You won't be disappointed," Kouta stated flatly.
Roxana grinned, standing up gracefully. She glided over and paused beside Kouta. "I'll be waiting for you at your next match." With that, she swept out of the room.
Once the door clicked shut, Giran let out a long, weary sigh. "That woman is from one of the richest families in the world. You should be very careful around her. I was going to brief you, but she insisted on meeting you directly." He shook his head, then refocused. "That aside, where do you want these materials delivered?"
"I'll pick them up from your place," Kouta said.
"Alright. A pleasure doing business with you," Giran said, offering another handshake.
Kouta accepted it firmly and left.
The moment he was out of the venue, he activated New Order. His first priority was evasion. He started with a broad-spectrum cleansing rule.
"[My body instantly rejects, expels, destroys, or neutralizes every foreign object, substance, marking, energy, signal, or effect that is not part of my original natural biology.]"
A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer passed over him. He felt nothing change, but the rule had done its work, scrubbing him clean of any potential trackers, technological or Quirk-based.
He replaced that rule with another, more comprehensive one for stealth.
"[My body refracts all electromagnetic waves around it, emits no detectable sound or vibrations, emits no detectable heat or thermal radiation, leaves no physical, chemical, biological, atomic, quantum, or informational traces, and generates no identifiable data records, signatures, or disturbances in any medium.]"
To the world, Kazuraba Kouta effectively ceased to exist. He walked home through the sleeping city, a ghost in the night, utterly unseen and untraceable.
Arriving at his apartment, he yawned, the night's adrenaline finally fading. "I should get clean first," he mumbled to himself.
As he prepared for a well-earned rest, several frustrated individuals tasked with tailing "Belial" reported back to their respective employers Giran, Roxana, and curious rival promoters with the same bewildering conclusion: their target had vanished into thin air.