Things had moved faster than Takuma had ever expected. One moment he was listening to unreasonable terms and conditions from fat boss man Tsubura, and the next moment he was looking at a ginormous caged arena inside a dark back tunnel. It turned out there was an open spot they needed to fill.
"I hope you're ready."
Takuma looked back at Enomoto, aka Shady Guy, and made a face of unwillingness and displeasure.
Enomoto laughed, "Don't be like that. Your opponent is fairly new as well and has only fought a few fights in the Ring. Consider it a test drive, so you can be prepared the next time you fight."
He could've observed a fight or two, and that would've been enough. He didn't have to prepare in such a way. Takuma looked at the ongoing fight; the two men were fighting fiercely, with the substantial crowd cheering wildly with each sounding hit and show of blood. But what caught his eyes the most were the masks that covered the fighter's faces.
"Those masks," he turned to Enomoto.
"Here you go," Enomoto raised a cream mask with viridian highlights that covered the top-right quadrant like a leaf. "You don't want to bump into these people during the day. Believe me, there are some gambling junkies who will pester you to no end to get even the smallest of information if it could help them place a better bet. It's better if you don't have to interact with the spectators outside of here."
Takuma stared at the hard mark on his hand and frowned when he felt something like a cloth behind it. He pulled to find a black ski mask.
"Masks break often," Enomoto explained when Takuma gave him a look.
Takuma sighed as he pulled the ski mask over his face before putting on the mask. Thankfully, it fit well and didn't feel like an annoyance he had to move around in.
"Looking good," smiled Enomoto. "Now, give me your weapons packs, all of them."
Takuma wanted to protest but decided that it would be meaningless and unstrapped every weapon on him. "There better not be a single thing missing from here," he said as he handed Enomoto his weaponry.
"Don't worry, I don't have the habit of stealing from poor genin," smirked Chunin Enomoto.
Takuma clicked his tongue in response to the jab. Iryo-nin were especially loaded.
"One last thing."
"What now?!"
"Take off your shirt. Fighting bare-chested is a rule for men in the Ring."
Takuma sighed in frustration as he pulled off your shirt and shoved it into Enomoto before facing the arena. The fight was over, and the announcer was raising one of the men's hands as the winner.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on a repetitive breathing pattern as he waited for himself to be called up for the fight.
The last time he fought seriously was during the final tournament; everything after that had been shadow training and light sparring with friends. He knew this would be nothing like that, and his opponent would be coming to take his head, and that if he wasn't the same, it would hurt a lot.
He didn't like getting hurt, so he needed to hurt back to make sure that didn't happen.
From the arena, the announcer's voice boomed, "Introducing the newest entry to the Ring! Once again, a Nameless enters the grounds to prove himself. Would he conquer to get crushed in the trenches?! Only time will tell! Today we see him fight and see if his fists have the right to climb to the top!"
"Go," Enomoto pushed Takuma.
Takuma took in a deep breath before jogging out of the tunnel. There were metal chain mesh walls on both sides with people on both sides banging on them as Takuma ran past them. He entered the ring, where his opponent waited for him. When he entered, a sliding door dropped from above with a heavy thud and sealed the entrance.
As he stood in the arena, Takuma felt that maybe it was good that he got to fight before he started fighting regularly. Watching a fight from outside wouldn't have told him how restrictive space felt with the solid metal wire mesh surrounding the arena. The arena was significantly larger than an MMA octagon arena, but he could tell that managing space here would be drastically different than anywhere he had fought.
He needed to be cautious about his positioning at all times.
Standing in front of Takuma was his opponent, adorning a similar cream mask with maroon highlights. One glance told that the man was much older than Takuma. He was taller and had an adult's body frame and muscles.
Even if Enomoto told him the man was fairly new, an older shinobi would have more experience in general.
The announcer stepped out of the ring, and the fight started when the metal door fell behind him.
Takuma wasn't planning to move immediately, but he noticed the man staring at his torso. It took but a moment for him to realize that he was looking at the scars that marred his body. When he realized that, Takuma charged ahead, and the man snapped his gaze back— but it was enough for Takuma.
He was already on him and swung his fist. The man used his arm to block the strike, but the force against the unprepared stance was enough to send the man stumbling back. Takuma struck again and the man caught a foot in the chest. The man hit the ground and rolled on the ground a couple times before he was up and charging towards Takuma.
Takuma let the man strike and waded through a running hook before sending an elbow in the face. The mask didn't break, but the man stumbled out of balance.
If Takuma had learned anything from Masaaki, it was that if the opponent was going down, you didn't wait for them to go down, you dragged them to ensure they didn't get up. Takuma jumped the man, shoved him to the ground, and placed himself above— but before he could rain down punches, the man threw him off to the side.
He grunted in frustration as he got up and took out the man's legs with a sliding tackle. He then grabbed the man's leg to put it in a lock so he could pop a joint out but got kicked with the other leg.
He floundered back as the man got up and charged with an angry growl.
The man crashed into Takuma with a shoulder tackle and sent him flying to the edge of the arena. He felt the cold metal mesh dig into his skin as the air rushed out of his lungs.
Takuma landed his feet and caught his breathing back as he saw the man charging towards him like an angry bull.
His hand went to the side of his thigh for a kunai, but his fingers grasped for air. He couldn't force a delay. Takuma lugged himself off the mesh and raised his arms just in time to catch a kick to the head— another spinning kick thrashed into his arms.
The barrage continued from the raging man, and soon Takuma felt his arms numb and grow heavy as he kept them up and held his stance steady to not get blown off into oblivion.
His eyes peeked through and around his guard, fixed on the man— his body making little movements to not let any hit get through.
The sounds of the crowd, which was all he could hear in the arena, dulled down, to be replaced by the sound of his thumping heart and the swishes of the man's swinging arms.
It was all but for a moment, but he felt he could truly see the man. He could feel an anger seep into the movements. He knew these movements. They resembled his own when he would spar against Maruboshi and couldn't make any contact. He would grow angry and start swinging wildly.
There was a second of separation, and Takuma deliberately opened his guard slightly.
Suddenly, he could tell what was going to happen next.
'Knee strike to the stomach with a cross to the face.'
And at the same time, Takuma could see what he would be doing in the next moment.
The man opened with a knee strike to create distance while making Takuma lower his guard. Takuma stepped in at the opportune moment, slapped the knee down, and then like magic, the wild cross came for his head.
Takuma heard a 'swip' as the arm slipped past his ear.
Time slowed down as Takuma saw the opening he knew was coming.
Like a piston in an engine, Takuma's jabbed and his fist crunched into the man's throat.
The man's aggression vanished as his eyes bulged out; his body closed in on itself, with his arms moving back into a guard as he stepped back. Before he could complete his guard, Takuma's cross smashed into the man's chin. As the man staggered like a drunk, a kick thrashed into his calves, putting him to the ground before jumping onto the man's chest feet first.
Takuma felt the bones bend as his weight pressed down.
The moment ended, and the world returned to Takuma as he mindlessly kicked his opponent.
He heard a loud siren, and at the same time, the announcer, who had at some moment entered the arena, pulled him away, and sent him stumbling to the ground.
Takuma sat on the arena's floor in a daze as he stared as the announcer and another man tended to his opponent.
Over his breathing, all he could hear were the ruckus cheers of the crowd.
———
.
"What do you think?" asked Enomoto from a balcony area that overlooked the arena from above.
Tsubura lit the tobacco in his pipe and puffed the embers as he looked down at the arena at the new kid as the announcer paraded him around to the people.
Enomoto sure knew how to pick them. The kid fit the mold to the fault. An orphan, assigned to the Genin Corp, rookie with barely any experience, a quiet personality with few friends, a regular mission record, trained every single day, and a decent fighter… there was that close connection to another shinobi, but Enomoto had assured him that it wouldn't be a problem.
Many people in the same place as the kid career-wise didn't want to fight in the Ring. They were still naïve and threw themselves into missions, trying their best as the good little shinobi they were. The young'uns continued to slave away at the missions for the rest of their minimum service period, only to find out they couldn't get enough chunin recommendations for the Chunin Exams. The lucky few that did receive recommendations had wasted their time as laborers and failed to improve themselves as shinobi— none of them got promoted on their first chance.
The foolish would keep trying like idiots.
Chunin promotions were for the smart ones who knew what they were doing from early on or those who had connections and people to guide them to be in a capable place.
It was difficult to get those smart ones.
The kid wasn't a smart one. He did train every day (who knew how long that would last), but there was no effort to make meaningful connections, or pursue alternate routes for promotion or an assignment shift. The kid was bound to get stuck in the Genin Corp for a long time before he got out if he ever did.
The way Tsubura looked at it, he was doing the kid a favor. Win fights, get money and mission points. If the kid knew what was good for him, he would put both in the correct place. It was only time before he would be put on a C-rank mission with an "observer"— if the kid did well, he would get pulled into a chunin's team rotation.
The proven way to either get a chance at promotion or at least shift out of the Genin Corp.
"You did good," he said, "I like him."
The kid was dull in a fight, but that was everyone when they started out. It would improve as he continued to fight. The kid had won his first fight, but it didn't come as a complete surprise— the kid was the winner of the basic training tournament.
"What are we going to name the kid?" asked Enomoto.
Tsubura looked down at the boy before smiling,
"Let's go with… Scars."
Want to read ahead of schedule? Head over to Patreón [fictiononlyreader]. Link below.
Note: All the chapters will eventually be posted on public forums.
Things had moved faster than Takuma had ever expected. One moment he was listening to unreasonable terms and conditions from fat boss man Tsubura, and the next moment he was looking at a ginormous caged arena inside a dark back tunnel. It turned out there was an open spot they needed to fill.
"I hope you're ready."
Takuma looked back at Enomoto, aka Shady Guy, and made a face of unwillingness and displeasure.
Enomoto laughed, "Don't be like that. Your opponent is fairly new as well and has only fought a few fights in the Ring. Consider it a test drive, so you can be prepared the next time you fight."
He could've observed a fight or two, and that would've been enough. He didn't have to prepare in such a way. Takuma looked at the ongoing fight; the two men were fighting fiercely, with the substantial crowd cheering wildly with each sounding hit and show of blood. But what caught his eyes the most were the masks that covered the fighter's faces.
"Those masks," he turned to Enomoto.
"Here you go," Enomoto raised a cream mask with viridian highlights that covered the top-right quadrant like a leaf. "You don't want to bump into these people during the day. Believe me, there are some gambling junkies who will pester you to no end to get even the smallest of information if it could help them place a better bet. It's better if you don't have to interact with the spectators outside of here."
Takuma stared at the hard mark on his hand and frowned when he felt something like a cloth behind it. He pulled to find a black ski mask.
"Masks break often," Enomoto explained when Takuma gave him a look.
Takuma sighed as he pulled the ski mask over his face before putting on the mask. Thankfully, it fit well and didn't feel like an annoyance he had to move around in.
"Looking good," smiled Enomoto. "Now, give me your weapons packs, all of them."
Takuma wanted to protest but decided that it would be meaningless and unstrapped every weapon on him. "There better not be a single thing missing from here," he said as he handed Enomoto his weaponry.
"Don't worry, I don't have the habit of stealing from poor genin," smirked Chunin Enomoto.
Takuma clicked his tongue in response to the jab. Iryo-nin were especially loaded.
"One last thing."
"What now?!"
"Take off your shirt. Fighting bare-chested is a rule for men in the Ring."
Takuma sighed in frustration as he pulled off your shirt and shoved it into Enomoto before facing the arena. The fight was over, and the announcer was raising one of the men's hands as the winner.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on a repetitive breathing pattern as he waited for himself to be called up for the fight.
The last time he fought seriously was during the final tournament; everything after that had been shadow training and light sparring with friends. He knew this would be nothing like that, and his opponent would be coming to take his head, and that if he wasn't the same, it would hurt a lot.
He didn't like getting hurt, so he needed to hurt back to make sure that didn't happen.
From the arena, the announcer's voice boomed, "Introducing the newest entry to the Ring! Once again, a Nameless enters the grounds to prove himself. Would he conquer to get crushed in the trenches?! Only time will tell! Today we see him fight and see if his fists have the right to climb to the top!"
"Go," Enomoto pushed Takuma.
Takuma took in a deep breath before jogging out of the tunnel. There were metal chain mesh walls on both sides with people on both sides banging on them as Takuma ran past them. He entered the ring, where his opponent waited for him. When he entered, a sliding door dropped from above with a heavy thud and sealed the entrance.
As he stood in the arena, Takuma felt that maybe it was good that he got to fight before he started fighting regularly. Watching a fight from outside wouldn't have told him how restrictive space felt with the solid metal wire mesh surrounding the arena. The arena was significantly larger than an MMA octagon arena, but he could tell that managing space here would be drastically different than anywhere he had fought.
He needed to be cautious about his positioning at all times.
Standing in front of Takuma was his opponent, adorning a similar cream mask with maroon highlights. One glance told that the man was much older than Takuma. He was taller and had an adult's body frame and muscles.
Even if Enomoto told him the man was fairly new, an older shinobi would have more experience in general.
The announcer stepped out of the ring, and the fight started when the metal door fell behind him.
Takuma wasn't planning to move immediately, but he noticed the man staring at his torso. It took but a moment for him to realize that he was looking at the scars that marred his body. When he realized that, Takuma charged ahead, and the man snapped his gaze back— but it was enough for Takuma.
He was already on him and swung his fist. The man used his arm to block the strike, but the force against the unprepared stance was enough to send the man stumbling back. Takuma struck again and the man caught a foot in the chest. The man hit the ground and rolled on the ground a couple times before he was up and charging towards Takuma.
Takuma let the man strike and waded through a running hook before sending an elbow in the face. The mask didn't break, but the man stumbled out of balance.
If Takuma had learned anything from Masaaki, it was that if the opponent was going down, you didn't wait for them to go down, you dragged them to ensure they didn't get up. Takuma jumped the man, shoved him to the ground, and placed himself above— but before he could rain down punches, the man threw him off to the side.
He grunted in frustration as he got up and took out the man's legs with a sliding tackle. He then grabbed the man's leg to put it in a lock so he could pop a joint out but got kicked with the other leg.
He floundered back as the man got up and charged with an angry growl.
The man crashed into Takuma with a shoulder tackle and sent him flying to the edge of the arena. He felt the cold metal mesh dig into his skin as the air rushed out of his lungs.
Takuma landed his feet and caught his breathing back as he saw the man charging towards him like an angry bull.
His hand went to the side of his thigh for a kunai, but his fingers grasped for air. He couldn't force a delay. Takuma lugged himself off the mesh and raised his arms just in time to catch a kick to the head— another spinning kick thrashed into his arms.
The barrage continued from the raging man, and soon Takuma felt his arms numb and grow heavy as he kept them up and held his stance steady to not get blown off into oblivion.
His eyes peeked through and around his guard, fixed on the man— his body making little movements to not let any hit get through.
The sounds of the crowd, which was all he could hear in the arena, dulled down, to be replaced by the sound of his thumping heart and the swishes of the man's swinging arms.
It was all but for a moment, but he felt he could truly see the man. He could feel an anger seep into the movements. He knew these movements. They resembled his own when he would spar against Maruboshi and couldn't make any contact. He would grow angry and start swinging wildly.
There was a second of separation, and Takuma deliberately opened his guard slightly.
Suddenly, he could tell what was going to happen next.
'Knee strike to the stomach with a cross to the face.'
And at the same time, Takuma could see what he would be doing in the next moment.
The man opened with a knee strike to create distance while making Takuma lower his guard. Takuma stepped in at the opportune moment, slapped the knee down, and then like magic, the wild cross came for his head.
Takuma heard a 'swip' as the arm slipped past his ear.
Time slowed down as Takuma saw the opening he knew was coming.
Like a piston in an engine, Takuma's jabbed and his fist crunched into the man's throat.
The man's aggression vanished as his eyes bulged out; his body closed in on itself, with his arms moving back into a guard as he stepped back. Before he could complete his guard, Takuma's cross smashed into the man's chin. As the man staggered like a drunk, a kick thrashed into his calves, putting him to the ground before jumping onto the man's chest feet first.
Takuma felt the bones bend as his weight pressed down.
The moment ended, and the world returned to Takuma as he mindlessly kicked his opponent.
He heard a loud siren, and at the same time, the announcer, who had at some moment entered the arena, pulled him away, and sent him stumbling to the ground.
Takuma sat on the arena's floor in a daze as he stared as the announcer and another man tended to his opponent.
Over his breathing, all he could hear were the ruckus cheers of the crowd.
———
.
"What do you think?" asked Enomoto from a balcony area that overlooked the arena from above.
Tsubura lit the tobacco in his pipe and puffed the embers as he looked down at the arena at the new kid as the announcer paraded him around to the people.
Enomoto sure knew how to pick them. The kid fit the mold to the fault. An orphan, assigned to the Genin Corp, rookie with barely any experience, a quiet personality with few friends, a regular mission record, trained every single day, and a decent fighter… there was that close connection to another shinobi, but Enomoto had assured him that it wouldn't be a problem.
Many people in the same place as the kid career-wise didn't want to fight in the Ring. They were still naïve and threw themselves into missions, trying their best as the good little shinobi they were. The young'uns continued to slave away at the missions for the rest of their minimum service period, only to find out they couldn't get enough chunin recommendations for the Chunin Exams. The lucky few that did receive recommendations had wasted their time as laborers and failed to improve themselves as shinobi— none of them got promoted on their first chance.
The foolish would keep trying like idiots.
Chunin promotions were for the smart ones who knew what they were doing from early on or those who had connections and people to guide them to be in a capable place.
It was difficult to get those smart ones.
The kid wasn't a smart one. He did train every day (who knew how long that would last), but there was no effort to make meaningful connections, or pursue alternate routes for promotion or an assignment shift. The kid was bound to get stuck in the Genin Corp for a long time before he got out if he ever did.
The way Tsubura looked at it, he was doing the kid a favor. Win fights, get money and mission points. If the kid knew what was good for him, he would put both in the correct place. It was only time before he would be put on a C-rank mission with an "observer"— if the kid did well, he would get pulled into a chunin's team rotation.
The proven way to either get a chance at promotion or at least shift out of the Genin Corp.
"You did good," he said, "I like him."
The kid was dull in a fight, but that was everyone when they started out. It would improve as he continued to fight. The kid had won his first fight, but it didn't come as a complete surprise— the kid was the winner of the basic training tournament.
"What are we going to name the kid?" asked Enomoto.
Tsubura looked down at the boy before smiling,
"Let's go with… Scars."
Want to read ahead of schedule? Head over to Patreón [fictiononlyreader]. Link below.
Note: All the chapters will eventually be posted on public forums.
