Chapter 8 | Prelude to Battle

The first rays of dawn spill over the bustling heart of Tokyo and envelop the majestic facade of Asahi School in a golden embrace. The gentle touch of dawn awakens the gleaming spires and flowing lines of a marvel of architectural ingenuity. Here, in these hallowed halls, the pulse of creativity rages, nourishing young minds with brilliance and ambition

On this morning there is an idyllic atmosphere of warmth and a refreshing breeze, and a scattering of gentle clouds hangs in a sky colored in calm shades of blue.

Inside the academy, in an auditorium flooded with the rays of the emerging sun, Kaito sat gazing out the window as birds chirped merrily, heralding the arrival of a new day. Silky strands of black hair cascaded down his forehead, emphasizing the contemplation of his face and the depth of his violet eyes.

The desks were lined up in even rows, with a different student sitting at each, and the walls were decorated with educational posters in moderately bright designs, mottled with intricate diagrams and notes. For Kaito, however, this place isn't so much a haven for study as it is a prison.

His classmates were a motley bunch, each with a unique quirk. Among them was a girl who could weave her fingers like rubber, and a boy whose touch could change colors on paper. The woman sitting at the teacher's desk, a biology teacher possessed a transformation quirk that gifted her with an extra pair of arms growing out of her back.

Despite the wonders surrounding him, Kaito remained aloof. Utilizing one of his unique abilities, cognitive enhancement, he found academic pursuits trivial. The knowledge he so easily gained had no value to him; it was ephemeral and forgotten as soon as the exams were over.

Kaito stared out the classroom window while his headphones streamed the book's text into his mind. History was fascinating to him, giving him a boost of energy that monotonous lectures couldn't match. His peers, though close by, were distant in spirit, their interests and maturity at odds with his own. Although Kaito was only fourteen, he possessed the soul of an adult.

But for now, he was just a schoolboy, confined within the walls of the school, but soon he would be outside of it.

When the school bell heralds the end of the day, Kaito gathers his things and silently leaves the classroom. He walks down the hallways. Through the windows, he could see the outside of the school: many paths, fields of mowed grass, and tall trees growing all over the landscape.

A black Maybach was waiting for him at the threshold, its polished surface reflecting the world in monochrome. The driver, radiating European elegance, stood tall, with a resolute chin. His dark hair framed a statuesque and determined face.

Noticing Kaito's approach, he stepped forward with a grace born of confidence and swung open the car door with a swing. "Hello, Kaito," he greeted in a warm baritone.

The boy met his gaze and a slight smile appeared on his lips. "Hello," he replied.

The driver, whose name was Oscar, was Kaito's chauffeur. Closing the door and starting the engine, Oscar asked: "Where can I take you?"

Kaito replied lightly, "To the Sakae Shopping Center."

The road passed through the heart of the city, lined with trees that swayed in a gentle dance in the breeze. The buildings, each with its own history, stood silent sentinels against the daily bustle.

As they pulled up to an imposing four-story building, Oscar stopped the car. "We've arrived," he announced, and his voice sounded like a murmur against the hum of the city.

Kaito set the phone aside in his pants pocket. The chauffeur opened the door, went to the trunk and pulled out a gym bag, then opened the back door for Kaito. The boy stepped out, took the bag, and said goodbye to Oscar before heading into the mall.

Inside, the building was an oasis of commerce and leisure, its spacious atrium flooded with natural light streaming through the sky-ceiling windows. The air was a symphony of footsteps, conversations, and the distant melody of a piano coming from the café on the corner.

A few steps away, Kaito met his friend Anthony, who was armed with two weighty bottles of water, a supply of provisions for the upcoming adventure.

"Hey," Kaito greeted him, a spark of camaraderie flashing in his eyes.

"What's up?" Anthony replied, the ease of familiar friendship in his tone.

With a friendly smirk, Kaito turned to his friend. "Ready?"

"Yeah, let's go," the latter replied enthusiastically.

With a mutual nod to each other, they headed not to the parking lot, but to the gym. At first, Kaito was surprised by such a thing, but then he learned that underground fights existed with the government's tacit consent. Because of the high profits, they were held in places like this, hidden from prying eyes.

The duo walked back to the car and after making a few turns, pulled up to a monolithic structure dedicated to the art of combat. After exiting the car, they made their way up to the third floor where they donned their masks. At the entrance stood a man and a woman, the gatekeepers of this hidden arena. Flashing the QR codes, Kaito and Anthony walked inside.

A room pulsing with the energy of over 500 souls opened before them. In the very center was a boxing ring, the epicenter of anticipation and ambition.

The two of them made their way through the crowd, the hum of the underground arena in their ears. Kaito's deep amethyst eyes, twinkling like gems, scanned the hall, noting the diversity of the crowd - students, office workers, and even a few young boys and girls under the influence of various drugs.

Almost no event of this kind was without such people, and sometimes the organizers themselves sold such merchandise to the guests.

Making his way through the crowd of masked men, Kaito approached one of them to clarify who the couple in the ring were. Before Kaito's debut, there were still two more fights to go.

"I'm going to go change," Kaito muttered, turning to Anthony.

"Now? Don't you want to watch the match?"

"No, most of these fights are just garbage. I'll see real fights in more serious events, but I need three wins in a row to participate in them."

"Right... And in what time frame do you plan to have your three fights?"

"In a week or two if I don't get injured."

"Great, then go ahead. I'll already be waiting for you as a fighter."

Kaito smiled slightly. "Yeah, okay."

Holding his bag in his hands, Kaito headed for the exit of the hall, moving through the corridors that branched off into various rooms: the restroom, the showers, the fighters' treatment room, and the locker room, where he headed.

As soon as he entered the room, the roar of the crowd was barely audible-the locker room was a quiet harbor, large in area, with bare walls and dim lighting, where the fighters were preparing for battle, warming up, putting on their ammunition, and waiting for their fight.

Kaito set his gym bag on the bench and sat down to remove his shoes. The upcoming fight would be the first time he would be able to use his abilities to their fullest without fear of breaking the law on a whim. He unzipped his bag and pulled out his athletic sneakers, gloves with iron inserts, simple black pants made of thick material, a white hoodie, and a white mask. The mask was made of light but strong material, covering only the upper part of his face, and above his eyes were black translucent inserts that obscured his vision a little, but still allowed him to see quite well.

After changing his clothes, he began to stretch. As he stretched, the door opened and a man with an ugly face walked in. The man retreated to his corner, threw his backpack on the bench, and began to undress. Kaito paid no attention to him, concentrating on stretching his legs forward, straightening his back, and bending over to touch his toes.

Taking off his outer clothing, he pulled out bandages and ointment, first dabbing the painful parts of his body and then bandaging them afterward. Wrapping his shin, he looked at Kaito sitting on the cold hard floor with his legs stretched out in front of him. His back is straight and he stretches, leaning over each leg in turn. The fingers of his hands touch the toes of his feet. At this point, Kaito is calm and focused only on stretching, his eyes closed and his breathing even and deep.

"What's your number, kid."

Kaito opened his eyes and looked at the man sitting across from him, dressed in simple underwear, bandages laying on his shins, lower back, and forearms, evidence of battles already passed. His skin glistened pale like light silk stretched over a thin frame.

"Twelfth," he answered, then continued to stretch.

"So, not you..." - muttered the man, returning to his preparations.

Returning to the ammunition, the man continued his preparations and began bandaging his hands. As he bandaged the last two fingers on his right hand, the door swung open, and a silhouette walked with a slow, steady gait straight toward the area near the boy's belongings. The man was tall and large, with a large potbelly bulging out of a black t-shirt. His head was clean, not a single hair on it. He sat down on the bench, put his hands on his knees, and looked around at the two people present.

"Which one of you will be in the tenth?" - He asked, his voice high, almost squeaky.

The man finished dressing and, without looking up, replied, "Me."

"Aha, so you. I was afraid I'd have to beat up the kid," the big man said in a cheerful tone.

The ugly man looked at the boy, but he calmly went about his business, as if not hearing his interlocutor.

"This isn't the first time you've been here," the bald man addressed the man in bandages.

"Not the first time," the man replied, starting to put on his pants.

"Of course, it's not the first time, I can tell by your face that you've been beaten more than once," the bald man joked with the same cheerful attitude.

The freak's face was distorted beyond recognition, as if nature had turned him away at birth. His eyes were at different levels, creating dissonance in his gaze, and the left side of his face looked charred as if it had been touched by flames. His face was dotted with pimples that looked like small volcanoes about to erupt, and the two huge bumps on his forehead resembled stone cliffs. The hair on his head was sparse, patches of baldness like deserts, scattered among rare oases of living strands.

"And you're a newbie since you can't keep your mouth shut," the ugly man threw in, his voice like the gnashing of steel.

 "Ha, no, this is the third time for me," the opponent parried with a slight chuckle.

Suddenly, from a speaker lurking in the shadows of the corner came the order, "Fighters from pair number eleven, come into the ring."

With those words, the ugly man slipped through the door like a shadow and disappeared from sight. Baldy, gathering the last remnants of his strength, rose heavily, leaned on his knees, and followed him, leaving behind him only the echo of his footsteps and the boy in profound loneliness and silence.