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Today was the day of the chunin fights. The arena buzzed with an intensity that only a crowd anticipating blood could create. Haruto knew that this would likely be the only time he fought in an arena. This was Konoha's grand display—a stage set to impress clients, to show off the village's up and coming power and secure missions. But to Haruto, it wasn't about the spectators or the deals being made behind the scenes.

It was about the fight.

He had a ritual for moments like this, one he'd carried with him from his past life. Before every MMA match, before every fight that really mattered, he'd find a quiet corner, sit down, and let the noise of the world fade. And he would put his headphones on and listen to "Let the Bodies Hit the Floor" by Drowning Pool.

Back then, it was the song that flipped the switch. As the lyrics thudded through his mind, the world would shrink to the size of the cage. Everything else would blur. He'd feel his pulse sync with the beat, the words echoing like an anthem for what was about to come.

Nothing wrong with me.

Haruto smiled faintly as the words drifted through his mind, taking him back. He could still see his first MMA fight clearly. His opponent had been strong, hungry for a win, but Haruto had been quicker—three seconds, one strike. Done. He'd been unstoppable, or so it had seemed, before the injury took it all away.

Something's got to give.

He clenched his fists, feeling the memory of it—the fight, the thrill, the raw power coursing through him. That song had become more than just a ritual—it had become a battle cry. It had fueled him in that other life, pushed him past the point of pain, kept him sharp, fierce. And now, even in this life, those words still carried weight.

Let the bodies hit the floor.

The pain he'd endured, the pain he'd inflicted—it all came rushing back with the beat of the song, like a familiar pulse. He was no stranger to it. In this life, too, he knew the rhythm of battle, the high of pushing himself to the edge. That hunger had never left him. The eye of the tiger—he'd had it back then, and it was still with him now, sharper than ever.

Outside the quiet, the crowd roared, but he didn't care. Today's fight wasn't about impressing the clients who had gathered to judge Konoha's strength. He wasn't fighting to showcase power or win over contracts. The only thing that mattered was the fight itself.

His teammates, Daichi and Shisui, were strong. Shisui's speed was something even Haruto respected. Then there were others—Pakura and Rasa, both formidable in their own right. The competition would be fierce.

But Haruto wasn't nervous. He welcomed it. He could already feel it—the pain, the adrenaline, the clarity that came when everything else fell away and only the fight remained. Let the bodies hit the floor. The lyrics echoed in his mind as the familiar feeling of anticipation built.

The crowd, the politics, the village's reputation—none of that mattered. This was what he lived for. This fight, the thrill of pushing himself to the limit, the raw, unfiltered power that surged through him. It wasn't about winning or losing. It was about the fight itself.

Haruto smiled to himself as the song looped once more in his head. He was ready. He had always been ready.