Four Hundred Wins

Thirty-eight years ago

Back then, Wakayama Teiljo was an entirely different person. With the consultancy firm he'd inherited from his father collapsing around him, he was desperately looking for a way to make money, any way. But at that point he was already so poor that he could no longer afford to even retain a fighter, meaning that even the Kengan membership he had meant nothing. One of the rumors he chased out of desperation was that of a young man, who'd appeared out of nowhere and made a name for himself both in the underground mahjong circles and on the streets, picking fights with basically anyone tough-looking that met his gaze.

Honestly, Teiljo didn't expect much - probably just a punk that was good enough at mental arithmetic to calculate tile probabilities on the fly and make some quick cash. But the man he ended up meeting astonished him - and honestly, he still did. Though his appearance changed a lot over the years, through all the scars and training, but in terms of personality he hadn't changed a bit - the same sharpness of mind, the same insane and lofty ambitions and obsession with his own concept of power, and of course that sharp, piercing gaze. A madman who did things with little to no regard for his own well-being, who strived for an unreachable ideal. If he'd been wise, he'd have left the kid there and never looked back.

But... he couldn't. Not because he was up to his neck in problems (though he definitely was that) but because risking everything to obtain something as fleeting as a dream was madness to him. But as he'd grow accustomed to over the years, Niou's logic obliterated his doubts - he was already in such deep trouble that he had to take a risk to survive. And so, he hired this unknown who was perpetually covered in injuries from street fights as his fighter.

Thirty years ago

"AAAND THE WINNER IS... 'THE CHESSMASTER', HIRUMA NIOU!" the announcer screamed as Niou's opponent collapsed to the ground before the smaller and far more injured man. "And with that, the Chessmaster has scored his 400th victory! Even though he so often gets pummeled the entire match, he has lost fewer than 5% of his matches! Can anyone overcome his devious strategies?"

Niou himself didn't feel like celebrating. Though he had a broken rib and a crack in his solar plexus alongside a bunch of painful, throbbing flesh from taking hits over most of his body, this fight had been as dull as most others had been recently. He was taking hits, but executing his strategies was no longer anything he struggled with like back when he was a greenhorn way out of his depth. He'd felt such excitement back then, and he couldn't really pinpoint when that fire burning in him had started to fade.

Feeling a weariness in his spirit that the strain of his accumulated injuries couldn't match, he stepped out of the ring to greet his widely grinning friend and employer. "Four hundred wins!" Teiljo began, elated, "How far we've come in these past eight years. You know, when he hit you with that hammer kick, for a moment I-" he stopped when he realized that Niou wasn't looking at him.

"Hey, something on your mind? You're not gonna tell me you're disappointed with that win, are you?" he said, trying to keep up a jovial tone, but Niou's continued lack of response made it really hard to keep up. Not knowing what else to do, he let an awkward silence fall until Niou raised his head and looked at him.

"I'm quitting." he stated bluntly.

"Wh- quitting? What do you mean, you're on a roll right now!" Teiljo stammered, completely bewildered.

"Yes, and that's precisely the problem."

Another silence, in which Teiljo studied Niou's gaze. "I see..." he eventually replied, "Well, I won't hold it against you, without you I wouldn't be where I am today. But, what will you do next? I can't imagine many places where you could get a greater challenge than-"

The realization hit him mid-sentence, and from Niou's stony gaze he could tell that he was right - Niou was planning to go to the Inside.

He swallowed hard - he'd been expecting Niou to leave one day and he'd steeled himself for that. But he did come to consider him as a friend over the years, so having him leave to such a hostile place with which communication is virtually impossible... Niou was strong, he knew that more than anyone, but in the Inside it would no longer be a question of one-on-one battles, it'd be a struggle for survival. And he also knew very well that Niou wouldn't do the wise thing and keep his head down or make alliances for safety - he'd forge his own path, or die trying.

The Teiljo from eight years ago might have collapsed under these worries, but the years had changed him. He'd been through many insane things with Niou by his side, and he'd grown into a much stronger person. So, he extended his hand, and even managed to genuinely grin. "You're still as crazy as ever, eh? Well, don't let me stop you, go chase your desires."

That, at last, elicited a matching grin from Niou, who reciprocated the handshake. "Hah, for a moment there I'd forgotten that you're plenty crazy yourself! I see I needn't have worried."

"You know it!" Teiljo replied, laughing, before turning more serious. "But, promise me one thing - when you come back, let me know, and I'll treat you to a drink. Alright?" He cursed himself for letting his fear shine through after doing so well, but Niou responded with a rare moment of genuine warmth. "I will, my friend."

And with that, before Teiljo got a chance to say anything else, he was gone - the last he would hear about him until two years later was that he'd been spotted walking into the Inside at sunset, carrying nothing but a small bag of necessities, his clothes still carrying the bloodstains from the fight earlier that day.