CH_3.8 (067)

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Takuma rolled his neck and bent down to grab his ankles to stretch his spine. He waited for his 'name' to be called. After two weeks of visiting below the surface of the Leaf village, he had gotten somewhat used to the cold and (thankfully) dry tunnels and arena of the place that he bled in front of a crowd of zealous people who wanted to see the conflict in its most primal form.

"The Ring's latest fighter, adorned in the scars of a hundred blood battles, wearing the green leaf over his face," the announcer's voice boomed outside the tunnel, "holding a 4-3 record… SCARS!"

Takuma ran off the tunnel into the wire-mesh passageway connecting into the domed-arena. The steel trap door rose up and Takuma skipped the steps with a jump and hopped on his toes on the white floor of the arena, the best backdrop for red to shine.

Into his third week at the Ring, Takuma didn't know how to feel about his fighter nickname. It's what he was called by the announcers, plastered on the betting sheets, posted on the scoreboards. Regardless of how the announcer put it, none of his scars were gained in battle, all of them were a gift from the previous owner. In most cases, as long as a cut was healed by iryo-jutsu before a certain time limit and the iryo-nin was decently competent, the injury didn't leave behind any scars. Even if the injury wasn't healed within the time limit, there were procedures that could eliminate most scarring— a practice popular and fairly common with shinobi, especially kunoichi.

Takuma never bothered going through the procedure because the scarring on his body never bothered him or obstructed his life in any manner.

Was he ever curious about where the 'boy' got enough scars that even the average shinobi would pause and stare? Of course, he was curious. But between no leads and having a life to live, Takuma didn't have the time and motivation to dig something up that from what he could tell didn't have any effect on his life other than that he wore full-sleeves clothes throughout the year.

In a way, they were coming to his advantage in the Ring by becoming his defining characteristic and helping him sell the Scars branding. It had only been three weeks, but Takuma had spent just enough time to understand that the Ring had high points of similarity to a combat sport organization. If he got famous among the audience (gamblers) he could bargain for a better payout per fight.

And he had to give it to whoever it was who thought it— Scars was a banger identity.

His opponent entered through the opposite end of the arena. Similarly, to him, his opponent wore a cream mask with blue claw highlights. Like most of his opponents, the man in front of him was a fully-grown adult. This one was a 'big guy' to boot with bulging muscles on a tall and wide frame. The man could give Yoshio competition in musculature.

"… with a record of 25-21… THRASHER!"

Thrasher beat his hairy chest and raised his hands as he jumped around the arena to rouse the crowd.

From the Thrasher's record, Takuma could see immediately that the man had some experience in the Ring and that he had actually gotten paid with having more than thirty-six fights on the record. He felt himself salivate thinking about the payout for twenty-five wins.

Takuma didn't let the forty-six percent loss percentage give him any overconfidence. Having a win-loss percentage closer to fifty percent was widely common in the Ring. Fighters fought in such a massive volume anyone who had a winning percentage closer to sixty percent was considered good in the Ring. Thrasher's fifty-four percent win percentage did make him a decent fighter.

'Stat-wise, I'm better than him,' thought Takuma. He was cruising with a cool fifty-seven percent win percent in his seven fights. He quickly shook his head from the useless thoughts.

The announcer finished his hype trail and stepped out of the arena. Thrasher slammed his massive bear hands together as he looked down at Takuma, who could feel a grin behind Thrasher's mask that looked too small on his big head.

The moment the steel trap door made a thud behind the announcer, Thrasher charged at Takuma. Takuma felt the arena beneath him tremble as he skipped back on nimble steps keeping in mind the edge of the arena behind him. Getting cornered was never wise, especially with a big man such as Thrasher as his opponent.

Thrasher let the full force of his meaty arm loose, swinging against Takuma, who ducked under the arm and got behind him. With a swift push against the floor, Takuma leapt high and spun to crunch a solid spinning kick into the side of Thrasher's head, snapping the beefy neck to the side.

The impact left him satisfied as he hopped a step back.

It wasn't enough as the giant hobbled for barely a step before charging towards Takuma with hands fashioned into claws. Not wanting to get caught, Takuma kept light on his feet and made use of the arena floor.

Takuma admittedly didn't have much experience much taller than him. Size difference didn't mean as much it would've if chakra didn't exist, but there were still a few nuances that one had to keep while fighting someone differently sized than you. For example, the concept of 'reach' still mattered and a person's wingspan provided an advantage.

Thrasher had longer arms and legs than him, and while Takuma wasn't one to stereotype, his opponents burly muscles were clearly indicative of a hard hitter. He didn't want to get too close and get conked in the head.

In a rare moment, he found himself as the faster party in a fight and he took full advantage as he skirted around Thrasher and precisely planted body shots. Thrasher's muscles might be tough, but there was only so much they could do before damage reached the soft and squishy organs.

Thrasher was angry, Takuma could feel that, and it made the next breath even more astounding. Takuma took a quick forestep to close in the distance and committed his full body behind a heavy hook to the body only to be blocked by Thrasher who condensed his body behind a closed guard.

Before Takuma could move back, he felt a quick jab dig into his shoulder. The force twisted through his body and knocked Takuma back on staggering feet.

An angry growl sounded behind Thrasher's mask as he raised his arm and hammered it down towards Takuma's face like divine retribution. Takuma used whatever momentum he could from his unsteady stance and parried the strike with a redirecting blow to the side of the incoming arm.

Takuma's attention immediately turned to make space and get his stability back, but before he could do it, Thrasher grabbed his arm in a vice grip and spun him. Takuma felt as if a stretched bungee cord pulled tugged on his body through his arm. In an instant., Thrasher had both his arms in his grip.

Takuma heard a rough voice,

"Got you, boy."

Thrasher raised Takuma's body before slamming him down into the hard floor of the arena. The ground cracked under the force. Takuma felt his entire back hurt to the bone, pain throbbing in waves. Takuma gasped for air as it rushed out of his lungs.

He had been beaten worse before; getting hurt was Takuma's forte. He tensed his muscles to got his body in control as Thrasher raised him for another smash down. He smashed his legs into Thrasher's chest, who simply grunted in response as he continued to raise Takuma's body.

Takuma wasn't done.

In an instant, the two energies melded in his body and chakra shot through the chakra pathway system. For a split-second, his soles stuck to Thrasher's chest before the concept of tree-walking turned into a weapon and Takuma overloaded the chakra output.

There was no sound but both Takuma and Thrasher felt the force surge through their bodies. Within a split-second, they caught eyes behind their masks, and it was a question of who would give first.

Fortunately for Takuma, and unfortunately for Thrasher, having an overwhelming force hammering down his chest could've been absolutely lethal. Thrasher let go of Takuma's arm and both of them were flung away from each other.

Takuma got up on his feet and he staggered several steps to the left as his feet trembled like a newborn faun from the force of the chakra not having a free direction to launch Takuma into, so it ran rampant inside his legs. He had no feelings in his feet and his knees hurt like hell as he tried his best to not fall down.

Even though he was fighting in the "taijutsu-only" category and jutsu wasn't allowed, chakra wasn't banned. There was a reason the arena had a dome covering it. The arena ground wasn't the only surface that the fighters could fight on. The entire arena was valid space.

He had paid money to watch a fight between high-ranking fighters in the "taijutsu-only" category. The fighters utilized the dome by sticking to it and added another dimension to the combat.

Takuma watched as the steel trap door rose and the announcer entered the arena and walked to Thrasher who was rolling on the ground. Unlike Takuma, his opponent hadn't gotten up after the clash.

The announcer knelt beside Thrasher and after a few seconds, the announcer stood up,

"Thrasher is unable to continue," he looked to Takuma, "Scars is the WINNER!"

Takuma raised his arms up and the crowd erupted into cheers. That was all the energy he had. The trap door slid up and he walked out of the arena while the crowd banged on the wire-mesh as he walked by them.

He entered the tunnel and his legs almost gave out but he continued as Yoshio's training showed fruit until he reached a room and then his knees buckled.

"We got one," said a woman and a man helped her to get Takuma onto a bed. "What happened?" she asked Takuma.

"My legs got busted," Takuma groaned as he balled the sheet laid on the bed. He wasn't dying but pain was never fun.

A few minutes later, Takuma's tense muscles eased up as the iryo-jutsu alleviated the pain from the damage he had inflicted on himself.

As he sighed in relief, he muttered to himself,

'5 to 3…'

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Later that night, Takuma hobbled from his kitchen and dumped himself into a chair in his living room. He took out a sheet of paper and began scribbling his experience in the fight against Thrasher.

He had made a mistake in judging Thrasher's personality. He had sensed anger and increasingly rash moments and had decided that if he continued, Thrasher would devolve into a wrecking ball that he could exploit to no end. He had committed more and more to offense, becoming overconfident that if Thrasher throwed anything at him, he could handle it.

But Thrasher had reigned in his anger during battle and if not for Takuma's last second gamble, he would've lost terribly and been hurt horribly. There were people who would become cold while in rage. He didn't think Thrasher was capable of that.

He wouldn't do that again. Emotions were an essential part of combat. Anger and rage could make movement sloppy, cloud judgment, and lead to mortal injuries and death. But he needed to make sure that he wasn't underestimating his enemy.

'Can't do the chakra overload like that again,' he grunted to himself as he got up from his chair. Its effectiveness was proven today, but he didn't want that turned on himself. He needed to figure out how to utilize the overload in a different way.

Takuma took a double-sided tape and added the page to the line that had four other similar pages. Above that line was another line with three more pages with the details regarding his losses.

He stepped back and sighed.

There were going to be seventy-two pages on the wall, and he needed more pages on the winning section than on the losing section.

That was his main goal for the next six months.

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