The neon glow of the city''s underbelly flickered against rain-slicked pavement, casting jagged shadows over Ash as he made his way through the winding alleys of the Lower District. Here, beyond the reach of the academy''s pristine halls, strength was not measured by lineage or legacy. It was earned in blood and pain.
He needed money. He needed power. And there was only one place where he could claim both.
The underground arena.
It wasn''t an official name. It didn''t need one. Those who knew simply called it ''The Pit''—a ruthless battleground hidden beneath the abandoned industrial sectors, where combatants wagered their lives for coin and reputation. No rules. No mercy. Just raw, unfiltered combat.
Ash tightened his fists as he approached the entrance, a rusted steel door adorned with a single kanji: Fight. His face was already concealed beneath an old ōnin mask, a relic of his fallen clan. The worn metal was marked with the scars of its own history, the visage of a demon staring out from its surface. He would not fight as Ash Atsuyuki tonight.
Tonight, he would fight as a ghost.
A heavy-set bouncer, his arms marked with cybernetic plating, eyed Ash with a mixture of amusement and skepticism. "You lost, kid?"
Ash met his gaze without flinching. "I want in."
The bouncer chuckled. "You? You don''t look like you''d last a round."
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Ash said nothing, merely rolling up his sleeve to reveal his bruised and battered forearm—a testament to weeks of relentless training, of fights taken and fights lost. He wasn''t strong yet. But he was willing.
The bouncer''s smirk faded. He gestured toward the entrance. "Your funeral."
Inside, the arena pulsed with an electric energy. A circular cage stood at its center, surrounded by a roaring crowd of gamblers, gangsters, and fighters alike. The air smelled of sweat, blood, and desperation. Fighters paced the edges, stretching, wrapping their hands in cloth, psyching themselves up for battle.
A sleek figure approached Ash—a woman in a high-collared jacket, her piercing gaze dissecting him in an instant. She was the arena''s fight coordinator, known only as ''Ren.''
"First time?" she asked.
Ash nodded. "Yeah."
Her lips curled into a smirk. "Hope you''re ready to bleed."
She turned, calling out to the gathered crowd. "Fresh blood, boys! Who wants to break in the new kid?"
A mountain of muscle stepped forward, a veteran fighter whose scars told a story of countless battles. He cracked his knuckles, grinning. "I''ll take him."
Ash swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. This was it.
Ren raised an eyebrow at the mask but said nothing. The crowd, however, roared with excitement at the sight of the eerie, battle-worn symbol of the past.
The cage door slammed shut behind him.
The bell rang.
And the fight began.