Chapter Text
A strangled gasp clawed its way out of Akihiro’s throat as his back hit the wall.
“Now listen here, you brat,” snarled Father, fist clenched tight around Akihiro’s throat, “we’ve invested eight years in you; we fed you, we clothed you, and we housed you. Don’t you think that you should pay us back? Hmm?”
“Go to hell!” Akihiro wanted to scream, kicking his feet midair helplessly.
Mother sighed beside them, “that’s enough, dear, just hand him over to them and get our money. We don’t have to deal with his attitude anymore.”
“You should be grateful for this chance to repay us.” Father gave Akihiro one last glare before an incoming fist caused him to black out.
—
It’s been a year since Akihiro had seen either of his parents. Turns out “them” referred to a man known exclusively as the “Ringmaster.” The man, as his name may suggest, ran an underground fighting ring, which the fighters had nicknamed “The Cage.” He had made a hobby out of collecting children (through very illicit means) and forcing them to fight for the right to live. Crowds gathered every night to watch, placing bets and lining the Ringmaster’s pockets in the process.
Akihiro sat up in his cot, wincing when he jostled his tender ribs. A beam of sunlight filtered through the narrow slit at the top of his shared room, informing him that morning had arrived. Assembly will begin soon. A quick glance across the room told him Nii-chan was still sleeping. He’d wake him later. Despite his tough-guy act, anyone can tell Nii-chan was burning out.
Nii-chan was Mother’s biological son and his half brother. He’d discovered upon arrival that their parents had sold him, and Nii-chan had been snatched on his way home from school. Akihiro wasn’t sure whether he was sold like him, since his parents had always treated Nii-chan like their pride and joy. Regardless, they’d woken up in the same room (cell, really) and stayed together since.
Despite being Mother’s favorite, Nii-chan had never hurt Akihiro. He’d always been too busy with his studies anyways. But now that they lived together and there were no tests to study for and no Mothers to impress, Akihiro found that he rather enjoyed his brother’s company. Nii-chan was a boy of few words, usually preferring to communicate through his actions rather than words. This meant that Nii-chan expressed his concern through teaching Akihiro hand-to-hand combat, his love through an extra portion of food, and his pride through ruffling his hair.
Akihiro didn’t mind, though. Clara was chatty enough to fill the silence. She was a girl around his age (time blurred in the Cage) and the mentor assigned to Akihiro. She specialized in armed combat, but also guided him through hand-to-hand and general rules and survival tips for life in the Cage.
BRIIIINGGGG
That was the morning bell. As usual, the corridor filled with the sound of children bustling to get ready before the morning assembly. Aki glanced out the bars that made up one of his walls, the one that faced the corridor.
The Cage had a simple design. The audience were seated in a huge, elevated ring, reminiscent of a sports arena. In the center was a huge cage that dangled from the ceiling, which is what gave the fighting ring its name. In the space under the spectator’s seats was the living quarters for the Ringmaster’s fighters. There was a set of iron bars that separated the space under the cage from the space under the seats, and another set of bars that sectioned off individual cells. The walkway between these two was popularly called the “corridor.” Plain and simple.
The assembly went as usual. Everyone lined up for headcount and room inspection, then were marched out under the cage where the battle brackets for the day was announced and breakfast was served. Akihiro was fighting against a new player today.
The way the Cage worked was simple. People can bring in fighters—any gender, age, and usage of drugs or body modifications were allowed. Fighters can enter independently and receive cash prizes for victory, or they can be entered by a sponsor (often by force, like Akihiro), who trains their own fighters and receives a cut (if not all) of the winnings.
Aki stretched, mirroring Nii-chan across from him. Their room was barren enough that they could spar easily. Aki and Nii-chan both needed to warm up for their matches.
Nii-chan never came back from his match that day. Akihiro had watched the entire battle from their shared cell. Nii-chan had won, despite his opponent being a giant man clearly hopped up on steroids. Akihiro had watched his brother being led out of the cage (there was a ladder that was extended at the start and end of every match to get fighters in and out of the cage), but his brother never came back. The Ringmaster had said Nii-chan was sold to a very high-paying sponsor, and would return for future matches. He never did. Akihiro took that to mean his brother was dead. Being sold was known for being a cruel end.
—
It must’ve been months since Nii-chan had disappeared. Akihiro threw himself into training, desperately trying not to picture what his brother’s final moment must’ve been like. He was now one of the best fighters in armed combat, second only to Clara.
He hoped it was quick.
Another wave of frustration washed over him.
Bam!
Akihiro landed flat on his back in his moment of distraction.
“Are you alright, Hiro-chan?” Clara leaned over him.
“ ‘m fine.” came the short reply.
Clara looked concerned, but didn’t press. Akihiro distantly recognized that he should feel guilty. Since Nii-chan’s death, he’d barely interacted with anyone outside of training, including Clara, who only had him as company since the champions were isolated from the others. He might as well have abandoned her, who he owes his life and more to.
Sometime between now and his brother’s death, he had been moved into a larger room with Clara, a special privilege reserved for the best fighters. Their room had a worn training mat in the center, unlike all the other rooms, which had concrete walls all around.
“So,” Clara sat down next to him, probably hoping to change the subject, “you’re fighting the mysterious Mizuchi today, aren’t you?”
Akihiro groaned, “don’t remind me. That boy is hell to fight against.”
Clara hummed curiously, “I thought he only got this far because all his opponents were weaklings?”
Akihiro scoffed, “No way, you didn’t see him fight like I did. His opponents weren’t weak, he was just too good. He kept redirecting all his opponents' attacks and making them look incompetent.”
She frowned, “that’s dangerous.”
“Very.”
The value of a fighter in the Cage rested not only on his fighting ability, but also his popularity. If Akihiro was humiliated like that, the reputation he’d struggled so much to build would crumble, and the Ringmaster might as well just leave him to die.
Clara hummed cheerfully, “Well, I’m sure the great Shiroiha can handle it.”
Akihiro groaned.
—
The Mizuchi was an interesting addition to Akihiro’s very limited world. The two of them only met during matches, but they had a chemistry unlike any other fighter he’d encountered. Suo—
(“call me Suo,” a whisper brushed his ear as the Mizuchi smoothly sidestepped his punch. Akihiro easily spun on his heel and redirected the momentum into a roundhouse kick, murmuring a “Hiro,” as Suo bent backwards to dodge, momentarily meeting his gaze. Suo’s eyes softened for a moment. The subtle glint of mischief buried in those pupils was the only warning he got before his legs were swept out from under him.)
—fought like water, flowy and smooth. He was a visual treat to the audience, and complimented Akihiro’s acrobatic grace. Both of them had slender builds, meaning they used their body weight and momentum more than actual physical strength (Suo liked his fists, and Akihiro liked using his feet). As a result, each of their movements led smoothly into the next, making their battles appear more like a beautifully choreographed dance to the audience. And between the two of them, there was a therapeutic rhythm in the way they kicked and dodged. Their fights were challenging, but never threatening, which was always a nice change of pace. When one slowed down, the other knew to match their pace. And when one wanted a challenge, he always increased the intensity slowly, looking for a reciprocating intent. If anything, fighting with Suo felt like playing more than anything.
Akihiro settled next to Clara in front of the glass that separated them from the arena. As the top fighters, their room was on the floor above the others, putting them at nearly eye level with the Cage that dangled in the center of the ring. This was done so they could watch and learn from all the matches and make their fights even more spectacular as the Cage’s top fighters and main attractions.
Today, Suo was fighting a strong opponent. This was his first fight in the Cage, so Akihiro had yet to see the man fight. As a result, Akihiro didn’t know much about him aside from the fact that he beat everyone he fought to a pulp, which he learned from listening to the gossip of the spectators seated above his room.
Well, Akihiro doubted Suo would have much of a problem given how good he was at using his opponents’ strength and momentum against themselves.
Which was why he never expected the way it would end.
The Ringmaster’s fighters don’t get paid for their victories. Instead, they win privileges, or, more specifically, they win points to trade for privileges. Such privileges include better living spaces (with Akihiro and Clara occupying the best one), better food, better medicine, and “favors.”
Favors included any reasonable request to the Ringmaster, with the most common ones being things like: getting a new book, vetoing a fight, trading places with someone else for a fight, or choosing someone as a roommate. The bigger the request, the more victory points it costs.
All of this is to say that victory points are valuable, sometimes to the point of life and death.
So why is Akihiro spending nearly a year (almost all his battles)’s worth of victory points on someone he’d only spoken to once?
Akihiro fell against the wall, sliding down until he was curled up on the floor, securely hidden between Suo’s cot and the giant medical cabinet. The boy in question was unconscious in the bed, looking much too still and exposed for the lively fighter who wore his face like a mask.
Buried under the soft gauze that practically engulfed half his face, Suo’s near silent breaths were the only sound in the room, softened by the sedatives that were pumped into his system (and cost Aki a months’ worth of fights). It was a stark contrast to the guttural screams that filled the room just moments prior, when Akihiro had attempted to treat him without the sedatives. Those points were worth it.
Akihiro worked very hard to forget the scene he’d just witnessed from behind the glass of his room, clutching Clara’s arm so hard he knew she would be left with bruises for weeks.
Suo was pinned on the floor by a behemoth of a man, writhing as a meaty hand slipped under his eyelid. Suo’s legs thrashed wildly as the man curved his fingers in deeper, a cruel smile stretching across his face as he stroked the orb, still set inside Suo’s head and attached to his brain. Blood ran out of one eye and tears spilled from the other. The man circled his hand inside Suo’s skull for an agonizingly long time, savoring the desperate, incoherent screams and pleas and eventually babbles that broke free from Suo’s lips. That was the second time Akihiro had ever heard the boy speak, if the primal howling could even be considered speaking.
Akihiro, standing and pressed against the glass, met Suo’s uninjured eye. He saw, through his own watery vision and Suo’s tears (which were turning opaque from the blood swirling in it), the moment the storm of raging fear, panic, desperation, and agony faded, and were replaced by the worst one yet: defeat. That was when Akihiro threw open the door to his cell and clung onto the guard standing outside, screaming and begging for him to stop the match, offering up half a year’s worth of victories.
It had cost him another week’s worth to be allowed to treat and stay with Suo. Fighters were expected to patch themselves up, after all.
WHAM!
Akihiro jerked out of his half asleep state. Someone had just slammed open the infirmary door, which he knew had to be guarded. As far as Akihiro was aware, none of the fighters knew Suo well enough to invest any points for visitation rights, which left him at a loss for who those panicked footsteps belonged to. He peeked over the cot, which was currently hiding the door from view (and him from the door).
A man, dressed in strange garb reminiscent of the kind that Suo always wore, practically flew to Suo’s bedside.
Akihiro watched silently as the man, face twisted with a flurry of emotions (worry, fear, and… was that guilt?), checked over Suo’s wounds with light, swift fingers. Seeing as how the man, who still hadn’t noticed him, had no bad intentions for the vulnerable boy, Akihiro just pressed his back against the wall and observed.
It was a foreign sight, seeing an adult concerned with the health of a child, even when it came to his parents, who cared more about his brother’s academic performance than his wellbeing. This man, on the other hand, was checking over Suo without sparing a thought for the torn muscles that he knew would ruin Suo’s powerful punches for life. It’s almost as if the man cared more about Suo’s future as a person, than as a fighter.
“...I’m sorry.”
If Akihiro hadn’t been sitting so close to the bed, he would’ve missed the whisper that escaped the man’s lips, quiet in a way that meant it was not meant to be heard by others.
“I’m a failure as a master.”
Akihiro peeked over the bed again. The man was knelt beside the bed, head resting in his arms that were folded over the bed.
Leaning back against the wall, he thought about all the matches against Suo he’d fought and watched. The show Suo had put on every time without fail had Akihiro scoffing (mentally) at the man’s self-depreciating words.
“My ignorance put you in danger.”
That.
That was not what Akihiro was expecting.
What kind of trainer took responsibility for a trainee’s safety? Their job was to make them strong, so putting them through arduous trials was the name of the game… wasn’t it? Every fighting instructor that the Ringmaster provided them had trained them in similar ways. The fastest way to learn was sink or swim, after all. His brother and Clara never did that, but that was because they treated the training like tutoring a friend, rather than teaching a student.
So then, what on earth was this man’s relationship to Suo?
“Are you his sponsor?” He might as well just ask. If he was lucky, the man might answer him instead of beating him for speaking out of turn.
Aki stood from his comfortable nook, revealing himself to the man. Now, standing across from him, he could see his features better. The man was indeed wearing the same Chinese-looking shirt that Suo always wore. He had the same quiet air of dignity as Suo too.
The man, whose face was now visible, had wrinkles lining his face in a way that told of old wisdom, and lines around his eyes and mouth that told Akihiro he smiled a lot.
For a brief second, confusion flashed over his face. But it disappeared just as quickly
“I am.” Suo’s sponsor responded, his earlier distress neatly tucked away behind his neutral expression. However, his hand found its way to Suo’s, “and who might you be?”
“I’m Shiroiha,” he responded simply, folding his hands, crusty with Suo’s blood, behind his back.
The man raised a brow at his answer, but said nothing.
“What are you going to do now?” Akihiro asked, “he probably can’t fight for another couple months, and even then, he would be severely weakened.”
Suo’s sponsor’s face set into a strange mix of determination and slight offense, “he won’t be fighting anymore if I can help it—” Akihiro tensed “ —but if he still wants to fight after he’s recovered, then I’ll teach him to fight without his hands.”
What a strange answer. No wonder Suo fought like he had wings—free and spirited.
“I see.”
Looking at Suo, whose entire body had significantly relaxed the moment his sponsor took his hand, Akihiro knew that he was in safe hands.
“Well,” Akihiro walked around the bed, and towards the door, “if you truly cared for Suo, you’d take him and get far away from here—” he paused when he reached the door, “—have him change his name, his address, and anything else that can be traced back to the Mizuchi. One-eyed or not, Suo is talented,” he turned around, making sure to meet the man’s eyes,
“And the Ringmaster never lets go of talent.”