For the life of me I couldn’t figure out where I was. Definitely not Kyoto.
Sana led me into the same room lined with thick iron rails, meat hooks dangling from each one. Last time, my job had been to sharpen every hook.
“Tell me I’m not doing this again,” I muttered.
“They need to be sharper than a blade.” His iron fist slammed into my back.
“You think you’re the new Iron Face, don’t you?”
“Maybe I am. Maybe this is the new Kage Ryu. Maybe I’ll force you into a challenge. In the meantime, shut up and get to work.”
Even after all these months, hearing Sana speak the name of the apprenticeship sent a prickling chill across my arms.
I grabbed a hand file from the workbench, then a hook off the wall. The handle was smooth and new.
Sana wasn’t worried about me turning on him, not with two Chopmen holding large, spiked iron mallets. But if they hadn’t been there, I’d have hung Sana from the ceiling like a yellowfin tuna in a market stall.
For the next hour or so, I worked the hooks, sharpening their tips to dangerous points. Every so often, Sana would tell me to hone the curved section below the tip, turning it into a blade. It made no sense. Sharpening that area would slice straight through meat—the whole point of a hook was to pierce and hold, to drag a large animal. So why make some that would cut right through?
The blade-sharpened hooks kept their big, sturdy grips; the regular ones had their wooden handles sawed down, which made no sense. But like Iron Face, Sana just barked at me to work faster instead of answering questions.
When I finished, Sana inspected the hooks with an almost ceremonial seriousness, like a judge deciding if a blade was fit for execution. They were just meat hooks—already sharp enough straight out of the box. None of it made sense.
“Decent work, Jiro. Maybe you’re not that useless after all.”
“What are these hooks for, really? A second apprentice school? Kage Ryu II? Is this what this place is?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” His grin widened. “In fact, I can show you something that’ll blow even you away.”
“Oh yeah?”
I followed him into the corridor until it opened into a circular chamber, like a hub where paths converged. Sana stepped into the very center.
“Stand next to me.”
I hesitated, then obeyed.
He flicked his hand toward one of the Chopmen. The man moved to a hulking machine tucked against the wall and pressed a button. The engine rumbled awake. Another Chopman yanked down a heavy lever.
The ceiling above us groaned, panels sliding back one after another—opening like the roof of some monstrous convertible. Cold air spilled down as a slice of sky appeared.
Then the floor beneath us shuddered, lurched, and began to rise. An elevator platform, hidden in plain sight. My gut tightened as the chamber shrank below us.
The floor kept climbing, metal grinding beneath us, the chamber dropping away beneath my feet. My balance wavered; I widened my stance to steady myself, while Sana stood loose-limbed, savoring the ride as if he were bringing me to a show.
We broke through the ceiling, rising into the open night. A breeze cut across my face as the platform locked into place.
At first, the space above looked like a shadow of steel and concrete, but my gut knew what it was. I tried not to believe it.
Then the floodlights snapped on.
The arena revealed itself: a modern coliseum, minus the marble and arches, built instead from reinforced steel. The walls rose high, the lights glared down, leaving no shadows to hide in.
Tiered seating circled the pit, enough to hold thousands. Looming over it all was a wide, open viewing stand, perfectly placed to watch every moment unfold.
“This can’t be.” I turned in slow circles, taking it all in. Every inch of the place reeked of spectacle.
And I knew. I knew exactly what I was standing in. What it promised. What it demanded.
