“And now, for the special surprise I promised earlier.” Ginji spread his arms wide and bowed low to the crowd. “This year, we bring you a Blade unlike any other—handled by yours truly. Making her very first appearance at Nokoribi… I present to you—Chisana Itamae, the Little Sushi Chef!”
The jumbotron flared to life, revealing a slim figure. She wore a white skirt cut from a chef’s uniform, the jacket patterned faintly with red blossoms, tailored just enough to tease. An apron hung tied at her waist. In both hands she carried sashimi knives, their blades gleaming, sharp enough to slice fish paper-thin. A white-and-red fox mask hid her face, lips painted crimson, ears pricked sharp.
The arena door opened.
No roar this time. No chant. Just a ripple of murmurs rolling through the stands as the figure stepped timidly toward the center, where the other Blades waited.
The crowd didn’t know her. A hush spread across the arena as people leaned toward one another, whispering and pointing, their curiosity sharp with uncertainty.
From the viewing box, my eyes followed her legs—toned and pale. The way she moved, hesitant but steady, tugged at something deep. My stomach knotted. That walk. The swing of her arms. No.
The realization didn’t just hit me. It gutted me.
That’s Akiko.
My stomach dropped, twisting so hard I thought I might vomit. I’d spent the day in a locked room, fed and dressed like some grotesque VIP, while she’d been readied… not to watch the show, but to be the show.
She tilted her masked face upward, her gaze sweeping the stands until it stopped. Her eyes locked on mine. Slowly, the mask tipped to the side, puzzled, like she couldn’t reconcile the sight of me sitting up here in comfort while she stood down there in the dirt.
The look gutted me.
I hadn’t put her in that arena, but it felt like I had. I should have been her beacon, her lifeline, the friend who came to save her. Instead I was just another face in the crowd, betraying her.
My hands curled into fists so tight my nails cut my palms. I lurched forward, half rising, desperate to shout, to do anything, when Masaki’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, heavy and firm.
“Don’t. He’s watching.”
My eyes snapped to Ginji. His gaze was locked on me. He had orchestrated this reveal for me alone, just to savor the look on my face when he paraded her out.
43
Akiko
Back in the Nikubeya, the Chopman had me change out of the outfit and took my mask and prop knives. I’d known they were fake—the handles were wood, the blades shiny plastic. Was I the only one with fakes, or were the others swinging props too?
I tried asking him on the walk back, but he kept his mouth shut. He locked the cell door and left. Before the bars even stopped clanging, the others started in.
“Where did they take you, Akiko?” Kai shouted from across the way. “Tell us—don’t hold out.”
“Did you get special treatment? Maybe an extra meal?” Daiki added.
“Yes, Akiko, do tell,” Haru pressed. “We’re your friends. Did they hurt you? Treat you badly?”
I didn’t know what to tell them. I had no idea whether they were being subjected to the same things I was or something different. I was just as confused as they were about why I’d been the only one dragged from my cell, shoved into a ridiculous costume, and paraded in front of a crowd.
But walking into that arena made one thing clear: I was to participate in Nokoribi.
This was what Jiro had meant, what I had to survive. Knowing what I knew now, I needed his help more than ever. Because if I was expected to battle those other Blades in what could only be a fight to the death, what chance did I have?
I wasn’t trained to fight. I wasn’t what that announcer called a gladiator chef. Throwing me into the arena with any one of them wouldn’t be sport, it would be slaughter.
“Akiko!” Kai called out, snapping me from my thoughts. “Are you gonna say something?”
“We’re all waiting,” Yoshi cried. “Get on with it.”
“There’s an arena,” I said slowly. “It’s filled with people…”
“Yeah, and? Go on.”
