But Kai walked ahead, head down, never glancing my way.
The hallway sloped a few degrees, and I felt the arena pulling me forward. Above us, the deep boom of fireworks could be heard, along with the roar of the crowd.
We stopped there in the large staging area. Only then did they hand out the weapons.
Into my hands they pressed the same two sashimi knives as before, only this time the edges gleamed, honed sharp. They were real. Was this to be my signature weapon? I shoved one through my leather belt and held the other tight.
Kai was given a single-bladed butcher’s axe.
We were led right up to the door. The vibrations of the crowd pulsed through the stone, their cheers swelling in waves. I knew what waited on the other side—hundreds of people eager to see blood spilled.
Masaki leaned down, his voice low and rough. “Use your shield to keep your opponent away. Strike furiously.”
The words barely sank in before the door swung open and the crowd’s roar slammed into my chest.
We stepped out into the arena, into the bright lights. Fireworks cracked overhead, sparks raining down as colored beams swept the stands. Jets of fire burst from the arena floor. I glanced at Kai. His gaze was fixed on the fireworks.
I forced myself forward, boots sinking into the thin layer of dirt raked smooth for the show. Beside me, Kai kept pace. His hands gripped the axe handle so tight it trembled. His steps dragged, scuffing the dirt like he was walking to his own grave.
As we walked farther in, I glanced up. All around us, tier upon tier of people shouting, waving banners, pounding their feet in unison. The sound rattled my chest, buzzing in my teeth.
Still no opponents in sight. Only the two of us, marching into the center of the arena. A full circle of fire and faces, and nowhere to run.
I scanned the stands until I found the viewing box. Miki stood in the front row, dressed up, hair pinned and shining, makeup perfect, jewelry glittering at her neck and wrists. Beside her the announcer from the night before grinned as if the whole arena belonged to him.
Miki’s expression was unreadable—not joy, not sorrow, just a careful, even mask. She stood at his side like arm candy on display.
The man waved to the crowd, basking in their adoration. The chanting rolled over me, steady and deafening.
“Ginji! Ginji! Ginji!”
So that was his name: Ginji. Was he the man orchestrating all this? What connection did he have to the Sakamotos?
“Welcome, welcome, to the first Soemono!” Ginji’s voice rolled through the arena, smooth and booming. “Tonight, our contenders will fight their chosen opponents until one falls and only one walks away.”
He raised a hand, fingers curling into a fist, and the arena hushed on cue. Thousands of voices cut off mid-roar, silenced as if he held their throats in his grip. With a flourish, he pointed toward the far end of the coliseum.
A groan of metal echoed as another set of doors opened. From the darkness beyond, two figures emerged.
The first was a woman. She stepped into the light wearing a fitted black-and-white chef’s coat, a mask hiding her face. It was ghostly white with thin black brows, narrow eyes, and red lips.
The squared shoulders, the defiant lift of her chin—I recognized her immediately. It was Keiko.
In her right hand she carried a long curved blade, the kind used to break down massive tuna. In her left, a round black shield.
Beside her was a man I didn’t know—Kai’s opponent. He was massive, dressed in a red butcher’s coat with black trim. His mask was red, the face of a demon with glaring eyes, heavy brows, and a wide mouth twisted around painted fangs. In one hand he carried an oversize cleaver unlike anything I’d seen. He swung it overhead with both hands, and the crowd roared.
“Kai, hold your shield at an angle when you block. Don’t just take the hit—let it glance off. And use it to shove him back, even smash him in the face if you get the chance. Got it?”
He nodded once.
We braced as Keiko and the demon-masked butcher marched toward us. Ten feet away, they stopped and turned—not to us, but to the viewing box. Kai and I followed their gaze.
Miki sat there with tears streaking down her cheeks. Beside her, Ginji smiled, savoring the moment. His fist hung in the air, holding the entire arena in suspense. The crowd’s chant built to a fever pitch, thousands of voices crashing together.
And then he swung it down.
The arena detonated. Stomps thundered from the stands and cheers split the air while fireworks cracked overhead.
