My stomach turned, and every instinct screamed to run. But I wouldn’t make it out of the viewing box, let alone the island. I had nowhere to go.
I forced my head to turn, lips pulled back until they ached, the smile wide and brittle. My cheeks burned, my body shook, but I held.
Ginji leaned back, eyes glittering. I’d given him exactly what he wanted: admiration.
He beckoned a Chopman and whispered in his ear, his gaze never leaving mine.
When he finished, he turned back to the crowd, smile broad, voice low enough for only me to catch.
“I’ve changed the rules for the Blade challenge. Let’s see how well Akiko fares the second time around.”
Then he stood and raised a hand. The arena erupted in applause.
49
Akiko
I stood in the staging area, waiting for my turn to face the crowd. The Blades were introduced one by one to rousing applause. I was saved for last.
Masaki hadn’t returned, but he’d kept his word: The eye slits in my mask were wider now. At least I could see better. I’d hoped for more, but all I had was Jiro’s warning about the meat hooks.
A Chopman ushered me to the entrance. My turn.
As I stepped out of the shadows and into the flood of light, the roar of the arena crashed over me. The noise doubled, rattling my chest. Of all the Blades, I drew the loudest, wildest welcome—a far cry from the silence I’d received last night, when I was first introduced.
I wasn’t sure if I should be elated or worried. My eyes flicked to the viewing box as I walked to join the others. Ginji watched every step I took.
When I finally tore my gaze from him, I saw it—what I should’ve been worrying about all along. At the far end of the arena loomed a massive wall, grotesque red-and-black lumps mottling its surface. Even from here I couldn’t make out details, but it rose high—easily a hundred yards.
Ginji’s voice boomed over the speakers.
“Tonight, you are in for a real treat. For the first time in Nokoribi history—the Blades will face a brand-new challenge. I give you… the Flesh Wall!”
My stomach turned. The lumps came into focus with sickening detail: Carcasses hung from hooks, bodies lashed together into one climbing mass. Slabs of beef and pork, gutted fish, even creatures I couldn’t name—an entire market butchered and stitched into a wall of meat. The stench reached me here—rot. At the very top, a narrow platform waited.
“First Blade to the top wins,” Ginji announced. “Climb fast. Watch out for your fellow Blades.”
We lined up. Straight ahead sat a table of meat hooks—exactly as Jiro had warned. Some with short handles. Some long. My fingers curled, clammy inside the red gloves. One wrong choice and I’d be ripped open like the carcasses before me.
“On your marks.”
A beat. The buzzer blared.
I’d barely taken a step when Tetsu Tama slammed into my side, knocking me flat. He trampled me as he charged, laughing. The realization hit hard—there were no rules. This was a free-for-all. Kill or be killed.
By the time I staggered to the table, the Blades were sprinting for the wall with hooks in hand. My eyes locked on the lone short-handled hook Jiro had told me to take. Around it lay only long-handled ones. Two hooks would have helped me climb faster—but Jiro’s warning echoed: The long handles were sharpened to cut, not carry. A fall from that wall wouldn’t just be losing. It could mean death.
But there was no time to think—I was last. I grabbed a short- and a long-handled hook. Maybe Jiro was right, maybe it was a trap. But I was light, faster than most. If anyone could get away with it, I could.
I bolted for the wall, both hooks clutched tight, the roar of the crowd crashing over me. I leaped and drove them into the hanging meat.
The stench hit first—thick and sour. Some carcasses were black and rotted, others still fresh, slick with blood. Maggots writhed in open cavities. My hooks tore through hide and fat as I climbed, every grip a gamble, every breath a fight not to gag.
Up ahead hung two massive black carcasses, whole sides of beef nailed into the wall. I buried the short-handled hook and pulled, but the long one sliced clean through. My body dropped with it.
Instinct took over. I slammed the long-handled hook into the next slab—it tore through again, but slowed me just enough to drive the short one into fresher flesh and hold. My chest heaved.
That’s when I understood—rotted meat wouldn’t hold. From here on, I’d have to trace a path through the red carcasses, the solid ones.
