“Yes,” Kai agreed quickly. “The sum of all parts is greater than one. That’s how we won the first night. We need to look out for each other.”
“And we should have an advantage because Kai and I have already eliminated our competitors. So it’s us six against four.”
“Are you sure of that?” Yoshi asked. “They’ve already changed the rules once.”
“I’m not, but I know as a team, we’ll be stronger. Everyone agree?” I asked.
They all nodded.
The massive wooden doors groaned open, and the crowd’s roar crashed over us. Bright lights flooded the tunnel, fireworks cracked overhead, and pounding feet shook the ground. The scent of pyrotechnics drifted in, spiking my adrenaline. My breaths quickened. A buzz coursed through me as I clenched my jaw.
I glanced at the others. Fear was unmistakable in their eyes, even in those trying to hide it. I wondered how many would still be standing when the night was over.
Into the arena we marched. At the far end, our challengers waited in a tight group, armed and menacing behind their masks. Four of them, just as I suspected.
“Remember,” I said as we walked. “We watch each other’s backs.”
My eyes flicked to the viewing box. Ginji was on his feet, a grin stretched across his face, pleased with his rule change. Beside him sat Miki—stoic for show. I could only imagine what it felt like to sit that close to a monster.
Masaki stood behind them, gaze fixed forward. Not on me, not on anyone—just forward. A pillar of strength. I could only hope it was strength Miki could count on.
A door swung open beneath the viewing box. Two Chopmen appeared, dragging a masked figure between them.
My stomach clenched. Even with a mask on I recognized him. “Oh my God. That’s Jiro.”
“Why is he here?” Kai asked. “He doesn’t qualify under the rules.”
Horror ripped through me as the Chopmen hauled him to the arena’s center, where a heavy iron spike jutted from the ground with a chain waiting. They shackled it to his leg like he was an animal.
He was trapped. Exposed.
I stared, trying to understand. What was the point of this? What game was Ginji playing now?
A throat cleared over the speakers. Ginji.
“Esteemed guests,” he boomed. “Tonight I’ve prepared something special. Instead of the traditional one-on-one Soemono, I’ve concocted an addition I think you’ll find most enjoyable. On one side of the arena we have our Half-Plated.” He gestured toward us. “And on the other, their challengers—the Yakumi. But in the center… we have our main dish.”
The Chopmen yanked Jiro’s chain for emphasis, and the crowd erupted.
“Tonight,” Ginji went on, his grin wide, “the Half-Plated must not only fight their Yakumi, but defend the dish as well.”
The coliseum shook as the crowd shot to their feet, fists pumping.
I swallowed. Jiro couldn’t move, couldn’t run—he was chained like an offering in the middle of the arena.
I turned to the others. Every one of them was staring at me. As I met their eyes, the horror truly hit: How many of them would risk their lives for Jiro? How many would help me save him?
I searched their faces, desperate for an answer, for a plan.
My eyes flicked back to Ginji, his fist already held high. A beat later he brought it crashing down.
56
As soon as Ginji’s fist slammed down, I spun, and the Yakumi were already on the move. Four of them broke across the arena with shields forward, weapons raised, locked on Jiro. My chest tightened at the sight of him bound to the center post, helpless to do anything but wait.
So I ran.
If it came down to only me between Jiro and the Yakumi, then so be it. I would take them all on if I had to. The others still had to beat the Yakumi. Only one side would leave this arena alive.
