Blood splattered the cracked concrete.
A crowd of lowlifes, washed-up fighters, and adrenaline junkies screamed from the sidelines.
Coins, cigarette butts, and crumpled bills littered the ground around the makeshift fighting pit.
And in the center, standing barely on his feet,
Riku Sakamoto.
Sweat poured from his forehead.
His left eye was swelling shut.
His ribs screamed with every breath.
But he was still standing.
Across from him, a much bigger opponent,
an ex-yakuza thug named Goromaru,
lay unconscious, twitching.
The referee didn’t even bother with a count.
He just raised Riku’s bruised arm high, shouting hoarsely:
"WINNER- THE CROWNLESS KID!!"
The mob roared.
Not with respect.
Not yet.
Mostly with bloodlust.
Later, behind the abandoned warehouse where the fights were held,
Riku sat slumped against a wall, trying not to black out.
Shin tossed him a bottle of water.
"You lasted longer this time," he said casually, lighting a cigarette.
Riku snorted and took a shaky sip.
"My bones are lasting shorter, though," he croaked.
Shin laughed.
"You think bones matter in this world?"
He flicked the cigarette away and squatted beside him.
"You got heart.
That’s rare these days."
He pulled something from his jacket and slapped it onto Riku's lap.
A black envelope.
Simple. Heavy. Smelling faintly of smoke.
Riku frowned.
"What’s this?"
Shin’s smile was thin and sharp.
"An invitation."
Inside the envelope was a folded black card with gold writing:
CAGED FEAST
— Invitation Only —
Tokyo Nocturne Arena
"Prove yourself among the wolves."
A shiver ran down Riku’s spine.
He had heard of the Nocturne Arena.
Everyone in the underground had.
It wasn’t backyard scraps or drunk thugs anymore.
It was the real freaks.
The monsters.
The future kings.
"You’re saying... they want me?"
Riku asked quietly.
Shin’s eyes gleamed.
"No.
I’m saying... you're strong enough now that they can't ignore you."
He ruffled Riku’s hair roughly, ignoring the boy's wince of pain.
"Don't get cocky though.
They'll eat you alive if you go in thinking you're something."
Riku stared at the card, heart pounding.
Finally... a real chance.
Finally... a road forward.
A week later.
Midnight.
A blacked-out van drove Riku and Shin deep into the guts of Tokyo,
beneath glittering neon, through half-collapsed tunnels, past burned-out shrines.
The entrance to the Nocturne Arena was hidden behind an abandoned shopping district.
A rusted elevator rattled them downward for what felt like forever.
Finally, the doors opened.
And Riku’s breath caught.
The Nocturne Arena was massive.
An underground colosseum.
Hundreds of roaring spectators, crammed shoulder to shoulder, ringed the sunken arena pit.
Steel cages lined the walls, filled with dangerous-looking men and women,
fighters waiting their turn.
And in the center, beneath blinding white lights, was the cage where dreams and bodies were broken.
"Yo, kid," Shin said, slapping Riku’s back.
Riku turned, and saw a man standing in front of them.
Not just any man.
He was huge, maybe 6'5", with skin covered in tattoos of mythical beasts.
Scarred fists.
Shaved head.
His presence felt like a truck bearing down at full speed.
The man grinned, showing gold teeth.
"You the new pup?" he rumbled.
Riku nodded stiffly.
The man laughed.
"Good.
We need fresh blood.
Name’s Kuma.
I run the matches here."
He shoved a clipboard at Shin, who signed it without reading.
Kuma leaned down until his face was inches from Riku's.
"Remember, brat," he growled.
"You ain't sh*t here till you bleed for it."
Then he turned and stomped away, barking orders at other fighters.
Thirty minutes later.
Riku sat inside the waiting cage, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.
His heart thudded painfully in his chest.
Through the steel bars, he could see his first opponent warming up.
Yusuke 'Fang' Minato.
A scrapper infamous for his ruthless speed and savagery.
Former street racer turned full-time underground fighter.
Yusuke was bouncing off the walls, fists blurring in the air, teeth bared in a manic grin.
"I’m gonna chew you up, newbie!!" he howled across the pit.
The crowd jeered and stomped their feet rhythmically.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The arena floor vibrated.
It felt like the entire world was waiting for Riku to fail.
The bell clanged.
FIGHT.
Riku exploded forward.
He didn’t wait.
Didn’t hesitate.
Every lesson Shin had beaten into him screamed in his blood.
Don’t stand still.
Don't let them set the pace.
Yusuke came at him like a missile.
Riku ducked the first swipe,
barely.
The second one grazed his ear, stinging like a whip.
Yusuke cackled and spun, aiming a brutal elbow for Riku’s temple.
Riku dropped low.
THWACK!
He smashed his shoulder into Yusuke's gut, driving him backward.
The crowd roared in surprise.
Yusuke snarled and unleashed a blinding combo,
jab, jab, hook, uppercut.
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Riku blocked, parried, dodged.
Each blow that slipped through felt like getting hit with a hammer.
But Riku kept moving, weaving.
Sweat and blood blurred his vision.
He couldn’t match Yusuke's speed.
Not yet.
But he could outlast him.
Two minutes in.
Both fighters breathing hard.
Yusuke grinned, thinking he had Riku figured out.
He launched forward, a fake punch, then a brutal knee toward Riku's chin.
That’s when Riku made his move.
He sidestepped,
grabbed Yusuke’s extended leg,
and wrenched it sideways with everything he had.
CRACK!!
The sound echoed through the arena.
Yusuke screamed in pain, crumpling to the ground.
Riku didn’t give him time to recover.
He jumped forward, drove a savage punch into Yusuke’s temple,
BAM!!
then another...
BAM!!
...and another, until Yusuke lay limp, unconscious.
Silence.
Then a wave of cheers and boos.
Some screamed in anger at losing bets.
Others hollered in excitement.
But Riku heard none of it.
He stood there, swaying,
blood dripping from his knuckles,
heart pounding like a war drum.
Kuma stomped into the cage, grinning.
"Not bad, Crownless," he rumbled.
"You got teeth after all."
He clapped Riku hard on the back, nearly sending him flying.
"Rest up.
You’re gonna need it.
Next round’s gonna be worse."
Above the arena, in a private balcony shrouded in cigarette smoke,
a large figure watched silently.
Daigo Enishi.
Casual as always, dressed in his 1985 brown-striped coat, feet kicked up on the railing.
His right-hand man leaned over.
"That kid's got fire," he said.
Daigo just smiled lazily, swirling his drink.
"Maybe," he said.
"Or maybe... he’s just another candle waiting to get blown out."
He chuckled softly.
"But either way...
It's starting to get interesting again."
Three days later.
The bruises on Riku’s ribs were still tender.
His right hand was taped heavily, knuckles swollen like balloons.
But there was no mercy in the Nocturne Arena.
No time to heal.
If you could stand, you could fight.
If you couldn't... you were already forgotten.
Riku tightened his gloves in the dim locker room.
The walls dripped with moisture.
The air was thick with sweat, blood, and cigarette smoke.
Fighters came and went without a word.
Some were cocky.
Some were silent.
All of them had the same look in their eyes:
A killer’s hunger.
Shin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"You sure you wanna do this tonight?"
he asked.
Riku looked up.
His body was shaking slightly from pain, from fear, from excitement.
But his voice was steady.
"I didn’t come this far to quit at the doorstep."
Shin cracked a rare smile.
Pride gleamed in his usually cold eyes.
"Good," he said.
He tossed something to Riku.
A simple black mouthguard.
Etched with gold letters: CROWNLESS.
"Put that on," Shin said.
"Tonight, you’re not a stray dog anymore."
The opponent’s name: Kuroda 'The Beast' Hayato.
Riku had heard whispers.
A monster of a man.
Ex-military.
Thrown out for excessive violence even by their standards.
Now he lived for the cage,
for the blood, for the screams, for the break.
No technique.
Just raw brutality.
When Riku was called into the arena,
the atmosphere was different from last time.
He could feel it,
a heaviness pressing down from the crowd, an almost... hungry expectation.
The announcer's voice boomed across the concrete colosseum:
"In this corner — standing at 5’8”, 135 pounds — the rookie survivor, the Crownless Kid — RIKU SAKAMOTO!!"
Mixed reactions, cheers, some jeers.
But when the announcer called the other name...
"And in this corner —
THE WOLF WHO EATS HIS OWN!!
6’2”, 240 pounds of BAD NEWS—
KURODA 'THE BEAST' HAYATO!!"
the arena erupted.
The ground seemed to shake from the sheer roar of approval.
Kuroda entered the cage barefoot, shirtless, with black shorts and wrapped hands.
Scars covered his body like a map of wars fought and won.
His eyes gleamed with something primal.
Something wrong.
He saw Riku, small, bruised, barely holding himself up,
and started laughing.
A deep, mad, guttural laugh.
The kind of laugh a predator made before it tore a rabbit apart.
BONG!
The bell rang.
And Kuroda charged.
Riku barely dodged the first blow,
a hammerfist that dented the cage wall behind him when it missed.
He ducked, rolled away, tried to keep distance.
He couldn’t win a slugfest.
Kuroda was too big, too strong.
Speed. Timing. Precision.
Those were Riku's only weapons.
But Kuroda wasn’t just big.
He was fast.
A charging bull with the instincts of a panther.
He cornered Riku again and again, forcing him into desperate escapes.
A grazing blow clipped Riku’s shoulder,
it felt like getting hit by a truck.
Pain flared through his body, almost making him vomit.
Two minutes in.
Riku was already staggering, blood dripping from a cut above his eyebrow.
Kuroda was laughing harder now, playing with him, taunting him.
"Come on, little king!"
he howled, voice echoing off the steel.
"Show me your teeth!!"
The crowd roared, banging fists on the railings.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Like a countdown to Riku’s death.
But somewhere inside the pain,
somewhere beneath the fear and the exhaustion...
Riku smiled.
A small, bloody, defiant smile.
You want my teeth, bastard?
he thought.
You’re gonna choke on them.
Kuroda lunged again, arms wide for a crushing grab.
Riku waited,
half a second longer than instinct screamed at him to.
Then, as Kuroda committed his full weight...
Riku ducked and pivoted HARD to the side.
Kuroda stumbled forward, momentarily exposed.
Riku’s knee shot up.
CRACK!
Right into Kuroda’s exposed liver.
The big man grunted, stunned for half a heartbeat.
That’s all Riku needed.
He launched a vicious barrage:
Left jab to the temple — smack!
Right elbow to the jaw — crack!
Spinning backfist to the cheekbone — wham!
Kuroda’s head snapped sideways, blood flying.
The arena gasped.
Riku didn't stop.
He knew if he let Kuroda recover, he was dead.
He ducked low,
and smashed his shoulder into Kuroda’s gut again, slamming the bigger man back against the cage.
The steel rattled.
The beast staggered.
For the first time,
Kuroda wasn’t laughing.
The crowd sensed it too.
They screamed louder, some for Riku, some for Kuroda to rip him apart.
It didn’t matter.
All Riku could hear now was his own heartbeat.
Kuroda came back swinging, a desperate, wild haymaker.
Riku slipped under it.
Drove his fist into Kuroda’s ribs.
BAM.
Again.
BAM.
Again.
BAM.
Finally...
Kuroda dropped to one knee, gasping for air.
The beast was wounded.
Riku stepped back, raising his fists.
Every part of his body screamed to collapse.
But his soul screamed louder:
Stand. Fight. Win.
Kuroda pushed himself up slowly, glaring through bloodshot eyes.
But it wasn’t anger anymore.
It was respect.
Twisted, brutal respect.
He grinned, teeth pink with blood.
And for the first time,
he bowed his head slightly toward Riku.
A silent, brutal salute.
The bell rang.
The fight was called.
Winner: Riku Sakamoto — by referee decision.
Shin was waiting at the exit, arms folded, looking smug.
"Told you," he said.
"You're not a dog anymore."
Riku stumbled past him, barely able to lift his arms.
Everything hurt.
But he was grinning like a madman.
He looked up at the smoke-filled balcony.
At the shadowy figures watching.
At Daigo Enishi, still lounging lazily.
Their eyes locked for a second.
Daigo smiled, a slow, shark-like smile.
Riku felt it deep in his bones:
The real game was about to begin.
Nocturne Arena was never silent.
Even between fights, the place buzzed with low murmurs, bets being whispered, fighters grunting, deals being made.
But tonight...
It was different.
The noise faded, like a wave pulling back before a tsunami.
Everyone felt it before they saw it:
Something... massive was entering.
The double doors creaked open.
Two figures walked through the smoky threshold.
One was tall and slim,
a man with sharp eyes, black hair slicked back, wearing a simple white dress shirt and black slacks.
Hands in his pockets.
Every step he took, the crowd flinched, as if his presence alone could cut them open.
Daigo Enishi’s right-hand man: Renji Arakawa.
The second figure was even more shocking.
Daigo Enishi.
The Crownless King.
The Man Who Ended Eras.
Wearing a brown longcoat with white stripes, open and fluttering slightly with each heavy step.
Underneath: a crisp dark vest, white shirt, no tie, black slacks and leather shoes polished to a mirror shine.
His physique was something surreal:
Thick around the waist, massive arms, but not soft,
like a bulldozer carved from living muscle.
He had a lazy smirk under a five o'clock shadow.
One hand held a cigarette between thick fingers.
The other?
Casually stuck in his coat pocket.
Unbothered. Unhurried. Unbreakable.
The regulars of Nocturne shrank back instinctively, even the kings and champions in the upper balconies.
Nobody dared call out.
Nobody jeered.
This wasn't a fighter.
This was a force of nature.
Riku was still backstage, his whole body wrapped in bandages, but he felt it too.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
He peeked through the curtain.
And when his eyes landed on Daigo...
...something ancient and instinctive screamed inside his mind:
That man... could kill me before I even blink.
Daigo walked leisurely through the center of the arena, the cigarette dangling lazily from his lips.
Renji followed half a step behind, hands still in his pockets, eyes scanning everything with cold calculation.
They weren’t here for a show.
They were here for business.
At the far end of the arena, seated on a slightly elevated throne made of welded iron and wood,
the self-proclaimed King of Nocturne waited:
Tetsuya "Iron Jaw" Gonda.
6'5", built like a slab of concrete, his jaw literally reinforced with metal plates after too many brutal fights.
Tetsuya was king here,
because no one could knock him out.
Not fists. Not bats. Not even hammers.
He was famous for smiling even after taking a crowbar to the face.
But tonight, as Daigo approached...
Tetsuya didn't smile.
Daigo stopped a few feet from the throne.
He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, flicked it to the ground, and ground it out slowly with his heel.
A long, heavy silence stretched.
Everyone held their breath.
Finally, Daigo tilted his head slightly,
giving that lazy, signature half-grin.
"Yo," Daigo said casually.
"Nice chair. Looks comfy."
A ripple of nervous laughter went through the crowd.
Nervous, because no one knew if this was a joke or the start of a war.
Tetsuya leaned forward, muscles creaking like old steel.
His voice was deep and raspy:
"What brings the Crownless King to my kingdom?"
Daigo yawned.
He literally yawned in the King’s face.
Disrespect?
No.
It wasn’t even personal.
Daigo just didn’t care.
He waved a hand lazily.
"Relax, big guy. I ain't here to sit on your throne."
"I’m just looking for someone."
Tetsuya’s eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
Daigo turned his head slightly, scanning the crowd.
And even though he spoke lightly,
even though he smiled,
the entire arena felt like it was standing under a falling skyscraper.
"A Crownless brat."
The words hit the air like a hammer.
"One who's crazy enough to fight even when his bones are cracking...
One who smiles even while bleeding."
Daigo’s grin widened a little.
His voice dropped, low and heavy, like thunder before the storm.
"I’m gonna raise him up."
Tetsuya studied Daigo for a long moment.
The silence stretched.
Finally, he chuckled.
A low, rattling sound like boulders grinding.
"Heh...
You’re Daigo Enishi.
You don’t ask permission.
You take."
Daigo shrugged lazily.
"True."
Renji finally spoke, his voice cold and precise:
"You'll know when he’s ready."
Without another word, Daigo turned.
Started walking away.
Renji followed, silent as a ghost.
The path cleared ahead of them like the ocean parting before Moses.
No one spoke.
No one dared even breathe too loudly.
But just before he reached the door,
Daigo stopped.
He glanced over his shoulder,
a lazy smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth.
And he said, almost offhandedly:
"Oh. One more thing."
Everyone tensed.
Tetsuya raised an eyebrow.
Daigo grinned wider.
"Make sure your throne’s bolted down real tight."
He winked.
"Might be some strong winds coming soon."
And with that...
Daigo Enishi, the Man Who Ended Eras,
walked out of Nocturne Arena as casually as if he'd just gone for groceries.
But the ground he'd walked on?
It was already starting to crack.
【End of Chapter Three】