-Evening-

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, shadows stretched across the streets, while the market burst to life, teeming with people from all walks of life—merchants, nobles, and commoners alike. Meanwhile, in the dimly lit alleys, the city's lowlifes and street urchins lurked in the fringes of society.

  Some drowned themselves in cheap ale, their vacant eyes lost in the haze of inebriation. Others simply sat, staring into nothingness, their hopes long eroded by time.

  A few y sprawled on the dirt, wrapped in tattered cloth, while others paced, faces tight with frustration and anxiety. It was a world of the discarded, a sight Sen was well accustomed to. Pity had no pce in his heart. The slums of China had looked no different.

  He moved through the filth with purpose, boots kicking up dust as he scanned each face he passed. He wasn't here for charity—he needed an investment, someone desperate enough to be useful. Someone who would bet on him with whatever meager fortune they had.

  Then he saw them.

  A small circle of gamblers, positioned under the overhang of a run-down building. Three of them—one a rat-like creature with twitching whiskers, another a hyena hybrid whose ughter had long since turned to snarls, and the st, a wolf, his sharp eyes watching the dice roll with calcuted patience.

  The game was simple enough, but the hyena was losing. Badly. His ears were ft, his posture tense, and every loss made his frustration more evident.

  Sen leaned against a post, watching, studying. The hyena clenched his teeth, ears flicking as another round of coin was snatched away by the rat. His fingers twitched near his dwindling stack, hesitation pin to see. He was on the edge, the kind of edge Sen could use.

  Sen approached the gamblers, his movements slow, deliberate. He was a foreigner in this nd, his speech broken, his presence an anomaly, but money talked in every world. And right now, he needed someone desperate enough to listen.

  The hyena-man spped the ground in frustration, a sharp bark of irritation escaping his throat as he lost another round. His fur bristled, ears twitching as the rodent and the wolf chuckled at his misfortune.

  His pile of yellow coins had dwindled dangerously low. Sen had seen this exact situation a hundred times over in the underground fights back home—some idiot who didn’t know when to stop, clinging to the idea that the next bet would turn his luck around.

  Sen stepped closer, hands in his pockets, his presence casting a shadow over the group. The rodent and the wolf noticed him first, their amusement momentarily stalling as they took in the unfamiliar sight. The hyena, still fuming, was slower to react.

  “You lose. Much.” Sen’s voice was rough, his words clipped. He was still grasping this world’s nguage, but he didn’t need eloquence to make a point.

  The hyena-man snapped his gaze up, nostrils fring, but there was a flicker of hesitation. He wasn’t in the mood to be mocked, but something in Sen’s posture made him reconsider a direct challenge.

  Sen pulled out a small handful of yellow coins from his sleeve and let them clink together in his palm. The sound was enough to shift the tension. The wolf and the rodent’s eyes glinted with interest, but Sen wasn’t here for them.

  “You want back, yes?” Sen gestured at the hyena’s nearly empty pile. “I help. You… help.”

  The hyena narrowed his eyes, ears twitching. “What’s the catch?”

  “Bet on me.” Sen tapped his chest with a knuckle. “Big fight. Big win. You bet all.”

  The rodent let out a squeaky ugh. “You got confidence, stranger, I’ll give you that.”

  Sen didn’t break eye contact with the hyena. “No confidence. Just fact.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You need coin. I need someone... normal.”

  He gestured vaguely around. “We both win. Or…” He tilted his head toward the wolf and rodent, still smirking. “You stay broke. They ugh more.”

  The hyena gritted his teeth, gncing at his remaining coins, at his so-called friends who were enjoying his suffering a little too much. He growled low in his throat, then exhaled sharply.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll bet on you.”

  Sen’s grin widened. “Good.” He straightened, tossing a yellow coin toward the hyena, who caught it on instinct. “Buy drink. Rex. Tomorrow…” His eyes gleamed. “We make many coins.”

  As the gamblers resumed their game, Sen walked off, hands in his pockets. His steps were unhurried, his mind already working on the next step.

  A pawn secured. Now, he just had to make sure the fight went exactly as pnned.

  -Morning at the Inn-

  The pale light of dawn seeped through the rice-paper window, casting a muted glow over the tatami mat where Sen y. His eyes snapped open, the remnants of a dream—half memory, half premonition—dissipating like smoke. Today was the day.

  He sat up, rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiffness from sleep. The inn was quiet, save for the distant ctter of the young woman preparing breakfast in the kitchen. The scent of steamed rice and miso soup drifted through the wooden beams, a familiar comfort.

  Sen dressed quickly, strapping his sack across his back. His fingers brushed against the red vials tucked inside—liquid insurance for the fight ahead. The old man behind the counter gave him a nod as he passed, his expression as unreadable as ever. The young woman offered a bowl of gohan, but Sen ate swiftly, his mind already on the pits.

  The city had fully awakened by the time Sen stepped outside. Merchants shouted over each other, carts rumbled past, and the occasional griffon-blooded courier swooped overhead. He moved with purpose, weaving through the crowd toward the fighting pits.

  The hyena-man was waiting near the entrance, his ears perking up as Sen approached. His earlier desperation had sharpened into something hungrier—a gambler’s fervor.

  “You’re te,” the hyena growled, though his tail gave a betraying flick of anticipation.

  Sen smirked, pulling a pouch from his sleeve. He tossed it to the hyena, who caught it with cwed hands, the yellow coins inside clinking. “Bet all on me.”

  The hyena’s nostrils fred as he weighed the pouch. “You’d better win.”

  Sen didn’t dignify that with a reply. He pushed past, heading for the registry booth. The bookkeeper barely gnced up before jerking his chin toward the pit. “You’re up next. Lion’s already warming up.”

  The crowd’s roar was a living thing, pulsing through the underground chamber like a second heartbeat. Sen stepped into the dim light of the pit, his boots scraping against the packed dirt. Across from him, his opponent paced—a humanoid lion, his golden mane streaked with scars, his muscles coiled like springs.

  The lion’s stance was unmistakable: 'Bajiquan'.

  Sen’s lips curled. (So this world has its own version of Earth’s martial arts.)

  The lion’s eyes locked onto Sen, his growl reverberating through the pit. “You don’t belong here, outsider.”

  Sen cracked his neck. “Talk’s cheap.”

  A gong sounded, deep resonance fading into the roar of the crowd as Sen and the lion circled each other, the tension between them thickening the air. The lion’s stance was low and rooted, his front leg bent slightly, his rear leg coiled like a spring—cssic Bajiquan. His golden eyes tracked Sen’s every movement, calcuting, waiting for the first mistake.

  Sen exhaled slowly, his own stance rexed but ready. He had seen this style before, back in his own world. Bajiquan was brutal, linear, designed to explode through an opponent’s defenses with short, devastating strikes. But it had its weaknesses—overcommitment, predictability.

  The lion struck first.

  With a sudden burst, he closed the distance, his right elbow driving forward like a spear aimed at Sen’s ribs. Sen twisted his torso just enough to let the strike graze past, but the lion followed up instantly, his left fist hammering toward Sen’s jaw.

  Sen ducked, feeling the wind of the blow ruffle his hair. He countered with a sharp jab to the lion’s exposed side, but the lion twisted away, his tail shing for bance.

  The crowd roared as the lion retaliated with a sweeping kick, his leg cutting through the air like a whip. Sen leaped back, but the lion pressed forward, his fists a blur of controlled fury. Each strike was precise, each step measured—this wasn’t just brawling. This was a trained fighter.

  Sen grinned. (Good. Finally, a challenge.)

  He let the lion push him back, studying the rhythm of his attacks. The Bajiquan user favored his right side, his elbow strikes slightly telegraphed as he shifted his weight. His footwork was solid, but he pivoted heavily on his lead foot when transitioning between strikes.

  The lion feinted a low sweep, then suddenly lunged upward, his palm aimed for Sen’s chin—a cssic "Bai He Liang Chi" technique. Sen saw it coming.

  He sidestepped, grabbing the lion’s wrist mid-motion and yanking him forward. The lion stumbled, off-bance for a split second, but it was enough. Sen drove his knee into the lion’s gut, then followed with a sharp elbow to the back of his neck.

  The lion grunted, his mane bristling as he staggered. But he recovered fast, spinning with a wild backfist that forced Sen to block. The impact rattled Sen’s arms, but he didn’t flinch.

  As the fight went on, the lion’s fighting style shifted abruptly—no longer just the explosive linear strikes of Bajiquan. His stance widened, knees bent deeper, and his guard tightened. A Muay Thai clinch.

  Sen barely had time to react before the lion lunged, his arms snaking around Sen’s neck in a vice-like grip. The crowd’s roar faded into white noise as the lion yanked him down, driving a brutal knee upward.

  Pain exploded across Sen’s ribs, but he gritted his teeth and twisted, breaking the clinch with a sharp elbow to the lion’s bicep. The lion snarled, stepping back—only to snap forward with a Kyokushin-style roundhouse kick, his shin cracking against Sen’s forearm.

  (Shit—this bastard’s mixing styles.)

  Sen staggered, his arm numb from the impact. The lion didn’t let up. He feinted a Bajiquan elbow strike, then pivoted into a Muay Thai teep kick, his foot smming into Sen’s sternum. The force sent Sen skidding backward, his boots digging trenches in the dirt.

  The crowd erupted.

  "GET HIM!"

  Sen spat blood, his smirk never fading. (Alright, you wanna py hybrid? Let’s py.)

  The lion charged again, this time with a Kyokushin lunge punch—straight, powerful, designed to crush bone. Sen weaved under it, countering with a Muay Thai-style diagonal elbow to the lion’s jaw.

  The impact rocked the beast’s head back, but the lion retaliated instantly, grabbing Sen’s arm and twisting into a Bajiquan shoulder throw.

  Sen hit the dirt hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. The lion loomed over him, raising a foot for a stomp—

  Sen rolled, springing up just as the lion’s foot cratered the ground where his head had been.

  The lion bared his fangs. "You're nothing but a mongrel barking at a King."

  Sen wiped his mouth, eyes glinting. "Funny. I don’t see a king."

  The lion roared, unching into a blistering combination: a Bajiquan elbow strike morphed into a Muay Thai knee, then a Kyokushin spinning back kick. Sen dodged the first two, but the kick grazed his side, sending a jolt of pain up his ribs.

  (He’s adapting. Fast.)

  Sen feinted a jab, baiting the lion into a Bajiquan counter—then suddenly dropped low, sweeping the lion’s lead leg. The lion stumbled, but caught himself, only for Sen to surge upward with a Muay Thai clinch of his own.

  This time, Sen controlled the grapple. He wrenched the lion’s head down, driving his knee into the beast’s face—once, twice—

  CRACK.

  The lion’s nose broke, blood spraying. The crowd’s frenzy reached a fever pitch as the lion reeled, his golden mane matted with crimson. But his eyes burned with fury, not defeat.

  With a guttural snarl, the lion changed stances again.

  His hands dropped lower, his weight shifted to his back leg—

  (Wait—is that—?)

  The lion exploded forward with a Kyokushin 'tobi geri' (jumping front kick), his entire body becoming a missile. Sen barely crossed his arms in time, but the force sent him flying backward into the pit wall.

  Wood splintered. Dust rained down.

  Sen coughed, his vision swimming. The lion stalked toward him, cracking his neck.

  "Last chance to yield," the lion growled.

  Sen pushed off the wall, shaking off the dizziness. His ribs screamed, his arms trembled—but he ughed it off.

  "Tch. You hit like a kitten."

  The lion’s pupils dited. Then—

  BOOM.

  A Bajiquan shoulder charge smashed Sen back into the wall, followed by a Muay Thai elbow to the gut, then a Kyokushin hammer fist to the colrbone.

  Sen’s world went white.

  But as the lion reared back for the finishing blow, Sen’s hand shot out—grabbing the beast’s wrist.

  The lion’s eyes widened.

  Sen yanked him forward, driving his forehead into the lion’s broken nose.

  *CRUNCH.*

  The lion howled, staggering back. Sen didn’t give him room to breathe. A Muay Thai low kick buckled the lion’s knee, a Bajiquan palm strike rocked his jaw, and finally—

  A Kyokushin 'gyaku-zuki' (reverse punch) buried itself in the lion’s sor plexus.

  The lion’s breath left him in a choked gasp. His legs gave out.

  Silence.

  Then—

  *THUD*

  The lion colpsed, unconscious.

  The crowd lost their minds.

  Sen stood over the fallen beast, chest heaving, blood dripping from his split lip. His eyes flicked to the hyena-man in the crowd—who was clutching a bulging pouch of coins, his muzzle stretched in a disbelieving grin.

  The bookkeeper’s pen scratched across the ledger.

  "Winner… Sen."

  Sen spat blood onto the dirt, rolling his bruised shoulders.

  (One down.)

  The fights were just beginning.