Unveiling the shadows

The hallway leading toward the arena was quiet—eerily so.

Bruce and Tsubaki walked side by side, the tension of the earlier announcement still hanging over them when a familiar voice cut through the silence.

"I greet the young master," Sato said, his tone dripping with its usual unruly arrogance as he emerged from the shadows.

Bruce didn't even flinch. "What now?" he asked lazily, his eyes half-lidded, voice flat.

Sato grinned, sharp and thin. "The announcer has requested your presence at the podium. For the unveiling of the grand prize."

Bruce sighed, glancing toward the colosseum. "Seriously?" Still, he didn't protest—until Tsubaki nudged his arm.

"Just go," she said, offering a confident smile. "I'll meet you on stage."

Bruce paused, then gave a slight nod. "Alright. Let's go." His voice shifted, more commanding now. "I'll see you later, Tsuba—"

"Tsubaki," she corrected, playfully firm. "See you soon."

With a grin on his face, Sato turned away, and Bruce followed him. Together, they disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

—

The silence thickened as they entered a narrow, dimly lit passageway that veered far from the main route to the arena.

Bruce slowed his steps, glancing around. "Hey, Sato… have you seen Belita?"

No response.

Bruce's eyes flicked to him, but the servant kept walking. Unbothered. Unblinking.

"…Creepy place," Bruce muttered, his voice low and casual. "Really quiet."

Then—

"Hey, Naoya," Sato said suddenly, ignoring Bruce entirely. "We just need his blood, right?"

A soft ripple in the air behind them.

A portal opened in silence, and from its glowing edges stepped Naoya—calm, composed, and cold.

"Of course," he replied, voice smooth.

Before Bruce could turn fully, a sharp sting pierced his neck.

His body went rigid.

"Wha—" The words caught in his throat as paralysis sank in like thick oil. He staggered, fell hard against the wall, then hit the ground with a cough—blood dripping from his lips.

Sato stood over him, his usual grin now twisted with violent irritation. "Can't we just take his head?" he asked. "He's really been pissing me off lately."

Naoya's gaze snapped to him, voice cutting like a blade. "Are you planning on disobeying the boss?"

Immediately, Sato backpedaled, hands raised. "Come on now, bro. I was just joking."

Naoya didn't blink. "Some jokes can cost you your life."

He knelt beside Bruce, who was still convulsing slightly, his breath ragged, pupils struggling to stay focused.

"You dead yet?" Naoya asked with an unnerving calmness.

Bruce forced a whisper. "Who… are you…?"

Naoya smiled gently. "It's alright. You'll find out soon enough."

He reached forward and placed a palm over Bruce's eyes.

"Go to sleep now."

The world blurred.

Then—

Darkness.

---

"Man, I was dying to see him dead," Sato grumbled, kicking lazily at Bruce's limp body.

Naoya shot him a glance, cold and sharp. "Be careful. He's not dead yet."

Sato blinked, genuinely surprised. "Seriously?" He leaned down and gave Bruce's head a rough poke with his finger, almost disappointed that Bruce didn't react.

Naoya sighed and stretched out a hand. A swirling black portal opened up beside them, distorting the air with an ominous hum.

"Come on. Let's head back to the base," he said simply, stepping through as Sato followed behind with a sneer.

---

Back in the arena—

The roar of the crowd shook the stands.

Thousands had gathered, their cheers deafening, eager for the unveiling of something that had been shrouded in mystery for decades.

At the center podium, Lovee stood tall, his figure bathed in the golden twilight pouring through the arena's open dome. His voice cut through the excitement—low, drawn-out, and filled with a sinister undertone that sent a ripple of unease through the candidates.

"Alright… aside from the direct heir, Mr. Bruce Hanma, all other direct descendants are accounted for…" he began, his words slow, almost savoring the weight of the moment. "By majority vote… the winning prize shall now be revealed."

The way he said it—dark, almost mocking—made even the boldest candidates stiffen.

Tsubaki stood near the stage, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, eyes scanning the crowd.

"Why isn't Bruce here yet…" she whispered under her breath, her heart racing with unease.

Meanwhile, high above in the royal stands, Kozuki Hanma lounged arrogantly in his seat, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. His personal maid, a cold beauty clad in traditional hanfu robes, stroked his beard absentmindedly as if coaxing a beast.

Kozuki leaned back and muttered, "A feat like this wouldn't have been possible without our… partners."

He tilted his head upward slightly, toward a particular VIP balcony.

There, "Minato" — or rather, Ajax disguised perfectly in Minato's image — sat poised like a king among wolves. A slow, knowing smile played on his lips as he locked eyes with Kozuki.

The two exchanged a look—one that spoke volumes of silent conspiracies and mutual betrayal.

A dark alliance forged behind closed doors.

---

Somewhere far from the arena—

Bruce's eyes fluttered open.

A sharp, metallic scent filled the air. Flickering gas lanterns revealed an ancient-modern operating room lined with tools for draining blood—spindly glass tubes, iron valves, and bone-white ceramic bowls.

He shifted weakly, wrists and ankles bound by rough, rune-etched leather straps.

"Whe…where am I…" he croaked, barely able to form the words.

Before Bruce could gather his thoughts, soft footsteps echoed across the stone floor.

From the shadows stepped a very young girl—perhaps nine years old.

She wore a simple black kimono, her silver hair tied neatly behind her head, and her crimson eyes shimmered like polished rubies.

She stopped right beside him, tilting her head slightly.

When she spoke, her voice was deep—but in a strange, cute way, as if the weight of her words didn't match her small, innocent frame.

"You're in our base… brother," she said, her tone sweet yet oddly unsettling.

Bruce blinked. A kid?

Before he could even lift his head properly, blood welled from the girl's palm, twisting instantly into a dagger sharper than steel.

Without hesitation, she pointed it straight at his neck.

"Do you want to die?" she asked again, her deep-cute voice steady and serious, the faintest pout tugging at her lips.

The contrast made the atmosphere even eerier—as if death itself was being offered by a doll.

Bruce struggled to comprehend what was happening, still dazed.

Just then, Naoya strolled into the room casually, like he was arriving at a friend's gathering.

"Relax, Sinclair," he said, chuckling as he moved to ruffle her hair.

In a flash—barely visible—Sinclair's blood dagger flicked out.

A clean, wet sound.

Naoya's wrist was severed, his hand falling to the floor with a dull thud.

Blood spilled freely across the cracked stone tiles.

Naoya winced and muttered in a half-annoyed, half-resigned voice:

"Tch… dammit. Lost it again."

Bruce could only stare, wide-eyed, as Naoya nonchalantly bent down to pick up his own hand.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group—Kana, Hana, Lauren, and Sato—entered one by one, the atmosphere growing heavier with every step.

The chilling, surreal feeling only deepened.

Bruce realized something in that moment—

He wasn't dealing with normal enemies.

He was trapped inside a nightmare that wore a child's smile.

---