Airi: “Need an explanation?”
They stood in a vast duel arena, the stands packed with onlookers. Airi sighed as she continued,
Airi: “More than a year ago, between 3 and 4 AM, over fifty murders occurred in quick succession. Was it a night of crime? A gang war? The strangest part was that every street camera malfunctioned exactly at that time—zero witnesses. Neighbors rushed out when they heard the commotion, but it all happened too fast; no one saw a soul. And it only got worse: every victim was killed in the same manner, all shot with the same caliber. Nowadays, only the military—with its lethal weapons and robots—and a few gangs smuggling arms and robots possess any firepower. The first move was to request an army investigation, but due to bureaucracy the police chief was replaced while waiting for authorization, and the investigation into the army was suspended. There was political pressure behind the scenes—you couldn’t tarnish the army’s image. But the speed of those events, the intense public pressure, only damaged their reputation further. In the end, only the gangs remained to be scrutinized, and an intense manhunt ensued. Today, nearly every gang has been eradicated, and nothing was ever uncovered about that early-morning massacre—the case has long been shelved.”
Sakamoto: “I know that part, but what I don’t understand is how this is related to us here and now?”
Airi: “If what that kid (Hayato) said is true, we might be witnessing one of that night’s assassins—or even the mastermind—in today’s fight.”
Sakamoto: “I see… Still, it all seems pointless.”
Airi: “That’s why you remain weak—and why we can’t join guild Tempest.”
Sakamoto: “What?”
Airi: “Nothing.”
Sakamoto eyed her suspiciously.
Cut to the arena entrance. Hayato arrived, thinking to himself, “I told myself I’d come… at least to gauge his true strength.” There, a man dressed in striking attire—a long, expensive-looking cape and a noble’s hat—stood at the door. As soon as Hayato passed him, a voice called out:
“Hey kid, wouldn’t you like to bet on who’ll win this year’s final?”
Inside the arena, the two conversed while making their way in.
Hayato: “Everyone knows who’s going to win.”
“Since you’re so sure, why not bet?”
Hayato: “I don’t care much for the winner.”
“But you’re right—the challenger doesn’t stand a chance. This year, Takash1 will win again.”
Hayato: “Then why don’t you bet on him and stop trying to make everyone else do it?”
“I prefer betting on the loser rather than on Takash1… his fighting style is ugly, horrific, downright disgusting. Besides, I hate losing money—I’d rather not bet at all than risk it on Takash1.”
Hayato: “I get it… In the future, when I face Takash1, you can bet on me—I’ll defeat him, guaranteed.”
“Hahaha, I like that intention. I’ll remember those words if you ever face him.”
As they parted ways, Hayato noticed the nickname “Gambler” flashing on the other’s profile. Meanwhile, Hayato’s eyes caught sight of Chisa, exuberantly waving from afar. He made his way over and settled into his reserved seat, grumbling,
Hayato (internally): “What a waste of time—I could be leveling up.”
Chisa: “A little break never hurt anyone. Besides, this is the final. An event like this doesn’t come around every day.”
Hayato: “I don’t care.”
Chisa: “I don’t want to hear another complaint from you two!”
Seated beside Hayato, Chisa occupied the left chair while Kiba sat to his right, sharing his displeased expression.
Kiba: “I didn’t say anything.”
Chisa then opened her menu and played an audio clip—Kiba’s own voice murmuring,
“I don’t want to go… I won’t… no matter what… it’s no use…”
After a pause, Kiba cut the audio, adding,
“Alright, I get it—I’m here, and that’s what matters, right?”
Chisa gave a macabre smile,
Chisa: “Yes. After a few threats, I managed to convince you.”
(Hayato thought: I hadn’t seen this side of her before... it's kind of scary.)
Then her smile softened to its usual warmth,
Chisa: “It’s a great event to gather with the guild. We must cherish every moment.”
To the left of Chisa in the arena, BadGuy burst into the conversation with mocking laughter:
“Hahaha! I don’t exactly care to watch, but it’s good to see how my future opponent fights.”
Beside him, a nerdy guild member named Hachi adjusted his glasses and muttered,
Hachi: “You’ll never get there.”
BadGuy snapped,
“What? Now that I think about it, I don’t recall seeing you at the war.”
Hachi: “I did… I had health problems and couldn’t attend, unfortunately.”
BadGuy growled,
“Coward.”
Before the argument escalated, Chisa interjected,
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
Chisa: “So, who do you think will win?”
Hachi: “Obviously—top 1, Takash1, will win easily and keep his title.”
BadGuy mused,
“His opponent’s class is a spearman—spearmen and warriors are nearly equal in strength, though warriors defend better while spearmen attack harder.”
Hachi: “You don’t get it. It’s not about class; he’s leagues above everyone.”
Hayato glared at Hachi in anger, and Hachi shrank under his glare.
The crowd erupted in cheers as Takash1 made his entrance. Hatred and determination flashed in every eye as they fixed their gaze on him.
Kiba: “Hey, hey—this way, he’ll feel your murderous intent from afar.”
Hayato tried to break the intense stare, but his expression shifted when he saw Takash1 looking directly at him—anger mingled with surprise. Kiba simply repeated the same grimace he had made earlier when Hayato asked for help against Takash1 and his guild. The lingering stare soon faded, and Takash1 turned his attention back to the arena, toward the spot where his opponent was due to appear.
Chisa: “Did you see? He was looking this way.”
Chisa glanced at Hayato, puzzled by his reaction.
BadGuy: “No, he was looking at me—recognizing my strength.”
Hachi: “No chance.”
Takash1 then drew a wooden sword.
(Hayato thought: “That’s the same sword he used last time—the very first, weakest sword in the game… it’s impossible he’d fight a final with that.”)
Hayato: “Is there any warm-up before the fight? Why a wooden sword?”
Hachi: “He’s been fighting like this for a while. Maybe there’s no one worthy enough to force him to use his real weapon—and his artifact.”
(Hayato thought: “He has an artifact now? This is going to be tougher than I thought.”)
Hachi continued, animated,
Hachi: “They say that because of him, the guild is invincible. Whenever we mention Tempest, his image looms large—every duel, tournament, ambush, war… he never lost. He’s even defeated entire guilds on his own. That’s what made him a symbol.”
Before Hachi could continue, Hayato’s intense glare silenced him.
BadGuy: “Hmm… so amazing, is he?”
Shortly thereafter, Takash1’s adversary arrived—a fighter.
Hayato: “Wasn't he supposed to be a spearman?”
The crowd murmured in surprise.
Chisa: “What a pity.”
Hachi: “It’ll be easier than I imagined.”
Hayato: “What?”
Chisa: “The one originally slated to fight him sold his spot in the final to another competitor.”
Hayato: “Is that even allowed?”
Hachi: “As long as that participant wasn’t already registered or hadn’t bought another slot before and was eliminated, he can purchase the spot from whoever wants to sell. In any phase, player-to-player deals happen—money can buy many things in this game.”
Hachi looked at Hayato with anxious eyes as Hayato crossed his arms, frowning at the arena. Hachi exhaled in relief.
Hayato: “I see.”
BadGuy scoffed,
“How lame is it to buy a final spot? I refuse to fight in a final like that—if I participate, it will be purely on my own merit.”
The challenger fighter puffed out his chest and addressed the entire arena:
FireSpirit: “Everyone, I understand your dissatisfaction… but I had to do it. I couldn’t reveal my techniques—I needed to surprise my opponent and secure the win. Don’t blame him for this loss; he’s just an unlucky fool who faced the wrong opponent.”
Chisa’s eyes sparkled with excitement,
Chisa: “Then it will be a good match!”
Hayato: “He’s a fraud.”
Kiba: “Definitely.”
Hachi: “No doubt.”
BadGuy: “Embarrassing.”
Chisa: “What?!”
Takash1: “Are you really capable of forcing me to use a real sword?”
FireSpirit grinned confidently,
FireSpirit: “Give up while you still can—trust me, no one will judge you for it.”
Takash1: “Sorry, but I’d rather fight. If I have to lose, let it be with honor.”
A countdown appeared high above the arena. When it reached zero, FireSpirit struck a bizarre pose and let out a fierce cry before launching himself forward. Takash1 looked momentarily confused, but as he closed in, he unsheathed his two-handed wooden sword (wielded with one hand) and tapped FireSpirit lightly on the head—enough to send him sprawling face-first.
Even as FireSpirit lay on the ground, he managed to exclaim,
FireSpirit: “Impressive!”
Takash1 gave a weak laugh,
Takash1: “But I did nothing…”
FireSpirit: “I got you!”
The fighter sprang to his feet and threw a punch aimed at Takash1’s chin. Takash1 dodged effortlessly, and the fighter continued a rapid series of punches—all of which were easily evaded.
FireSpirit: “How’s that—what do you think?” (glancing at Takash1’s HP bar)
Takash1: “My turn.”
Takash1 advanced. The fighter attempted another punch, but Takash1 ducked and landed a swift blow to his stomach, spinning him and hurling him against a wall. Rising slowly, FireSpirit staggered toward Takash1, clutching his stomach as if in pain,
FireSpirit: “That hurts…”
Takash1: “This is an MMO—no one feels pain here. But if something really bothers you, you should quit and figure out what’s causing it.”
Takash1 kept his wooden sword low. The fighter, now too close with his guard down, tried to punch him again—failing repeatedly. Finally, Takash1 kicked the fighter’s leg, knocking him off balance, and drove his sword into the arena floor, sinking the fighter deeper with repeated blows. The sound of Takash1’s strikes echoed through the arena until, suddenly, he halted. FireSpirit still had some HP left, but he had clearly given up.
Takash1: “Hmm, how disappointing.”
Turning his back, Takash1 walked away as the crowd erupted in cheers.
(Hayato thought: Those close-range strikes… I doubt I could dodge them. Yet he evaded them with such ease.)
Hayato looked on, visibly shaken, while Kiba shot him a sidelong glance,
Kiba: “So? Still want to defeat him?”
Hayato clenched his fists in determination,
Hayato: “I have to defeat him.”
Kiba looked confused,
Kiba: “You have to?”