Then, his flashlight's beam fell upon a peculiar find: a sword blade unlike any he had encountered before. Instead of the conventional pointed end, this blade had a graceful curve. James's pulse quickened with excitement as he reached down to pull it free, revealing a distinctive sword—a Katana, a weapon not commonly seen in England.

"Wow, what is this sword? I've never seen this before," James marvelled as he secured the blade in its covering and placed it carefully in his duffel bag. He knew that he needed to locate a pair of boots to complete his makeshift gear. 

Determined to find the missing piece, he continued to search through the dump, moving on to the next pile. However, as he neared the last pile, he heard another bark in the distance. Startled, he glanced around and saw one of the guard dogs charging toward him.

"Oh, no," James whispered in panic. He sprinted back towards the fence he had used for entry. His heart pounded in his chest as he could hear the relentless canine drawing closer. With each step, his breathing quickened, and then, a sudden trip sent him tumbling to the ground, causing him to drop his flashlight.

James, breathing heavily and adrenaline pumping, reached for his flashlight with lightning speed. Sweeping the area with his light, he was shocked to find that the dog had vanished. The ground beneath where he had tripped held an unexpected treasure: a pair of booster boots, tied together and partially buried. James acted swiftly, digging them out and tossing them into his duffel bag without so much as a glance to assess their condition.

Without a moment's hesitation, he sprinted towards the fence and nimbly vaulted over it. His feet hardly touched the ground as he raced towards his mother's flat.

Upon entering the flat, James placed his duffel bag on the coffee table in the dimly lit living room. All was quiet, and there was no sign of his mother. "I guess she really did stay at her boyfriend's place. That's the third day in a row," James mused to himself as he flipped on the living room light.

Carrying the duffel bag with him, he headed to the bathroom to rinse the dirt from the Katana and the booster boots. He let the bathwater run just enough to submerge the blade of the Katana, revealing beneath the grime a breathtaking swirl pattern etched into the steel. James was elated by his find. After cleaning the Katana, he carefully placed it back into its covering.

Then, he turned his attention to the booster boots. He was anxious, hoping they were functional. As he cleaned them, he couldn't help but mutter, "I really hope these work. God, please let them work." James moistened a towel and meticulously removed layers of dirt and grease. An hour passed, and his efforts paid off. He uncovered a sleek black and grey exterior, revealing the quality of the boots beneath the grime. Cleaning them had been an arduous task, but James was determined.

Growing increasingly fatigued, he realized, "Fuck, it's that time. I'll just put everything under the bed and deal with it in the morning." He stowed the cleaned Katana and Booster Boots beneath his bed, then crawled into bed, letting sleep embrace him.

The next morning, he was jolted awake by Sam's shout. Startled, James snapped back into consciousness. "Ahhh! Sam, what the fuck are you doing in my house!" James was clearly alarmed by the abrupt wake-up.

"The door was open, so I thought I'd just come in," Sam replied nonchalantly, not fully grasping the issue.

"You idiot. It's whatever. Just don't do it again." James realized that he must have forgotten to lock his door last night during all the excitement. He cracked his eyes open further. "Now, can you get out of my room so I can get dressed, please?"

"Yeah, no problem, bro." Sam left the room, closing the door behind him. James, now more awake, got ready and retrieved the duffel bag from under his bed.

"Sam, you can come back in," James called out, unzipping the duffel bag. Sam entered the room, curious and eager, and peered into the bag.

"Whoa, is that a Katana in there?!" Sam exclaimed, recognizing the sword's reputation for its swift slashes in Mecha Fighting. 

"Oh, that's what it's called," James replied, relieved to have a name for his newfound weapon. "Yeah, they’re common in Japan, but over here in the West, they ain't used as much."

Sam was buzzing with excitement from James's discovery as James gently pulled the Katana out of the duffel bag, laying it on the bed. 

"Now, that's the only sword I could find. I went looking for at least an hour before finding it. Then after finding the sword, I went looking for some boots and other swords, but I couldn't find anything. I looked through every pile, I swear, apart from the last one. When I was walking over to the last pile, a guard dog chased after me, so I ran, bro! I mean, I ran! I was running toward the fence I used to get in when I tripped over something, and it sent me tumbling, bro!"

Sam gasped in amazement, listening intently to the story. 

"So, I thought the dog was gonna eat me, so I grabbed my torch and scanned the area. I couldn't see the dog, but what I could see were these." James proudly unveiled the booster boots from the duffle bag.

"No way!" Sam exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock.

"Yeah, I was surprised as well, but sadly, they were the only bits I found. Sorry," James said, his enthusiasm tempered by the disappointment of not finding more equipment.

Sam looked down, his initial excitement fading, but he realized he needed to be happy for his friend. "What do you have to apologize for? I'm happy for you. I know you're gonna be a champion, bro," Sam said with a reassuring smile as they bumped fists.

"So, when and where is the next Booster Fighting fight?" James inquired, eager to get started.

"James, do you even know the rules of Booster Fighting?" Sam asked, a touch of exasperation in his voice.

"Uhm, no," James admitted, having spent his life disliking the sport due to its association with the wealthy.

"You want to go to Mecha Arts High but don’t know how to compete?" Sam facepalmed. 

"Alright, I’ll explain the rules. Mecha Fighting is very simple, a lot like old-school karate tournament rules. Two opponents face off against each other, armed with swords, and glide around an arena trying to deal an agreed-upon damage counter. You can score a damage point with a clean strike to the chest, head, and back. The regulated amount of damage counters is usually at three," Sam elucidated.

James listened intently, impressed by Sam's knowledge. "You know, you're normally really dense, but when it comes to Mecha Fighting, you’re a genius!" James interrupted with a grin.

Sam gave James a death stare before continuing. "You might be wondering what the difference is between Mecha Fighting and Booster Fighting. When Chemical VG was discovered, the companies started to wonder how they could profit off of it, and that's when they created Booster Fighting. People were getting bored of regular Karate, so they started adding first-generation booster boots to the mix, which then evolved into adding weapons. Since this was becoming a massive underground sport and non-regulated, there were many deaths involving the early days of the sport. So, the government had to come in to create a regulatory body to oversee Booster Fighting, bringing it to the mainstream. Booster Fighting had the same rules as our modern-day Mecha Fighting, the only difference was the gear."

As Sam continued, his excitement waned as he spoke of the sport's transformation. "Being in the mainstream brought the attention of the wealthy, who could easily buy the best gear available to rise to the top. They had the best swords, and the best boots, and eventually, this led to them making the Mecha Armor. Using Chemical VG, they created a suit using the properties of Chemical VG’s movement, which allowed them to glide and dash mid-air instead of being stuck to the ground. This created an unfair advantage. So, eventually, the Booster Fighting Regulatory Body dissolved and reformed under the banner of the Mecha Fighter Regulatory Body, taking the TV deals, sponsors, and the sport with it. It became a sport only for the rich." 

James absorbed every word Sam spoke, and his eagerness showed when he asked, “So when is the next event?” Sam was taken aback by James’s willingness to dive headfirst into the underground world of Booster Fighting.

“You’ve never even sparred, let alone competed!” Sam exclaimed, trying to temper James's impulsive enthusiasm. He worried about his friend's naivety about the dangerous world of the sport.

James, caught up in the moment, hadn't thought through his situation thoroughly. "Is there anywhere I could train?" he inquired. 

Sam hesitated, considering his options. "Well, since we're in the slums, there are a number of booster fighters around, but I don't know if any of them would take the time to train you," he said, a touch of doubt in his voice. 

James stared at the ground, disappointed by the uncertainty. But Sam had one more idea to offer. "There's Mr. Otomi," he began, "he lives on the first floor of this tower block, and he was the last Booster Fighter Champion in Japan before moving here because there was more money in the sport."

James's eyes widened with hope. "If there's a chance, I will take it!" he declared.

It was now midday, and the two friends embarked on their journey down the decrepit stairwell from James's fifth-story apartment to the first floor. Sam led the way, taking James to the apartment '3.' The door was in shambles, with a mouldy exterior and a barely attached door number.

"Damn, this place looks even worse than the rest of the building," James whispered to Sam, hoping that the old champion didn't hear his remark.

"Mr. Otomi's a bit of a character, so be warned," Sam replied before knocking on the shabby door. The loud, approaching footsteps echoed closer and closer until the door finally opened with a mournful "creak." The rusted hinges revealed a 5'6" innocent-looking old man, at least in his mid-sixties.

"Hi, Mr Otomi, I don't know if you remember me, but we spoke a lot last summer about—" Sam began before Mr. Otomi interrupted him.

"Sammy boy, it's been so long!" Mr. Otomi embraced Sam, and the scent of alcohol wafted down the hall. Sam gently pushed the old man off him. 

beginning of his path toward becoming a Booster Fighter. Sam stood beside him, offering a reassuring pat on the back.

Mr. Otomi opened the door, and a cloud of alcohol-laden air escaped into the corridor. The old champion eyed James, giving him a thorough appraisal before locking eyes with him. His voice was stern as he asked, "You wanna be a Booster Fighter, boy?" James, despite the sternness of Mr. Otomi's gaze, summoned up his courage. "Yes, sir, I want to prove that a boy from our level of poverty can make something of himself and make it to the big leagues!" Passion burned in James's eyes as he spoke.

Mr. Otomi continued to regard James with an unwavering stare. "Whatever, kid, just make sure you bring me a can of beer every day," he stated with an indifferent tone. A faint smile graced his lips as he spoke, indicating a measure of goodwill beneath his gruff exterior.

James was overjoyed to have found a mentor who could bring him closer to his dreams. "So, should I come back tomorrow?" he asked nervously. But before he could finish his question, Mr Otomi slammed the door shut with a resounding "bang." Startled, both boys took a step back. 

"We should definitely come back tomorrow," Sam remarked with a chuckle, and they proceeded to exit the high-rise. On their way out, James couldn't resist a joke. "Where am I gonna get a beer?" he quipped, lightening the mood.

The following morning, James bounded out of bed, eager to start his training journey with the legendary ex-champion. He grabbed his duffel bag filled with equipment and a can of beer that his mum's boyfriend had left in the fridge. As he headed toward the door, a nervous excitement coursed through him. Arriving at Mr. Otomi's door, he paused for a moment, contemplating the potential beginning of his path to becoming a Booster Fighter, with Sam standing beside him, offering his silent support. the first step on his journey to reuniting with Tobias Starling in the big leagues, Mecha Fighting. 

**Knock-knock.** James rapped on the door, patiently awaiting a response. After a minute of waiting, he knocked again. **Knock-knock.** The second round of knocking seemed to stir movement inside. Finally, faint footsteps approached the door.

**Creak.** The hinges groaned as the door opened, revealing Mr Otomi standing in the doorway, his gaze distant and unfocused. James waited for recognition to dawn on the ex-champion.

"Excuse me, Mr. Otomi?" James spoke up. "It's James. We met yesterday, with my friend, Sammy. Do you remember?"

For a moment, Mr. Otomi seemed unresponsive, uttering only a raspy word, "Beer." James reached into his duffel bag, producing the can of beer he had found in the fridge earlier that morning. But before he could extend the drink to Mr Otomi, the old man moved with surprising swiftness, snatching the can from James's hand and downing it in seconds.

Wide-eyed and astonished, James gaped at the scene. It was as though Mr. Otomi had been momentarily trapped in some strange trance. Then, almost as quickly as it had come, the spell was broken, and Mr. Otomi appeared to return to his normal self.

"Oh, Jamie-boy, how long have you been here?" Mr Otomi asked as if awakening from a daze.

"Hi, sir," James replied with a smile, "that doesn’t matter. I'm here to begin training."

"Come on in," Mr Otomi beckoned, motioning for James to follow him into the flat. James entered, passing through a hallway filled with stacks of beer cans, and arrived in a living room adorned with pristine white marble flooring. To his surprise, there was no clutter in sight, a stark contrast to the hallway.

"Take a seat here, buddy, then we'll head outside to start training," Mr Otomi directed, indicating a plush white leather sofa across from an 80-inch plasma screen TV.

As Mr Otomi left the room and disappeared down the hallway, James marvelled at the luxurious surroundings. It was an environment unlike any he had experienced before. James settled on the sofa, patiently awaiting his mentor's return.

While waiting, he couldn't help but explore the room. His eyes fell upon a picture displayed on a shelving unit across from him. The photograph depicted a much younger Mr Otomi with his arm wrapped around the waist of an unfamiliar woman. Her golden hair and striking blue eyes were captivating. In Mr. Otomi's other hand, he held a gold-plated belt inscribed with the letters "BFWC." 

"BFWC?" James muttered aloud, puzzled by the mysterious acronym