Kemuri vs Hisagi.

Kemuri raised his voice. “Can we start?”

Hisagi’s voice trembled slightly, “Y-yes.”

Hisagi stood firm, gripping a kunai in each hand. He took a defensive stance.

Kemuri smirked, unhurried, as he reached for a scroll. Slowly, he unfurled it—the atmosphere thickening with anticipation.

*****

Ren’s eyes widened. “That scroll!”

Kazuma beside him muttered in disbelief, “Hey, how did he get that!? Is he lucky?”

Sakura glanced at Kazuma, confused. “Master?”

Kazuma sneered and waved her off. “Don’t ask me questions. Just watch the match.”

Sakura watched with a tinge of sadness, then turned casually to Ren. “Ken, you know, right?”

*****

Kemuri’s face darkened as he pressed a drop of blood onto the scroll. Instantly, the sky above the arena twisted unnaturally. Heavy clouds folded like shutters, blotting out the sun in seconds. The temperature dropped sharply.

Whispers rippled through the crowd. “Hey, what’s happening?”

Miya frowned, her voice uncertain. “That scroll… I’ve seen it somewhere before.”

– ‘Why did the sky darken?’

Miko’s voice, serious and low, explained. – { That scroll isn’t one I use. But it looks like it’s for opening a portal—one that connects to another world. }

– “Mom?”

*****

Sujin’s tone was calm. “Because of people like you…”

“...”

A tense silence followed. Then Sujin shrugged. “Well, it’s a match. They have the right to use whatever they want.”

*****

At the center on the arena floor, beside Kemuri, a spiral of purple-black vortex spun rapidly.

Hisagi’s eyes narrowed in confusion and fear. He gripped his kunai tighter. “W-What are you doing…?”

Kemuri’s thin smile widened. “Summoning... from another world.”

From the swirling portal, a man stepped out—his presence chilling, distant. His eyes were dull silver, devoid of warmth.

His voice came out glitchy, eerie, almost mechanical. {“What’s happening here?”}

The portal snapped shut behind him with a soft crack.

Kemuri turned to him. “Ikari, fight for me.”

Ikari’s real voice—deep and mocking. “Did you call for this?”

Hisagi’s mind raced, unable to grasp the situation. There were now two opponents.

Ikari tilted his head, studying Hisagi with amused curiosity.

Hisagi didn’t respond. He lowered into a basic fighting stance—unsure, but trying to stay composed. No plan. Just two kunai in his hands.

Ikari leaned in and whispered into Kemuri’s ear, “Okay. But you remember the deal, right?”

Kemuri shivered as a cold sensation crawled down his spine. “Yes.”

Ikari strode toward Hisagi slowly, hands clasped behind his back—relaxed and casual, with no fighting stance.

Suddenly, without warning, Ikari struck—a punch. Hisagi barely blocked it, stumbling back from the force.

Hisagi thought. ‘Shit. I forgot my katana back there. Can I really fight this guy with just kunais?’

Hisagi glanced toward the crowd, spotting Ren and Kazuma watching intently.

Kazuma caught Hisagi’s eye and gave a thumbs-up gesture, mouthing, “Do good.”

Ikari slashed again with his kunai—faster this time—then vanished in a blur. A gust of displaced air followed his motion.

PAK!

A sharp slap landed on the back of Hisagi’s head, knocking him slightly off balance.

Ikari’s voice came cold and smug. “Hey, your opponent is me. Why are you looking to the sides? Are you looking down on me?”

He circled slowly, flicking the kunai in his hand like it was a toy.

He continued in a cold tone, barely blinking— “Tch… This feels boring. Did you even want to fight?”

Hisagi tightened his grip and dashed in, slashing with his kunai—short, quick swings. But Ikari moved like wind through reeds, gliding around each attempt. He barely had to shift his feet.

Slash. Slash. Ikari’s kunai danced—grazing Hisagi’s shoulder, then his side. Thin lines of blood appeared.

“Hey, I’m not even using any art—Just a kunai. You look pathetic. Why did you even show up?”

Hisagi gritted his teeth. A trickle of blood slid from the corner of his lip. His breathing quickened. His mind spun. Nothing worked—he couldn’t even make Ikari dodge seriously.

Ikari swept his leg and knocked Hisagi off his feet again. He hit the ground, rolled, and came back up—knees bent, kunai raised.

Still standing. Still on guard. ‘At least… this is what I do,’ Hisagi thought.

“Tch. You pathetic fool. Again and again? Admit defeat, you bastard…”

He sneered as he stepped closer. “Guys like you… think you’re a hero just for standing again and again. But it’s lame. Use anything—entertain me.”

*****

Haruki leaned forward, watching closely. “Oh, That boy… His level is only 100.”

– ‘Hey, it's unfair. It's two against one.’

– “Huh? But only one of them is fighting. And anyway, it’s their choice to use anything.”

– ‘Wait, you don’t remember? He was with him at the clothes shop.’

– { Really? You met them already? }

– “Mom, we only confirmed her dream after meeting them. That’s when we asked you.”

– ‘Still… It’s unfair. Isn’t anyone going to stop it?’

– { … }

*****

Ikari moved like mist—his feet sliding across the ground, silent and smooth. Hisagi swung the kunai again, desperate.

Ikari didn’t even bother blocking. His expression didn’t change. To him, he saw Hisagi as a child.

More cuts opened—shoulder, thigh—thin but bleeding. Still, Hisagi stood.

*****

“Why isn’t he admitting defeat?”

Sakura snapped in frustration, “Ken, why are you saying that? You have to encourage him! You just got lucky with a weak opponent. Hisagi is trying his best without knowing anything!”

Kazuma thought. ‘This girl!? Well… at least she’s good to Hisagi.’

Kazuma squinted, scanning the arena. “Wait… where is his katana?”

Three heads turned. Their eyes followed the trail to the side where Hisagi had been seated before.

There it was—Hisagi’s katana, untouched.

“That idiot… did he forget his katana because of nerves? How did he plan to fight then?”

Sakura didn’t hesitate. She rushed forward, grabbed the katana, and hurled it with a loud shout, “Hisagi!”

The blade spun through the air. Hisagi’s fingers trembled, eyes barely tracking it. His body—already staggered and bleeding—was too off-balance.

But he reached.

He caught it—awkwardly, unorthodox—then in the same motion, slashed.

A burst of wind tore from the katana.

Ikari’s eyes widened, face turning serious for the first time. He dodged, Hisagi's slash missed entirely, the slash carving into the arena floor behind Ikari with a loud crack. The crowd gasped.

Ren and Kazuma looked at each other—silent.

Hisagi stood with the katana now in hand. His breathing was still heavy. His grip, odd. But his stance… firm.

Hisagi blinked. ‘He dodged… cleanly? Wait—no, that means… I can fight.’ He shifted quickly, returning to an orthodox stance, grounding himself.

“Heh… now you want to fight?”

Then came the first real blow. Not from a kunai. No flash of steel. Just a flat palm—driven into Hisagi’s gut with precise, crushing force. Thud.

Hisagi’s feet lifted off the ground. His back slammed onto the floor. His vision spiraled—blurring into haze.

He wheezed, curling slightly, then forced himself to rise. His katana trembled in his hands, fingers barely closing around the hilt.

Ikari tilted his head, voice calm—almost curious. “You’re still standing?”

Hisagi spat blood. “I’m not… done yet.”

“Hey. Why aren’t you admitting defeat?”

Hisagi’s breath came in gasps. “A-an old man once told me… m-miracles only happen to those who don’t give up.”

‘Master… at least make me your disciple for not giving up. That’s the only thing I can offer now…’

Sujin’s eyes widened. “This boy!”

Suddenly, Ikari vanished. To Hisagi, the world slowed—then pain exploded. A kunai slashed across his ribs, cutting deep. Another pierced his shoulder. Then his thigh. Each cut was calculated. None were fatal. All were brutal.

“Then ask that miracle to come for you.”

Hisagi dropped to one knee. His katana slipped from his grasp. His vision fogged, spinning. And then… he collapsed.

Dust curled around him.

Ikari crouched low beside him, eye to eye.

His voice was a whisper, soft as a breeze but cutting like steel. “Where’s that miracle you spoke of? You’ve already lost, pathetic fool.”

“People like you… always depend on others. They don’t do anything, but they want everything. Try first—then speak.”

Hisagi coughed weakly, blood smearing the corners of his lips. He whispered, “I… I already tried…”

Ikari’s eyes narrowed.

Without warning, he drove his palm into Hisagi’s chest. A lightning wave cracked the air.

Hisagi's body snapped backward like a broken doll, flung across the arena floor. He skidded through the dust and slammed into a tree near the ring wall with a heavy crack.

Ikari rose slowly, his voice loud. “Then why are you losing? What the f⬛ are you even talking about?”

*****

Kazuma asked Ren through mind voice exchange art, – He’s a combat type… should we stop this?

– It’s his fight. Let him walk back on his own. No shame in losing—it’s just a match.

– You're cold.

– …

*******

“Huh, someone arrived? Well, it’s just a tournament. Even if we sensed it, it’s nothing serious—just leave it.”

“What happened, Daikin-san?”

“Someone used a scroll. Nothing serious.”

Then, turning to Hina nearby, he called out, “Rika, is it over?”

“Haa… Coming!”

*****

Kemuri looked uneasy. “You didn’t have to hit him that hard.”

Ikari scoffed. “Huh? He made me sick. I’m not satisfied.”

Sakura snapped, “What is he even talking about?! Master, do something!”

Kazuma replied calmly, “We can’t interfere. It’s their fight.”

A sulky silence followed from Sakura.

Hisagi didn’t move. He was unconscious, blood crusted along his ribs. His katana lay a few feet away.

Haruto stepped forward and raised his voice. “Winner is Contestant Number 80!”

Ikari didn’t even turn. “This fight’s not over. I’m still not satisfied.”

Haruto’s gaze sharpened. “He can’t fight anymore. The match is over.”

“Tch… fine.” Ikari turned to Kemuri and whispered, “I want another fight. I’m using my wish—now.”

Kemuri blinked. “Hey… now’s not the time.”

Ikari shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

He raised his head, eyes faintly glowing. Then he pointed. His voice rang out, “That guy… is he a contestant? I want to fight him.”

Haruto’s tone sharpened. “Don’t test me. The match is over.” He glanced to the side. “Healers—move in.”

But the arena remained silent. Because Ikari’s finger was aimed straight at Ren.

“Haruto-san,” Kemuri asked, “Can you accept the request? He’s already fought, right? So any future matches won’t disrupt the pattern.”

Ren stepped forward. “I accept the fight.”

Ikari smirked. “Hey, Instructor—the man himself agreed. So… we can fight, right?”

Haruto turned toward the cabin, where Sujin sat watching.

A hush fell over the arena.

“It’s already decided,” Sujin said firmly. “The match is over. That boy lost. We can’t delay the next matches.”

Kemuri’s voice held a quiet plea. “Please, Sujin-sama. I need to fulfill his wish.”

“What nonsense is he even talking about…?” a voice muttered from the crowd.

*****

– “Mom… did you know something?”

– { … }

*****

– Hey, why did you accept the fight?

– Well, I…

– Tch… Shit.

“Ken. He’s not someone you can handle.”

Kazuma’s anger boiled over. “Again and again—STOP THAT!”

He turned to Ren, pointing at Hisagi’s body. “Hey Ken, look at Hisagi’s condition first!”

******

“Haruki?”

“It’s your call, Sujin-sama. He’s already fought—so the future match pattern won’t be disrupted.”

“Well… I agree!” Sujin raised his voice. “Healers! Take that boy first!”

*****

Miya stepped onto the arena floor.

Just then, Hisagi stirred—eyes fluttering open. “I… I don’t want to go. I haven’t admitted defeat yet.”

“Hey! The match is over. The winner was already declared.”

Hisagi blinked slowly. “Then… why is that guy still standing?”

“Look at yourself… why do you still want to fight?”

He whispered, barely audible, “I don’t want to give up. Just… tell me what’s going on. I don’t want to leave the ring yet.”

Miya frowned. “Damn it… he still wants to fight—and that other guy mumbled about some wish.”

“Who… who does he want to fight now?”

Miya sighed and pointed. “That guy. See him?”

Hisagi’s weak eyes turned—blurry, struggling to focus—until Miya gently guided his gaze… toward Ren.

“Then… don’t heal me. Heal me after it’s over.”

“You idiot,” Miya muttered, “It’s not fatal, but—”

“I know.” Hisagi’s eyes slowly shut. “I’ll… wait.”

He fell limp again.

Miya bit her lip. ‘This boy… What should I do now? Do I listen? Or treat him anyway?... He trusted me and closed his eyes’

*****

“What do you think of the wish, Haruki?”

“It’s just a wish.”

Sujin scoffed. “These boys don’t understand. If I don’t agree, he may suffer.”

*****

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Ren’s footsteps echoed through the heavy silence. Each step heavier, sharper, amplified by the crowd’s held breath.

A faint, thin black aura shimmered around him as he stepped onto the arena floor.

He turned—not toward Ikari—but toward where Hisagi lay, and walked over. “Why aren’t you healing him?”

“He told me not to. Said to wait until after the fight.”

“So what? He’s unconscious now.”

“He trusted me,” Miya said softly, “If you want him healed, finish this quickly.”

“Umm…” He muttered.

But then—

“Hey!” Ikari’s voice rang out, annoyed. “Is the conversation over yet? Come on—I’m waiting!”

Ren stood—calm, silent—he walked back toward him.

“First, before the figh—”

Before he could finish, Ikari dashed forward, aiming a blow.

Ren sidestepped and leapt back. “Hey! I’m talking. Wait.”

“What? We just have to fight.” Ikari charged again, reckless.

Ren calmly used Temporary Flex, vanishing from the strike and reappearing beside Kemuri, far from Ikari.

“First listen to me. You changed the rules to fight with me. So I want to ask for something in return.”

*****

– ‘What’s he talking about now?’

– “How should I know? Shut up and listen.”

“Master?” Sakura asked warily.

Kazuma gazed at Sakura. His tone sharpened. “I’ve held back until now, but you’re still being disrespectful—even after I told you.”

*****

Ikari smirked. “What?”

Ren didn’t even look at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.” He turned toward Sujin. “You asked S-Sujin-sama to accept your request. So I’ll ask mine.”

He raised his voice. “Sujin-sama, if I win this match—then give the win to that boy. To Hisagi.”

Kemuri scowled. “What kind of nonsense is that? That match is already over!”

“If it’s over, then why are we fighting again? I accepted only for that purpose. It's fair—if I win, Hisagi wins. If I lose, nothing changes—because you started this.”

****

He asked the whole arena loudly, “Say it. Am I wrong?”

“Yes. That’s absolutely fair.”

“He’s right. If you started it, then own it.”

“Withdraw if you don’t want it anymore.”

****

“Fine. Kemuri. I’ll win anyway—don’t worry.”

“That’s right. It’s fair.”

Ren nodded once. “You see? Even Sujin-sama agrees.”

Kemuri gritted his teeth. ‘Tch… well, I don’t think he’ll lose… but even if he does…’

“Fine! I accept. But remember—you’ll have to defeat both of us. This is my fight. I just used the Scroll.”

Ren met his gaze. “I know.”

From the contestants cabin, Arata squinted. “…That katana… It looked rusty in the first match. But why is he using it?”

Ayesha turned. “Huh? Arata, what did you say?”

“Huh? Nothing! Just talking to myself.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Say it.”

“…I said nothing.”

Ayesha looked away, her face sulky and twitching.