I managed to get us into a VIP booth after I learned that there we could even get meals served, not to mention Karin could jump around as much as she wanted, and people wouldn't be able to complain about it.
Sure, it was expensive, but in the end, money was meant to be spent. I wouldn't foolishly save up for decades like Kakuzu, after all, what had all his hard work gotten him? Konan had spent all his savings after his death to blow Obito up.
No, far better to enjoy the money, and once I joined up with Black Zetsu, I would be able to live off my good son's millennium-long efforts.
So, since I was likely going to be joining the Akatsuki soon, I saw no reason to save the money I still had left. Not to mention, this place was filled with rich merchants and nobles… should I need money, people would gladly hand some over, under the threat of death.
So, I spent a small fortune on our little excursion to the Coliseum. The booth was luxurious, offering a perfect, unobstructed view of the arena below. Soft, plush chairs awaited us, and a small table was already set with a carafe of chilled water and crystal glasses.
We had barely settled in when Karin, unable to contain her excitement, rushed to the railing, her small hands gripping the cool metal as she peered down at the sandy expanse below. "It's so big!" she gasped, her voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space.
I couldn't help but smile at her unbridled enthusiasm. To her, this wasn't just a fight; it was the culmination of every story she'd ever heard about powerful shinobi, brought to life in a blaze of glory.
Below us, the arena was a massive circle of pristine white sand, encircled by towering stone walls that rose up to meet the rows upon rows of seats. The lower levels were already filling up with a diverse crowd of merchants, minor nobles, and other wealthy patrons. The upper tiers, however, remained sparsely populated, reserved for the truly elite who preferred their spectacles with a touch of privacy.
"So, what are we waiting for?" Karin asked, her eyes still fixed on the empty arena. "When does it start?"
"Soon," I replied, my gaze sweeping over the steadily growing crowd. There was a palpable energy in the air, a mix of anticipation and bloodlust that was almost intoxicating. "First, let us order some food," I said, pulling a cord to alert the staff that we required service.
While we waited, I decided to probe Karin's mind, wanting to see how much she really understood about the world of shinobi. I had been teaching her, of course, but there was a difference between knowing something in theory and seeing it in practice.
"What do you expect to see, Karin?" I asked, my tone casual.
She turned away from the railing, her expression thoughtful. "Well... explosions, I guess. And lots of ninjutsu. Maybe some cool taijutsu, just no genjutsu, that's boring!" she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "And... I want to see someone really strong."
"Strong how?" I pressed, curious to see her definition of strength.
"Strong enough to win, of course," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
I chuckled softly. "Well, there is always someone who wins, even in fights between weak shinobi, one will always be stronger than the other, though you must remember that sometimes, the winner might even be the weak one," I told her.
"Huh? How?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Because strength and winning are two different things, and in a fight, far more than just power matters, like strategy, stamina, and sometimes, pure luck," I explained. "But tonight, we are in for a treat, I promise you," I told her as I could see our fighters entering the building below us.
Just as I finished speaking, a smartly dressed waiter entered our booth, bowing low. "Good evening, my lady. How may I serve you?"
"We'll have some of your best sake for the adults," I said, gesturing towards myself and Kanna, "and some fresh juice for the little one. And bring us a selection of your finest appetizers. We'll decide on the main course later."
"Very good, my lady," the waiter replied with another bow before disappearing as silently as he had arrived.
As we waited for our order, the lights in the Coliseum began to dim, and the roar of the crowd gradually subsided, replaced by a hushed silence. A single beam of light illuminated a raised platform at the center of the arena, where a tall, slender man with a flamboyant purple coat and a wide-brimmed hat stepped forward.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Coliseum!" he boomed, his voice coming through the loudspeakers, carrying across the entire arena. The crowd erupted in cheers, a wave of sound that washed over us.
The man in the purple coat raised one gloved hand, and the noise of the arena gradually died down.
"Distinguished patrons," he began smoothly, voice rich and theatrical. "Before tonight's exchange begins, let us review the sacred rules of the Coliseum."
He tapped the side of his hat lightly.
"As always, all fighters entering this arena are registered assets."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Each combatant carries an identification tag issued by their owner. Said tag is bound to the master's authorization seal."
A screen above the arena flickered to life, displaying a small metallic card engraved with symbols.
"The objective of every match is simple."
He smiled.
"Steal your opponent's ID tag."
The crowd cheered.
"Once the tag is removed from the loser's person and verified by our officials, ownership of that fighter transfers immediately to the victor's master."
Another roar.
The announcer continued:
"Lethal force is permitted—but unnecessary destruction is discouraged. A damaged asset reduces resale value."
Laughter rolled across the stands.
"If both fighters perish… the contract is void."
A pause.
"If a fighter refuses to continue or surrenders their tag willingly, the transfer is still valid."
He spread his arms.
"Outside interference from owners, sponsors, or bodyguards is strictly prohibited. Violators forfeit all claims and may be… reclaimed by the house."
That last part was delivered lightly.
But it was not a joke.
Then again, to someone like me, all their rules were jokes because they lacked the means to enforce them.
Kanna was clearly disgusted by the talk of owning people, as someone who had more or less been a slave once herself, she understood the horror of such a thing.
Karin, however, was spared most of the darkness of the world. For someone raised in the Daimyō's palace and under my protection, the world felt, if not kind, then at least free. She could cause all manner of problems and rarely faced any consequences.
She was in some ways sheltered, but in others, she had seen the world, walked across more of it in her childhood than most people would in their entire lives. She knew the importance of being strong; she had seen bandits, but to her, they weren't dangerous.
She didn't have to even consider the consequences of falling into their hands, so while her mother was appalled by the rules, she was just confused. "I don't get it. Why would losing the ID tag be a big deal?" she asked, not understanding the concept of slavery.
It wasn't easy to explain something like that to a child. "Imagine I gave you an ID tag with my name on it, and with it, you got ten snacks a day," I gently explained. "And someone has another ID tag, but theirs gives them one snack a day, and if they defeat you, you lose my tag, and get theirs, so you lose all those extra snacks."
I did my best to vaguely explain the reason someone who was owned wouldn't want to be owned by someone else, because, yes, from one perspective, being owned by one was the same as being owned by another.
Neither had freedom, but the one who paid for you was still more likely to value you and treat you better than someone who got you for free because you were worse than their own slave. So, yes, it was a good analogy for the situation.
"So they are fighting so they don't get a worse owner?" Karin asked, her brow furrowed in thought as she tried to grasp the concept. It was clear that the idea of being owned by anyone was foreign to her.
"Yes, my dear, they are fighting for a slightly less cruel master." Kanna's voice was tight with emotion, a clear sign that she was barely holding back her anger. She had been treated like little more than a slave, and she knew the pain of being treated as property.
Just then, the waiter returned, carrying a tray laden with food and drinks. He placed them on the table with practiced ease, his movements graceful and efficient. "Your order, my lady."
"Thank you," I said, dismissing him with a nod.
As we ate, the atmosphere in the arena shifted again. The announcer's voice boomed across the Coliseum, "And now, let me introduce tonight's entertainment, the fight you have all been waiting on!"
His words caused Karin to forget about her food, and she once more ran up to the railing, her eyes wide with anticipation as the announcer spoke.
The lights dimmed further, focusing attention on the arena floor.
Two heavy gates stood opposite each other, iron bars thick enough to restrain even a tailed beast host—or at least give the illusion of doing so.
The announcer spread his arms dramatically.
"Tonight's acquisition match features a veteran of the sands!"
The northern gate rattled, as if holding back something fearsome and eager, though my Byakugan revealed that it was just a handful of workers pushing against it to dramatic effect. However, given the way Karin was eating it up, it clearly worked.
"The Master of Storms and warrior of the winds, the raging Typhoon of the Coliseum, our reigning champion! Fūshin!" the announcer introduced him to the roaring crowds as the gate opened, and in came a kid with green hair and yellow eyes, wearing a red headband on his head in place of a real hitai-ate from a shinobi village.
"Is that really the champion? He is just a kid, isn't he?" Karin couldn't help but ask doubtfully as she watched someone only a few years older than her enter the ring.
"He wears the ID tag of the esteemed Lord Masaru of the Eastern Consortium and has so far won a full seventeen matches in a row! A truly powerful fighter and a rare shinobi with a Kekkei Genkai, a prize worth having, and today, the challenger is a new face." The announcer
continued.
The crowd roared Fūshin's name as he walked to the center of the arena, chin raised high.
He basked in it.
He needed it.
He couldn't have been more than fourteen.
Lean, wiry, built from repetition rather than muscle. Wind chakra flickered faintly around him, playful, controlled. His movements were confident—not arrogant yet, but close.
Seventeen wins.
At that age, that was enough to warp perspective.
Karin leaned forward.
"He doesn't look that strong…"
"He has a Kekkei Genkai, even if it is just an elemental one and not noble blood like you, it still means you shouldn't underestimate him," I warned her lightly.
Karin pouted at my words but nodded and kept watching.
I could sense Fūshin's chakra.
Undisciplined. A storm without focus, a weapon without purpose.
"A new challenger has entered the ring today, bought by the merchant lord En Oyashiro!" the announcer boomed again, his voice echoing through the arena as the southern gate rumbled open. "And what's this? A child?" He gasped, shocked, though it was clearly fake since he knew who would be fighting well beforehand; he was simply drumming up drama.
In came what could only be described as a child, no bigger than Karin, with spiky light-blonde hair, with two thick strands reaching onto her rosy cheeks, which highlighted her violet eyes; she was, by all measures, truly adorable. Even the simple, sleeveless pink kimono-light shirt didn't detract from her adorable appearance.
Even I could not deny that.
"Another kid?" Karin was even more confused now. "But you said the fights are serious!" she said, a little accusingly.
"They are," I said calmly as I took a sip of the sake the waiter had poured for me earlier. "Just because they are kids doesn't mean they aren't strong."
Kakashi and Itachi had already started their shinobi careers by the time they reached Karin's age, even reaching Chūnin. One shouldn't underestimate someone based on their age. Hadn't Itachi killed his entire clan at only thirteen years old?
Still, that cute appearance would likely make people underestimate her; even someone like Fūshin, who should know better, looked at her as if this fight was already over. He might have been a child himself, but he had been fighting for a while now, and winning, and so his ego was as inflated as any adult shinobi with a few wins under their belt.
Still, I knew who the girl was. Or at least I knew the family she came from, the Chinoike clan, a Kekkei Genkai clan formed by a mutation in Indra's bloodline.
So I knew she would win. Information was important, and Fūshin had none on his opponent.
The announcer continued his dramatic speech. "The new challenger, Chino, can she do the impossible and beat the champion Fūshin, or will En Oyashiro lose his fighter to the hand of Lord Masaru?" The crowd began to roar, placing bets and screaming their chosen fighter's name, though most bets were likely being placed on Fūshin as he was the champion.
(End of chapter)
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