The elevator doors slid open.
A blast of cold air struck Hashina's face.
No more flickering lights.
No rusty shelves.
Instead, an endless hallway, the floor paved with polished black tiles, so smooth they mirrored their reflections like dark water.
Along both walls, white LED strips stretched into infinity—cold like a hospital corridor, yet heavier, more suffocating… like a tunnel leading nowhere but down.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Each footstep hit the stone floor, heavy as the ticking of fate.
Saito didn't speak. He walked ahead. Every step he took carried a familiarity with this place—as if this wasn't his first time here.
The air thickened with a metallic tang, mixing with Hashina's strained breathing—an unease so sharp it clung to him like a second skin.
Instinct screamed.
Roared.
Like waves crashing relentlessly, warning him of something closing in.
After a while, Saito halted. His voice, calm as ever, cut through the silence:
"We're here."
In front of them stood a massive steel door, thick enough to shut out the world.
Huge hinges sank deep into the walls, and bolts the size of a finger joint fastened everything in place.
Hashina swallowed hard. His throat was so dry that even drawing breath felt painful.
Saito laid a hand on the icy steel. His fingers slid down to the recessed keypad—a series of sharp, clicking keys echoed, each press like a dagger driving straight through the air.
A wave of dread swelled in Hashina's chest.
He did not belong here.
Then came the sound—slow, grinding, metallic.
Clack… clack…
Like the heartbeat of someone standing between light and darkness.
Saito turned to him, a faint smile on his lips.
"This place isn't for the weak."
Hashina's throat burned dry, as if every word he wanted to speak had been stripped from him.
His breath hit the cold void ahead—vanishing instantly.
The steel door cracked open, and at that moment, sound exploded like thunder.
Not joyous cheering.
Not cries of excitement.
But low, feral roars, the grind of teeth, the clash of metal—chaotic, savage, like the howls of caged beasts starved for blood.
Hashina stepped inside.
It felt like walking into the jaws of a monster.
Harsh white light poured down on the arena. They stood on a raised walkway, gazing below:
A circular pit.
Seats climbing in steep tiers, packed with silhouettes.
No gilded chairs.
No giant screens.
Only faces blurred beneath the lights, eyes locked on the storm unfolding below.
Two fighters tore into each other like animals.
A fist swung.
A cracking snap.
A body hit the ground, skull thudding like thunder ripping through the night.
No one rushed to help.
No sorrow.
No mercy.
"…Three."
"…Two."
"…One."
Then an eruption of screams.
Hashina's chest tightened, breath swallowing itself.
Here, no one fought for honor.
No one fought for a future.
This was a war between life and death.
This arena wasn't for those who wished to live—
It was for those who had nothing left but death to choose from.
Suddenly, a cold hand gripped Hashina's shoulder, whispering through the unending roar:
"Up there."
Saito pointed to the glass room above. From there, Hashina could see masked men in suits watching silently—like wolves savoring their feast.
Saito's hand tightened, his face drawn, eyes fixed on that room with a burning stare.
Those people didn't care who lived or died. To them, this was entertainment. Nothing more.
And something inside Hashina stirred—not that bright, noble justice he once believed in.
Something darker.
Heavier.
A fire fed by rage and despair.
A justice soaked in blood.
Hashina's fists clenched so hard his knuckles drained white. A vein on his neck pulsed violently, his throat scorched as though aflame.
He didn't want to go up there.
Didn't want to be part of this twisted spectacle.
But Saito's hand remained on him—cold, solid, and inescapable.
"Go," Saito's voice sharpened. "Show them you're not a toy."
Hashina gritted his teeth, forcing himself up the first step.
He swallowed, but the pain in his throat burned like sand.
...
Amidst the cheers, lights and heavy metallic atmosphere,
Saito's lips curled faintly—a sly, calculated smile.
Everything was falling into place.
Hashina stepped onto the second step.
The roar below dragged him downward, yet the watchful stare from above pushed him up like prey cornered by hunters.
Each step didn't ease the fear—
It hardened it.
Not dread.
Something sharper.
Hatred.
Saito followed close behind, breath calm and cold.
"Remember," he murmured,
"Everyone steps into the arena once in their life."
Hashina paused—half a second.
If this was fate… he would tear it apart.
Then he climbed.
Above, behind the glass, those masked figures didn't smile.
They only watched him—as if they already knew how the story would end.