"So here we are, ladies and gentlemen, with none other than the beloved champion—Mr. Rikishi!"
The harpy anchor fluttered closer, wings beating to keep herself level as she extended the microphone toward the towering figure beside her.
The mic looked ridiculous in her grip.
Barely larger than a toothpick.
Rikishi's frame refused to fit properly into the camera's view. Broad shoulders stretched a loose Hawaiian shirt tight over a white tank beneath, fabric strained across layers of dense muscle. Every slow breath made the cloth shift, groan, protest.
"Move it up."
The voice rolled out like a low growl.
A large green hand reached forward, briefly covering the lens before the camera jerked upward. For a moment, all that filled the screen were a pair of red eyes—sharp, focused, unreadable.
Silence.
Then—
"Hellooo, everyone!"
The glare softened instantly, melting into a wide, charismatic smile. Sharp teeth gleamed under the stadium lights as Rikishi gently took the microphone from the anchor's hand, careful not to snap it in two.
The harpy let out a small, relieved laugh.
The Champion turned, walking ahead as the camera followed.
Behind him, the interior of the Oval Stadium opened into view—polished steel, layered platforms, and at its center, rising high above everything else—
Miragna Tower.
"I hope all you lovely people are doing well today," Rikishi said warmly, his voice carrying with ease.
The harpy flew alongside him, pulling out a second mic. "Mr. Rikishi, how are preparations for this season of the Apex Tournament going?"
He stopped. Only his upper body fit into frame as he turned.
"Well, Yuri," he said, chuckling, "it's been hectic."
His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath. The air pressure alone made the harpy wobble mid-flight.
"But organizing something like this alone?" he continued. "That's never easy."
The anchor smiled nervously. "Well, this season also marks your retirement from the MMA world. Fans would be devastated if it wasn't as incredible as you."
For just a moment—
The atmosphere shifted.
Rikishi's smile thinned. His eyes narrowed slightly.
The microphone crumpled in his grip.
Metal squealed as his fingers pressed inward, the sound sharp enough to make the camera shake.
"You're right about that, Ms. Yuri."
His tone tightened—not angry. Controlled.
"And I made sure of it."
He opened his hand. The broken mic dropped out of frame.
"This season's fighters aren't just strong," he continued. "They're the best in the world."
The harpy swallowed. "O–Oh? Really…?"
"Yes." The Champion nodded. "Each one of them was chosen by me."
The words landed heavy.
"Best of their species. Best of their discipline. I personally tested them."
A pause.
"Every single one."
The anchor hesitated before asking, "Doesn't that… make things difficult for you?"
For a heartbeat, the Champion stared at her.
Then—
"Hahaha!"
Laughter burst from him, loud and genuine, shoulders relaxing as the tension vanished. He slapped a massive hand against his chest.
"Well, I'll leave that to myself, Ms. Yuri," he said cheerfully. "I promise to give everything I have—for all the fans cheering me on."
He turned toward the unseen crowd beyond the camera and raised a thumb.
"Right, everyone?"
The smile returned. Perfect. Familiar.
The Champion stepped out of frame, leaving behind nothing but the bent remains of what used to be a microphone.
—Twitch—
"Surely you will," Robert muttered.
Sunlight from the glass wall reflected off the blank laptop screen, scattering glare across his eyes.
"Then killing you will be even more satisfying."
"He's here!!"
Kameki's voice rang out, her footsteps quick and light as she approached.
Robert closed the laptop and rose from his chair.
"You know," she added, falling into step beside him, lips pouting, "you could smile once in a while."
Robert said nothing.
"Hm," was all he offered as the elevator doors slid shut behind them.
"So… he passed the test?" Robert asked, eyes scanning the rows of data beneath the contender's photo.
"Looks like it," Kameki replied, leaning closer. "And he looks sturdy enough too."
She waited for a response.
Ding.
"Well, either way," she said, stepping ahead of Robert and turning back toward him with a grin, leaning in, "I'm sure he has what—"
Ting—
SWOOOSH—
DHAAAMMMM!!!
The elevator doors opened—
—and the world exploded.
Kameki felt it before she understood it.
A violent rush of air.
A red blur slicing past her vision.
Then the ground vanished.
Robert's arm snapped around her waist, yanking her back as something thundered past them.
A six-foot punching bag smashed into the elevator wall, half its mass buried in steel and concrete. The chain snapped. Stuffing burst outward, raining down in white clumps.
Silence.
Kameki barely registered movement before she was already being carried clear of the lift.
"Oops," a voice crackled through static.
"That could've been fatal."
"It certainly could have been."
Robert set her down.
Kameki followed his gaze.
A tall figure stood ahead, arms crossed. Training tights. Reinforced pads. A digital mask flickered across his face, pixels shifting into a wide grin.
"Well?" the voice continued. "You can't expect me to apologize for the weakness of your gym equipment, can you?"
L-07.
Kameki blinked, glancing behind him.
The shattered hanger.
The elevator wall caved in.
The distance between the two points was at least ten feet.
And the punching bag—what was left of it—had weighed over 350 kilograms.
Her throat went dry.
No wonder they called him a death machine.
"So you're L-07," Robert said, stepping closer.
"Live and kickin'."
Robert walked past him, gaze drifting to the shattered punching bag hanger.
"So how was the test with the…" he paused, then glanced back, "…the Champion?"
"As good as it could be," L-07 replied, stopping beside a wooden training dummy. "I made sure the old geezer understood exactly who's coming to take his throne."
His fist snapped out.
Once.
Twice.
Then dozens of times.
The punches blurred—vanishing the instant they launched—hammering the side of the dummy's head with machine-gun precision.
"Oh? Did you."
Robert closed the distance between them.
"Then I suppose you wouldn't mind a small test of mine."
SWISH—
A fist cut through the air.
Lightning-fast.
So close that the pressure snapped against Robert's hair. The impact cracked somewhere behind him.
Kameki gasped.
Robert didn't flinch.
"For my satisfaction," he added calmly.
L-07 stared at him for a second. Then the pixels on his mask curved upward.
"Hundred thousand extra yon," he said. "Then sure."
The training chamber sealed shut.
Metal tiles covered the floor. Thick, reinforced walls surrounded a single figure standing in the center of the room.
A humanoid machine. Broad-shouldered. Orc-like.
"The test is simple."
Robert's voice echoed from a rectangular glass control box overlooking the room.
"Survive for one full minute against our training unit."
L-07 scoffed, static rippling through his mask. "What the hell is that thing supposed to be?"
"The newest Vale Corporation prototype," Robert replied evenly. "TFH-2.0."
The machine's eyes ignited red.
Gears whined. Joints locked into place.
"It's equipped with every known combat style on this planet," Robert continued evenly.
"Can strike with the force of a giant."
The machine moved.
A punch launched forward.
The shockwave alone rattled the chamber.
L-07 staggered back half a step.
"Can run as fast as a Leopard-Kin."
The machine vanished.
Reappeared behind L-07 mid-motion.
A kick followed.
THEDHAMM—
His body launched upward.
Mid-air, L-07 twisted, flipping just before impact and slamming into the ceiling, cracking metal as he landed in a crater.
"—and move with the agility of a Serpent-Kin."
Before L-07 could stabilize, the robot leapt up, landing in front of him. Its body coiled—then snapped low.
The kick smashed into L-07's face.
He rocketed into the wall, denting steel on impact.
Robert watched through the glass, lips curling faintly.
"So if you can survive this," he said, voice calm,
"then maybe…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…you can actually kill the Champion."
Silence followed.
Then—
Clang. Clang.
Metal footsteps.
Iron meeting iron.
Robert blinked.
And in that instant, L-07 changed.
A purple haze, laced with a faint crimson glow, bled off his body like heat rising from molten steel. It warped the air around him—alive, violent.
Robert's eyes widened before he could stop them.
The robot moved.
Its measured pace collapsed into a dash.
It vanished.
Reappeared above L-07.
A punch loaded—
pure kill intent burning behind mechanical eyes.
L-07 tilted his head.
Looked up.
—THDDHAAAMMM!!—
The punch landed.
But not on him.
L-07 moved at the final fraction of a second. He kicked off the ground, slammed into the glass control box, cracks spiderwebbing outward as he launched himself forward—
A clean right hook smashed into the robot's head.
The machine flew toward the wall.
Before it could hit—
L-07 was already behind it.
An iron grip locked around its skull.
He twisted. Drew an arc through the air.
Then flipped and spiked the robot into the floor.
—DHHAAAMM!!—
The ground shattered.
Metal tiles exploded upward. Debris rained.
The machine rose anyway.
One arm hung uselessly, sparks screaming from the torn shoulder. It straightened, raised its remaining fist.
L-07 didn't hesitate.
He dashed.
A punch fired.
L-07 sidestepped.
Right hook.
Elbow buried into the gut.
Left hook.
Back kick—straight to the groin.
Then he jumped.
He flew.
Twisted.
Flipped.
And crashed his heel down in a brutal roundhouse.
The robot spun.
Then slammed into the floor again.
L-07 stood over it, sparks dying along his shin guards. He seized the machine by the neck, hauled it upright—
—and launched it skyward.
In the next heartbeat, he appeared at the same height.
Spun.
And kicked.
The air burst.
Purple mist detonated outward—
—DHDDAAAMMM!!!—
The robot missed Robert and Kameki by less than a meter.
The dwarven-titanium wall behind them folded like paper.
"Never."
Robert's widened eyes narrowed, lips settling as the robot's severed head came screaming toward him. He stepped forward, calmly shifting aside as it blasted past Kameki like a missile.
"Ever underestimate."
L-07's voice had changed.
Less static.
More alive.
Robert approached as L-07 reached up and removed his mask.
Blue lips pulled into a grin.
White fangs slid free.
"A Demon-kin."
"Well," Robert said, smiling now, "I suppose you do have what it takes."
"Of course we do." L-07's purple brows arched, his lips curling wider.
"Demon-kin are the true apex of this planet."
A hiss slipped into the air.
"Be grateful you're still standing in one piece."
The purple haze flared—expanding, swallowing the space around Robert.
Kameki rushed forward—
—and froze.
Her feet locked to the floor.
Spine rigid.
Arms unresponsive.
The air itself pressed her back.
Every inch of the chamber drowned in killing intent.
All of it pouring from L-07.
Pure. Unfiltered.
Still, she forced herself forward—muscles screaming—because she knew.
If she didn't move now—
Then Robert…