The days that followed, my schedule are mostly fixed with morning back breaking labor work, with sharpening my skills under Darius's watch during breaks, then getting out of work faster than any slave and picking some food from the guards' canteen, Part of it I always set aside for the Boa sisters' cell, and the rest of my hours I poured into training Observation Haki alone, cross-legged in the stale dark of my cell.
And maybe because of this fixed schedule, but it feels like time has started to blur, rushing past faster than ever—and that terrifies me. I still don't know how to use Haki, not even the basics. I can't gauge distance, can't tell where the sounds I hear are coming from, or how many there are. This is only the first stage, and yet I'm already in trouble with it.
Maybe if I didn't have an important fight tomorrow, I could afford to be patient a little longer. But tomorrow… tomorrow I'm up against one of the Celestial Dragon's prized slaves. Sure, I plan to throw the fight, but if I'm not strong enough, I won't even get the chance—I'll be dead long before I can think to.
As the day was coming to an end, the rusty bars of my cell groaned open. I wasn't surprised—I'd been expecting it for a while. The footsteps of several people outside told me enough, from which I deduced that Darius is one of them, but deductions like that are easy; it's time Darius should be here anyway.
When I opened my eyes, I caught Darius mid-yawn as he lowered himself onto the cold floor, already preparing to sleep. Like hell I'd let him. Tomorrow was crucial, and I needed his experience—jerk or not, Darius wouldn't just let me die. At least, I hoped not.
"Old man, can you hear me out for a sec?"
"Tell me tomorrow. I need my beauty sleep right now."
As he lay and stretched out on the cold stone, I started shaking him without pause. He tried chasing me off more than once, but I refused to quit. Stubborn? Absolutely. And of course it's not because I enjoy talking to him, absolute-fucking not.
"WHAT!?" he suddenly shouted, looking very annoyed right now.
"Do you know I have an important fight tomorrow?" I leaned on his shoulder like a pestering younger brother, trying to drill urgency into that thick skull of his.
"I do too, boy. Tomorrow is arena day, I fight too."
He yawned like a lion that didn't give a damn, scratching his butt as if tomorrow's matches were just another exercise.
"I mean, yeah, but do you remember I made a bet with that asshole of an astronaut?" My voice dropped, almost a hiss. I couldn't even bring myself to say "celestial dragon" comfortably, so 'astronaut' had to do.
"That's tomorrow?" He finally looked at me, one eye cracked open, a slow smirk creeping across his face. Bastard. He knew damn well, but he liked making me repeat it.
"Yeah."
I wanted to sound firm, but it came out closer to a sulk. The weight of tomorrow match sat heavy in my chest, while he just looked at me like I was a kid whining about bedtime.
"Alright, alright, so what do you want?"
He sounded so damn relaxed about my suffering.
"Do you have any tips for tomorrow?"
I hated how low my voice turned out, but I needed him to say something, anything. I already knew what he might spit out, but hearing it would at least boost some fake confidence into my chest.
"Easy—don't die, kid."
He said it leaning back, arms folded like some washed-up philosopher, as if those two words were enough to solve my whole damn life.
"I don't want to, old man."
I snapped back, more pout than venom.
"Then maybe just remember—your little girlfriend's waiting for you."
His smirk was wide, shameless, like he'd been saving that card all night.
"She's not—!"
I stopped myself, grinding my teeth. He loved seeing me fluster. Boa Hancock was a kid, for god's sake, but leave it to Darius and he can twist it into the worst possible joke.
Sigh
"Let's just sleep, man. It's tiring talking to you."
I rolled over and stretched out on the hard, cold stone, trying to put an end to his smugness. But when I glanced back, the smirk on his face had only grown wider, like he'd just won a fight I didn't even know I was having. It made me want to smack his grey head in, but instead I just lifted my middle finger at him before shutting my eyes, surrendering to whatever dreams were waiting for me tonight.
--
The sun came far too quickly, leaving no room for me to steady my nerves. My head was still heavy with sleep when the cell door screeched open, and before I knew it, rough hands were dragging us out. The guards marched us down the familiar halls, their grip like iron cuffs around my arms, until we were tossed into the waiting room of the colosseum.
While waiting for my turn against that pampered pet of the astronaut, I kept my eyes on the arena. A few bloody matches passed by, the crowd howling like starved wolves, and then one of the fighters caught my attention—Zyanya. Yeah, the same woman I met last week.
She fought better this time, mostly because her opponent was weaker than the last. The poor bastard relied on skill, and if it came down to pure skill, Zyanya wiped the floor with him. Watching her, I even thought she might be more skilled than Darius. But the thing about Darius is… You never count that old bastard out. Even in the worst, most hopeless fights, he somehow drags himself through his tenacity and tricks, always one step above his opponents.
Even after Darius's match ended, the commentator still didn't call my name. It made me wonder—was my fight canceled? No, that was almost impossible. Then maybe… maybe they were saving me for prime hour?
Yes, there was prime hour here—the time when the most brutal fights were staged, under the watchful eyes of the most powerful men. Most of the Celestial Dragons only bothered to attend at this time, really. And in that time, the death rates soared high, one out of three, actually. After all, only the vilest, most powerful slaves were thrown into the ring at that time….
And as match after match passed, my hands wouldn't stop sweating, slick with nervousness and fear. Fear that my name would be called during prime time. Then—suddenly—the crowd went quiet, a silence heavy enough to make my chest tighten… before erupting into cheers, louder and wilder than before. I didn't need anyone to tell me what that meant. The Celestial Dragons had arrived.
That was the signal—prime time had begun.
I already knew I might get dragged into a fight during this cursed hour, but knowing didn't make it easier. My stomach twisted tighter with every second. I'd seen some of the prime-time fights before, enough to reach one conclusion. Those fights… they weren't just battles. They were slaughterhouses in the shape of men, the most brutal displays I'd ever seen in my life.
After the crowd's roaring cheers finally died down enough for the commentator's voice to cut through, I heard it—my name. For one heart-stopping second, my mind went completely blank. Then the guards shoved me forward, rough hands digging into my shoulders, dragging me toward the arena gates.
That was when I caught Darius's face. He didn't jeer, didn't smirk, didn't throw a mocking line to get under my skin. He just… nodded. A slow, grim nod.
As I stepped into the arena, the sound hit me like a wall. The crowd wasn't just loud—they were unhinged, a storm of shouting and screaming that rattled inside my skull. My heartbeat tried to keep pace with them, hammering faster and faster.
My eyes swept the colosseum, trying to anchor myself. That's when I saw them—men in suits like astronauts, lounging in the VIP booth as if they owned the sun itself. They probably did. Every eye up there glimmered with twisted hunger, waiting for blood.
And then I spotted him. The bastard I'd made the bet with. The way he leaned forward, smiling, told me exactly how much he was looking forward to watching me suffer.
The gates groaned open in front of me, and the push of the guards sent me stumbling into the light. Sand crunched under my bare feet, rough and hot, already clinging to my skin like it wanted me buried here.
The crowd roared. It wasn't cheering—it was hunger. The sound of thousands begging to watch someone die.
Then he came out.
No. It.
The shadow came first, stretching across the arena floor, wider and taller than any man had the right to be. Then he stepped into the sun. My stomach dropped. The bastard was towering—over eight meters tall. A wall of muscle and scar tissue, veins bulging like thick ropes, every step thundering through the sand. He didn't walk like a man. He walked like a natural disaster.
My breath caught in my throat.
How the hell am I supposed to fight that?
I clenched my fists, though my hands trembled. The rational part of me screamed: There's no winning. Just surviving. But another voice—stupid, reckless, louder—spat back: If I go down, I'm taking a piece of him with me.
I thought of Darius's grim nod, of the slaves who'd never walked back out, of the crowd's roar that wanted me broken. My jaw tightened. My heart hammered. This wasn't a fight. This was an execution.
Still… if death was coming, I'd at least stare it in the eye.
The gong rang.
And the monster moved.
He moved faster than something that size should. A blur of bulk, a fist bigger than my chest, rushing toward me. I barely twisted aside, sand exploding where I'd just been. My instinct screamed at me to move, to keep moving.
I darted in low, then jump to jab his ribs with all I had. My knuckles cracked against him—like punching stone. He didn't even flinch.
Then came his knee. It crashed into my gut, I'm flying across the arena until my body stopped when my back hit the wall. I spat blood before I even landed.
The crowd howled.
I staggered up, wobbling, ears ringing. "Come on… bastard," I croaked, because if I didn't say something, fear would swallow me whole.
He swung again, a wide arc that could've taken my head clean off. I ducked under it, sliding across the sand, and drove my fist into his thigh. This time he grunted. Just a grunt, but it was something. My chest flared with hope.
That hope died when his hand clamped around my body.
His grip crushed like iron, lifting me into the air as if I weighed nothing. My legs kicked helplessly, clawing his inner hand seemed futile either because I can't move. The world narrowed to his eyes—cold, empty, like I wasn't a person, just meat.
I smashed my knee into his arm, over and over, my vision blackening at the edges. With one last desperate kick, I caught his jaw, and his head snapped back. He dropped me.
Sand filled my throat as I coughed, dragging air into my lungs. I forced myself up again, wobbling, blood dripping down my chin. My body screamed to stay down, but the crowd's thunderous cheers pulled me up. If I had to die, I'd at least make him work for it.
I charged. Not because I thought I'd win—but because I refused to stand still.
My fists hammered his hip, his abdomen, his knee couldn't even strike his chest because of his height. Every strike sent shockwaves up my arms, my knuckles splitting open. For a second, I thought I saw him stumble. Just for a second.
Then his fist buried itself in my chest.
The world exploded. My body folded around the blow before I was thrown backward, crashing into the sand. My ribs screamed, something sharp tearing inside me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.
The giant walked toward me, slow, savoring it. I clawed at the ground, trying to rise, but my arms trembled and failed.
The last thing I saw before the darkness came was his shadow looming over me, the crowd howling for blood, and that bastard astronaut in the VIP booth—smiling.