The bandages tightened with a soft pull.
Jackson wrapped the cloth around his fist again. And again. Precise. Methodical. Like repetition itself was a prayer.
The room was quiet—too quiet.
When he closed his eyes, it wasn't darkness that greeted him.
It was blood.
A home torn apart. Broken walls. Crumpled bodies. His family scattered across the floor like discarded things. The smell of iron. The sound of breathing—ragged, failing.
Weak.
His jaw tightened.
I must keep getting stronger.
Jackson opened his eyes.
The vision vanished. The bandages were finished.
He stood, slipped his jacket off his shoulders, and walked toward the arena gates without looking back.
The Hunter Association Duel Arena roared with sound.
Hunters packed the stands—some watching out of boredom, others curiosity. Two new names. Two recent climbers. Nothing special.
Or so they thought.
The announcer's voice boomed across the massive chamber.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Today's official Hunter Association duel is about to begin!"
Spotlights swept across the arena.
"In the red corner—one of the top rising stars of the Hunter Association! He joined just three days ago, and has already climbed to Rank 9,500,000!"
Jackson stepped into the light.
No wave. No acknowledgment.
He stood still, arms at his sides, eyes forward.
"He stands at 5'8", 150 pounds, 15 years old—give it up for JACKSON!"
A few cheers. Some murmurs.
Jackson didn't react.
The spotlight shifted.
"And in the blue corner—someone who joined at the same time, but has climbed even faster—now sitting in the 9,300,000s!"
Akira stepped forward, hands in his pockets, a relaxed grin on his face.
"He stands at 5'10", 160 pounds, 15 years old—AKIRA YAMATO!"
The crowd was louder this time.
Akira lifted a hand lazily in greeting, flashing a confident smile.
The contrast was obvious.
A flash of light separated them as the Tao barrier formed—a translucent dome humming with restrained power.
Jackson stared straight ahead.
Akira looked at him—and smiled wider.
The referee stepped between them, voice sharp and practiced.
"The rules are simple," he said. "No killing. No outside interference. No leaving the arena."
The barrier shimmered.
"The fight will end when one combatant is incapacitated. Break any rule, and your opponent wins automatically."
He raised his hand.
"Begin."
The bell rang.
For half a second—
Nothing happened.
Then Jackson moved.
He vanished from his starting position, foot slamming into the ground with a sharp crack as Tao surged through his legs. He closed the distance instantly, fist snapping toward Akira's face.
Akira's eyes widened.
Fast.
He barely managed to raise his arm—
The impact rattled his bones.
Akira skidded backward, boots scraping across the arena floor as he caught himself, grin gone for the first time.
Jackson didn't let up.
Another step. Another punch. Clean. Efficient. No wasted motion.
Akira ducked the second strike, twisted, and threw a counter of his own—
Jackson slipped inside it effortlessly.
His elbow slammed into Akira's ribs.
The air left Akira's lungs in a sharp gasp as he was forced back again.
He's stronger, Akira realized, teeth clenched. Not just faster. Cleaner.
Jackson watched him carefully now.
So this is him, he thought. The one everyone's talking about.
Akira steadied himself, breath slow, eyes focused.
He smiled again—but this time it was strained.
"Wow," Akira said. "You really don't mess around."
Jackson didn't answer.
He stepped forward once more.
Only the strong survive.
Another exchange—fists colliding, Tao flaring briefly with each impact. Akira was holding on, reacting, adapting—
—but Jackson was in control.
Every movement deliberate. Every strike measured.
Akira blocked one blow, slipped another, but still felt the pressure mounting. His arms burned. His footing faltered.
Jackson pressed closer.
I'm stronger, he told himself. I have to be.
Across the arena, Sora leaned forward, eyes narrowed.
"…Akira's on the back foot," she muttered.
Gaku said nothing—but his gaze never left Jackson.
Back in the ring, Akira wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and straightened.
I don't care if I lose, he thought. I just need to know how far I can go.
Jackson raised his fists again.
This fight wasn't about victory.
It was about proof.
And it had only just begun.