Rome bounced on the balls of his feet, the movement sending small jolts of energy coursing up through his legs. The concrete floor trembled beneath him, vibrations from the roaring crowd outside pulsing through the foundation of the building.
His body drank it in greedily, each tiny wave of kinetic force passing through his Cursed Technique and converting into raw power that settled in his core. He could feel it building, a reservoir of destructive potential just waiting for release.
The backstage area called the "green room" despite being neither green nor actually a room, smelled like stale beer, sweat, and the lingering traces of expensive cologne from whatever VIPs had passed through earlier.
Exposed pipes ran along the ceiling, dust shaking loose with each thunderous chant from beyond the curtain.
"RED DEV-IL! RED DEV-IL!"
Rome smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he checked his reflection in the cracked mirror mounted to the wall. His ruby-red eyes stared back at him, unnaturally bright in the dim lighting.
He adjusted the white gauze headband covering his forehead, making sure his scar remained hidden. Some things weren't for public consumption.
The heavy metal door swung open, and Kirara glided in. Their star-pupiled eyes glanced up from a tablet, the tally marks under them standing out starkly against their pale skin. Their punk aesthetic—spikes, chains, and the distinctive hime cut with the right side dyed light—somehow looked both meticulously planned and effortlessly cool.
"Full house out there?" Rome asked, rolling his shoulder. "Sounds like the walls are gonna cave in."
Kirara's lips curled into a small smile. "Packed to the rafters. They're chanting your name, Ro-Ro. The 'Red Devil' sells tickets."
"Of course they are." Rome cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the small space. "Who else is worth the cover charge? It's dry out there without me."
Kirara's expression cooled, their playfulness vanishing as they turned the tablet toward him. "Don't let it go to your head. Hakari has a big fish on the line tonight. A Suit with deep pockets and a pet curse-user in the ring. The Suit is betting heavy on the upset."
Rome's smirk fell away. "You're joking. You want me to job to this guy?"
"We need you to make it look close, Rome." Kirara's voice dropped to a whisper, though there was no one else around to hear. "Let him get his licks in, make the crowd gasp, and then stay down. We cash out on the upset, and the Fight Club gets a new roof."
Rome scoffed, disgust rising in his throat. Losing was bad enough, but losing on purpose? That was an insult to his entire being. Still, he owed Hakari. The man had given him a home, purpose, and protection when no one else would.
"Fine," he muttered, jaw clenched. "But if he starts running his mouth... I might snap. I'm not good at being a punching bag."
Kirara touched his arm. "Control yourself. Even bullets can touch you, Rome." Their eyes held his, serious in a way they rarely were. "Don't ruin the Fever."
The Fever. Hakari's philosophy, his entire worldview. The burning passion that made life worth living.
"It's showtime, Ro-Ro." Kirara patted his cheek. "Make it look good."
The walk to the curtain was short. Rome rolled his neck, feeling vertebrae pop. The noise from the other side was a physical thing, a wall of sound waiting to crash over him. He took a deep breath, letting the annoyed teenager mask fall away.
Time to become the Red Devil.
He pushed through the curtain, and the sound hit him like a tsunami. Light blinded him for a moment—spotlights tracking his movement as he emerged. The cage loomed ahead, an octagon of chain-link and brutality.
The cage door swung open. Rome climbed the steps, ducked through the entrance, and finally got a good look at his opponent.
"The Sledgehammer" was aptly named. A mountain of a man with arms like tree trunks and a neck that seemed nonexistent. His bald head gleamed under the lights, and ugly, unrefined Cursed Energy rolled off him in waves. His eyes were small and mean, and when he smiled, Rome counted at least two missing teeth.
Subtle, Rome thought, glancing toward the VIP section where a man in an expensive suit watched with barely contained glee.
Real subtle choice for a ringer.
The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, introducing them both with the kind of breathless enthusiasm only money could buy. Rome tuned it out, focusing instead on the energy flowing through him, mapping out how much he could show off before he'd need to take a dive.
The bell rang.
Rome slid into his stance—or rather, his deliberate lack of one. Hands low, chin up, a walking invitation to be hit. The Sledgehammer charged immediately, telegraphing a haymaker from a mile away.
Rome ducked it with inches to spare, not even bothering to raise his hands.
"Slow," he drawled, dancing backward. "Is that how you punch on the payroll? My grandma hits harder, and she's dead."
The crowd howled with laughter. The Sledgehammer's face reddened, and he charged again, throwing a flurry of punches that would have demolished a concrete wall.
None of them landed.
Rome weaved between them like water, his movements casual, almost lazy. With each miss, the Sledgehammer's frustration grew. Rome yawned dramatically, covering his mouth with one hand while sidestepping another wild swing.
"Sorry, am I keeping you up past your bedtime?" the Sledgehammer growled.
"Nah," Rome replied, slapping him across the face with an open palm.
The crowd was eating it up, roaring with each insult, each casually avoided attack. Rome turned his back on his opponent, raising his arms to hype the audience.
"Is this the main event?" he called out, sensing the attack coming from behind and shifting his weight just enough to let it sail past his ear. "I'm falling asleep!"
He caught sight of Kirara in the VIP section, standing just behind Hakari's seat. They made a subtle gesture: a finger across the throat.
Time to dive.
Rome forced his body to slow down, to miss a step. The Sledgehammer saw the opening and took it, landing a meaty fist right in Rome's ribs.
The impact sent a shock wave through him, his Kinetic Absorption immediately siphoning away most of the force, converting it into more Cursed Energy that pooled in his reserves. Rome had to concentrate on actually appearing hurt, letting himself stumble backward, forcing a wince onto his face.
The crowd gasped. The energy in the room shifted instantly, celebration turning to shock.
The Sledgehammer's mean little eyes lit up. He pressed his advantage, landing another blow to Rome's stomach, then a glancing hit to his jaw.
"Not so tough now, are ya?" he spat, voice low enough that only Rome could hear.
Rome tasted blood where he'd deliberately bitten the inside of his cheek. He spat a small red glob onto the mat, making sure it was visible to the crowd.
The Sledgehammer grew bolder with each landed hit. Rome played his part, staggering, dropping his guard, letting the bigger man back him against the cage. The Suit in the VIP section was practically salivating, already counting his winnings.
Just a few more hits, Rome told himself. Then I'll go down, and we can end this farce.
The Sledgehammer grabbed him in a clinch, massive arms wrapping around Rome's upper body, pinning him against the chain-link. His breath was hot and rancid, washing over Rome's face as he leaned in close.
"That's right," the Sledgehammer whispered, his lips almost touching Rome's ear. "On your knees. I bet your mommy looked just like this when she was begging for it. I'm gonna turn you into a bitch just like her."
Rome's mind went blank.
The noise of the crowd faded to nothing. Hakari's money, the fix, the business plan—it all evaporated like morning dew in a forest fire.
All he saw was red.
His Devil's Eyes activated fully, the ruby irises glowing like hot coals. The bigger man froze mid-laugh, his face contorting with sudden, instinctive terror.
"What did you just say about my mother?"
The Sledgehammer couldn't answer.
Rome didn't use a technique. Didn't need a flashy display. He simply cocked his right arm back and channeled every ounce of stored kinetic energy—from the bouncing floor, from the hits he'd taken, from the very vibrations of the crowd—into his fist.
The punch connected with the Sledgehammer's sternum with a sound like a gunshot.
The man's feet left the ground entirely, his massive body hurled across the cage as if fired from a cannon. He hit the fence on the opposite side with such force that the metal warped outward. His body slid down slowly, leaving a smear of red on the chain-link, before crumpling into an unconscious heap on the mat.
Silence fell. For one perfect heartbeat, the entire arena held its breath.
Then chaos erupted.
Half the crowd was on its feet, screaming in shock and excitement. The other half stood frozen, trying to process what they'd just witnessed. The medical team rushed in, surrounding the fallen Sledgehammer.
Rome stood motionless, chest heaving, eyes still glowing with unnatural light. He looked up at the VIP balcony. Kirara was face-palming, their expression a mixture of exasperation and resignation. Beside them, Hakari looked... amused? The Suit was purple with rage, jabbing his finger toward the cage while shouting what were surely demands for a refund.
Rome spat another glob of blood onto the canvas.
"Oops."