There was a fight before Hoshimi's.
Two men, both large, both scarred, circled each other in the ring while the crowd shouted and the work lights flickered. They moved like animals, testing each other's defenses. When they came together, the impact was audible, flesh striking flesh, bone against bone.
The taller man landed a punch that sent the other staggering. Followed up with a knee to the stomach. An elbow to the back of the neck. The shorter man crumpled, and the crowd roared.
Hoshimi watched without expression.
Tara stood beside him, her arms crossed, her golden eyes fixed on the ring.
The basement was colder than the room above. The walls were concrete, the floor stained, the air thick with the smell of sweat and blood and something else, something that made his stomach clench.
Hoshimi stood in the center of the space, his hands at his sides, his violet eyes fixed on the door where his opponent would enter.
His new clothes were folded on a bench in the corner, replaced by borrowed shorts and a thin t-shirt that clung to his frame.
Tara stood beside him, her arms crossed, her face pale.
"You don't have to do this," she said.
"I know."
"There are other ways. We could run away together. He doesn't know where I live."
"The boss of this underground place might find you with an operation this large, he must have a lot of men to alert him of the authorities, he's going to find you."
"He might not."
"He would." Hoshimi looked at her. "And then he'd send someone else. Someone who wouldn't give you a chance to fight back." He stopped. Didn't finish the sentence.
Tara's jaw tightened. "I got you into this."
"We could always kill the owner."
"Come on." She held him in place, her fingers gripping onto his shoulders. "He's a level 8, if you attack him, the rest of the others will come after me. I can't have that."
The door opened.
His opponent was large. Not tall, but broad, his body a wall of muscle and scar tissue. His head was shaved, his eyes dark, and his hands were wrapped in tape that had been stained dark by old blood. He wore shorts and nothing else, his chest covered in tattoos that shifted when he moved.
He stepped into the cage and raised his fists.
Tara's hand found Hoshimi's arm. "Be careful."
"I will."
He walked toward the cage.
The chain-link door clanged shut behind him. The floodlights blazed overhead, casting everything in harsh white light.
The benches were still empty, but he could feel them watching from the room above, Anton and his cameras and his monitors, waiting to see what he could do.
His opponent circled. Hoshimi didn't move.
His opponent was already in the ring. Younger than Hoshimi had expected, maybe eighteen, with close-cropped hair and a nose that had been broken and poorly set.
His chest was bare, his arms covered in crude tattoos, and his eyes were flat and hard.
The man attacked.
His fist drove toward Hoshimi's face, fast, faster than it should have been from someone his size.
The punch passed through empty air, close enough to ruffle his hair.
The man followed with a hook but he ducked. A kick aimed at his knee, he jumped.
The man's momentum carried him forward, and Hoshimi stepped inside his guard, his palm pressing flat against the man's chest.
Mana surged through his arm.
The impact lifted the man off his feet, sent him crashing into the chain-link cage. The metal groaned. The man slid down, his eyes wide, his mouth open, gasping for breath that wouldn't come.
Hoshimi stood over him. His hand was still raised, his fingers still curled. The man's chest was bruised where he'd struck him, the skin already darkening.
"This is stupid."
The man's eyes flickered. His hand twitched.
He lunged immediately, a wide haymaker aimed at Hoshimi's head. Hoshimi ducked. Stepped inside the man's guard. Drove his palm into the man's solar plexus.
The impact lifted the man off his feet. He flew backward, crashed into the ropes, and crumpled to the dirt.
Hoshimi stood in the center of the ring, his hands at his sides, his breathing steady.
The man pushed himself to his knees again. His eyes were wide, confused, not understanding what had happened. Blood dripped from his split lip, tracing a path down his chin.
Hoshimi waited.
The man stood and charged again. This time he was more cautious, his fists raised, his body coiled. He threw a jab. Hoshimi sidestepped. Threw a cross. He ducked. Threw a hook. He caught his fist.
The man's eyes went wide.
Hoshimi squeezed. The bones in the man's hand ground together. He gasped, tried to pull free, couldn't.
The man stared at him. Something shifted in his dark eyes.
The man stared at him. Something flickered in his eyes, fear, maybe, or recognition. Then he nodded.
Hoshimi released him.
The crowd erupted.
The noise was deafening, a wave of sound that washed over the basement and echoed off the walls. Gamblers shouted, clutching slips of paper.
The cage door opened. Tara was there, her face pale, her golden eyes wide. She didn't say anything. Just grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the cage, across the concrete floor, toward the door where Anton waited.
The office was the same as before.
But Anton's expression had changed.
He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes fixed on Hoshimi with an intensity that made the air feel heavy. His hands were folded on the desk, his fingers laced together, his thumbs tapping a slow, rhythmic beat.
"That was impressive," he said.
"Thank you."
"You're a witch."
"I am."
He looked at Hoshimi, his old-penny eyes appraising. "You want to fight again? The boss says he can pay you per bout. Twenty thousand for the next one. More if you keep winning."
Hoshimi looked at Tara.
She nodded.
"Fine," Hoshimi said.
Tara moved closer. "You didn't have to do that."
"Do what?"
"You're supposed to off him, not just break his hand, you know he's going to hold that grudge after you embarrassed him and it also won't be entertaining if you just make him suffer, the audience wants bloodshed, you need a spectacle if you want to keep doing this."
"I'll take it into account next time."
Hoshimi was quiet for a moment. The monitors flickered. The fluorescent lights hummed. Tara stood beside him, her hand still on his arm, her fingers trembling. "Anton, I have a request."
The words hung in the air. Tara's grip tightened. Anton's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in his dark eyes.
"What is it?"
"I want to meet with your boss."
Tara nudged his shoulder and whispered into his ear.
"Are you really serious about trying to kill the boss?"
"I am."
Anton's eyes narrowed.
"Why would you want to meet with him? You just came here a while ago, are you a spy?"
"No." Hoshimi replied.
"You're stupid if you think I'd let you, I looked you up, it wasn't very hard, you used to be a Hex Academy student, heard you got your precious reincarnation taken from you, I doubt you could even assassinate the boss in your state, he's a level 8."
"I wasn't trying to kill him, I just want to see what kind of person can run something like this."
The second opponent was older.
A veteran, maybe, with the kind of face that had been hit too many times.
The man was taller than Hoshimi, broader, his arms thick with muscle, his chest a wall of scar tissue.
Hoshimi dodged the first punch. The second. The third. But the man kept coming, relentless, his strikes forcing Hoshimi back, back, back toward the ropes.
They circled each other.
The man threw a feint, Hoshimi didn't react.
Another feint, still nothing. A real jab, fast and precise, aimed at Hoshimi's chin.
He caught it.
The man's eyes widened. He tried to pull back, but Hoshimi's grip was iron, unbreakable. Hoshimi stepped inside his guard, his other hand coming up, palm flat, and pressed against the man's chest.
The man's jaw tightened. He tried to kick, to knee, to do anything, but Hoshimi's grip held him in place.
He pushed.
A fist caught Hoshimi in the ribs.
The impact drove the air from his lungs. He stumbled, tried to recover, but the man was already there, already swinging again.
A punch to the face. A knee to the stomach. An elbow to the back of the neck.
Hoshimi hit the dirt.
The crowd screamed.
"Get up! Get up!"
He pushed himself to his knees. His vision was blurred. His head was ringing. Blood dripped from his split lip, tracing a path down his chin.
The man stood over him, breathing hard, his fists still raised. "I'm going to kill you."
Hoshimi looked up at him. At the scarred face, the cold eyes, the tattoo of a snake coiling around his bicep.
Hoshimi stood.
The man's eyes widened. He threw a punch, fast and hard, aimed at Hoshimi's face.
Hoshimi's other hand came up faster than the man could punch, his fingers dug into his skin, broke his sternum and went out the other side.
The crowd went silent.
Hoshimi stood in the center of the ring, his hands at his sides, his breathing steady. Blood dripped from his split lip. His ribs ached. His head throbbed. But he was standing.
Anton appeared at the edge of the ring, his phone in his hand.
He climbed through the ropes, raised Hoshimi's arm. "Your winner!"
The crowd erupted.
Hoshimi walked back to Tara. His legs were steady. His hands were steady.
"The boss wants to meet you."