The black market’s Grand Hall stretched wide before them, filled with voices—low murmurs, loud boasts, and the clinking of weapons.


    The line to register for the tournament moved slowly, fighters of all backgrounds waiting for their turn.


    Luka scanned the room.


    Some Jōki auras felt overwhelming—burning, crackling, oppressive. Others were weaker, faint like dying embers.


    But then—


    That feeling again.


    The one that made his skin prickle, his breath tighten, his instincts scream.


    Luka’s body tensed.


    Eros stiffened beside him, eyes narrowing. “There.”


    That mysterious man walked past them again.


    Not hurried. Not aggressive. Just… walking.


    He didn’t look at them. Didn’t acknowledge anyone.


    But something about him—the way he moved, the way the air seemed heavier in his presence—made Luka’s pulse slow.


    His Jōki wasn’t powerful. It didn’t burn or crackle like the others in the room.


    The man kept walking and he didn’t glance at them. Didn’t slow his pace.


    And that made it worse.


    Like they didn’t matter.


    Like they weren’t even worth noticing.


    Luka exhaled slowly.


    Who the hell was that?


    The line moved forward.


    Eros rolled his shoulders, still watching where the hooded man had gone. “Well. That guy was horrifying.”


    Luka stayed quiet.


    Then—


    Eros’ posture shifted.


    His casual grin returned, his tension disappearing as he nudged Luka’s arm. “Look over there.”


    Luka glanced up.


    A girl stood near the registration booth.


    Tall for her age, with short, unkempt black hair, sharp features, and piercing red eyes. She wore a plain sleeveless top and black combat pants, her arms wrapped in bandages.


    She looked like she had just come from a fight—and won.


    But more than that…


    Her Jōki.


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    Even though Luka couldn’t see it, he felt the pressure she carried.


    Strong.


    Not overwhelming. Not suffocating.


    Just dangerous.


    But the way she stood, the way she watched the tournament officials with disinterest—it was like she didn’t care.


    Eros grinned. “She’s our age. I thought we were the only twelve-year-olds here.”


    Before Luka could stop him, Eros strode toward her.


    “Hey!”


    The girl didn’t react.


    Eros stopped beside her, hands in his pockets. “Didn’t think I’d see another kid around here. What’s your name?”


    She ignored him.


    Luka sighed.


    Eros tried again, smirking. “You new to the tournament? Or have you already killed a few people?”


    The girl still didn’t look at him.


    Then—


    “Move.”


    One word. Flat. Emotionless.


    Eros blinked. “Huh?”


    She finally turned her head slightly, her red eyes locking onto him. “I said move.”


    Luka saw it—the slight shift in Eros’ posture. The flicker of something unfamiliar in his expression.


    Annoyance.


    Not many people dismissed Eros like that.


    Luka stepped forward, grabbing his friend’s sleeve before he could push further.


    “Let it go.”


    Eros huffed but stepped back, waving a hand. “Fine. But we’ll see you in the tournament.”


    The girl didn’t respond.


    She turned back toward the registration booth.


    Eros scoffed. “She’ll warm up eventually.”


    Luka doubted that.


    “Alright, alright, let’s keep moving, people!”


    A voice cut through the crowd, casual but loud.


    Luka and Eros turned.


    A boy, about 15 years old, walked up behind them.


    He had messy green hair, fox-like golden eyes, and a lazy grin that didn’t quite match the cautious way he moved.


    He stretched his arms. “Man, I hate long lines. Makes me wish I had a Jōki ability to skip them.”


    Eros raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”


    The boy smirked. “Sugu. Just another contestant.”


    Luka watched him closely.


    Sugu didn’t carry himself like a fighter. No real tension in his muscles. No sharpened reflexes.


    But his eyes…


    They flicked over the crowd, scanning, calculating.


    He wasn’t looking for threats.


    He was looking for people he could avoid.


    Eros clicked his tongue. “You don’t look like you belong here.”


    Sugu laughed. “I get that a lot. I’m not exactly the ‘battle-hungry killer’ type. But that’s why I fight smart.”


    Luka finally spoke. “You’ve done this before.”


    Sugu shrugged. “Three times.”


    Eros whistled. “And you survived?”


    Sugu’s grin widened. “That’s because I know how the tournament works.”


    Luka narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”


    Sugu leaned against the railing, crossing his arms. “This year’s tournament is different. More rules. More blood.”


    Eros smirked. “More blood sounds fun.”


    Sugu chuckled. “Not if it’s yours.”


    Luka tilted his head. “What changed?”


    Sugu’s golden eyes gleamed.


    “This year, they raised the prize pool. And when that happens, more people want to kill you for it.”


    A pause.


    Then he grinned.


    “This is going to be one hell of a tournament.”


    Sugu turned toward them, fox-like eyes scanning their faces with curiosity. “And who are you guys?”


    Eros smirked, resting his hands behind his head. “Eros Siebert, and this is my friend, Luka Viazemsky. We’re twelve and ready to enroll.”


    Luka blinked.


    Friend.


    The word lingered in his mind, foreign, unfamiliar. He had never had one before.


    He murmured it under his breath, almost testing it. “…Friend.”


    Sugu chuckled. “Nice to meet you, I guess. But you sure you wanna do this? Some of these guys are killers. You’ve sensed their Jōki, right? Especially… that one.”


    Sugu’s voice lowered as he tilted his chin toward the dark-coated man from before.


    Luka and Eros followed his gaze.


    The hooded man still stood motionless near the arena gates, his presence unnerving. He wasn’t watching anyone. He wasn’t flexing his power or intimidating his opponents like the others.


    He was just… standing.


    Luka’s stomach twisted.


    Eros gulped. “Yeah. I don’t like him.”


    A loud voice cut through the air.


    “Next!”


    They stepped forward.


    Behind the reception desk sat a tired-looking woman with deep bags under her eyes and a half-hearted scowl. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, and she barely glanced up as they approached.


    She shoved three forms toward them.


    “Names. Then sign with your blood.”


    Eros raised an eyebrow. “Blood? Why?”


    The woman sighed, clearly used to this reaction. “In case you get cold feet and try to run. If you quit, you pay for it. And if you run, we’ll use your blood to track you.” She smirked, glancing at Sugu. “Right, Sugu Romero? The legendary coward?”


    Sugu forced a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I prefer the term ‘tactical escape artist.’”


    Eros snorted. “Yeah, that’s what all cowards say.”


    Luka ignored them. He pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the paper. It absorbed instantly, the ink flashing faintly before settling.


    Contract bound.


    “We won’t run away,” Luka said simply.


    The woman smirked. “We’ll see.” She leaned back and gestured toward the board behind her. “We’ve got a lot of participants this year—260 to be exact. But don’t get too comfortable. The real test starts soon. Only those who pass will enter the official tournament next month.”


    Luka and Eros exchanged glances before nodding and stepping inside.


    “I want to enroll”


    Suddenly, a voice caught their attention.


    “State your name and sign with your blood.”


    Luka turned just in time to see a familiar girl step forward.


    Her expression was cold, unreadable. “Renmei Lee.”


    She pricked her finger without hesitation, pressing it to the paper before turning away.


    As she walked past them, her gaze flickered toward Luka and Eros.


    “Hmph”


    Then she scoffed and kept walking.


    Eros smirked. “Renmei, huh?”


    Luka glanced at him. “Do you find her interesting?”


    Eros chuckled. “Yeah. I have a feeling we’ll be good friends.”


    Luka said nothing.


    Instead, he stepped forward, entering the waiting grounds.


    The air inside was different.


    Heavier. Tense. It felt like walking into a battlefield before the first strike.


    All around them, fighters of all kinds stood waiting—mercenaries, criminals, trained Jōki users, and desperate souls with nothing left to lose.


    Luka scanned the room.


    260 participants.


    Only 32 would make it.


    Eros let out a low whistle. “Well… this is gonna be fun.”


    Luka remained silent.


    Because in that moment—


    He felt it.


    That same, unnatural presence.


    A slow, crawling sensation, like something ancient and watching.


    He turned his head slightly—


    The hooded man was already inside.


    Standing.


    Waiting.


    And Luka had the strange, sinking feeling—


    That man wasn’t here to compete.