Kiyota's brow was beaded with sweat, which trickled down his face like a never-ending downpour. After 62 exhausting repetitions, he'd completed his curl set with style, letting the 80-kilo dumbbell clatter gently to the mat. Though his muscles ached with protest, a fierce fire blazed in his eyes. This was insufficient. Not even near.

His eyes gleamed with steel as he moved with practiced ease to the pull-up bar. He began light—just forty kilograms—grabbing a weight belt. He increased it to 80 and then 120 because pull-ups were easy with that weight. The bar sank with every extra plate, trying his resolve and grip. Continuing to push his boundaries with every repetition, he clenched his teeth. At last, he took aim at the 200-kilogram milestone. With its crushing weight on his shoulders, the bar seemed incredibly heavy. Shaking like leaves in a storm, he was only able to complete one excruciating rep. It was not possible to get a second rep. Using the weight as a mocking representation of his limitations, he lowered himself slowly.He muttered to himself, "There's still a long way to go," his frustration clearly audible. Not even close to being satisfied was he. It was true that the reps from today were superior to those from yesterday. However, it felt insignificant in comparison to the power he had seen in the alleyway.

He persisted, turning his annoyance into a relentless workout. Only push-ups with a 20-kg vest would have to do. His body was a blur of controlled power as he performed a series of calisthenics moves. Every muscle in his body ached from a 600-kilogram deadlift, and his lower back ached with pain. At last, he took on the bench press, letting out a grunt that shook the entire dojo as he lifted 450 kg of iron skyward.

When it was all over, his muscles erupted into a mass as he fell onto the mat. A glimmer of satisfaction showed through the exhaustion that adorned his face. His efforts were paying off as he was pushing himself more than ever. His tone was slightly proud as he said, "At least I did better than last time."

But the adrenaline quickly subsided and was replaced with a gnawing emptiness. Although crucial, training was insufficient. To distract himself from the annoying lack of progress, he needed something. He let out a sigh, picked himself up off the mat, and padded over to the other side of the dojo. A well-used sofa and a dusty television were tucked away in the corner. Sinking onto the faded cushions, he reached for the remote control with a weary hand. activating it.

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Kiyota, frustrated, was channel-surfing as the flickering TV danced erratically with light and shadow across his face. He was not interested in reality shows, news snippets, or old comedies reruns. At last, he found channel 32 with his thumb.

A polished and well-groomed young woman materialized on the screen. She opened with, "Good evening, listeners," her voice full of artificial energy. "Be careful if you live nearby! A significant competition is in the works that aims to match the sixteen best fighters in the city against one another."

Kiyota's weary expression disappeared right away. It was right here. The spark he was longing for.

Aved."The aptly named 'Glutton's Arena,'" the reporter went on, Kiyota shivering at the name. "There will undoubtedly be an open qualifier to identify these sixteen warriors and weed out the wimps. The award?" Her eyebrow shot up, a sly smile dancing across her mouth. "Twenty-five billion yen!"

The tattered leather groaned in protest as Kiyota slammed his fist against the armrest. "This is what I've been waiting for," I exclaimed. His voice was filled with excitement as he pushed aside the fatigue that had taken over him a few moments earlier.

at the same time..

The undisputed Japanese Muay Thai champion, Wakai Sachio, was a picture of practiced composure across town in a brightly lit arena. Feeling the cool leather against his skin, he adjusted his gloves. With his deadly precision and power, Wakai, at the age of twenty-two, was a dance prodigy. To keep the audience entertained before the real challenge began, tonight's match was only a formality.

A massive brute with fists the size of hams, his opponent, lumbered into the ring. The battle began as soon as the bell rang.

Wakai wasted no time at all. His leg shot out in a lightning-fast roundhouse kick that landed right in the opponent's jaw. With a gasp that escaped the crowd, the man crumpled to the mat like a felled tree, sending shockwaves ripples through the atmosphere.

Wakai, barely perspiring, stood over his downed opponent. His normally intense green eyes had a new sparkle to them, a flicker of anticipation. He had also received the announcement about "Glutton's Arena." An all-out competition between the strongest? An opportunity to become wealthy as well as famous? He had to take advantage of this opportunity.