The blankets and pillows Rina provided for a bed turned out more comfortable than he expected. Hiroshi carefully folded his belongings, arranging them on a corner of the living room floor. He surveyed the space, relieved to see no trace of the burn marks that had marred it the previous evening. Rina had spent the night diligently erasing the evidence of her magic, explaining, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, the intricacies of her world’s arcane workings. It was important, she said, a necessary understanding to face the fighting games unharmed.

He wasn’t eager to go, but she insisted he needed to get in shape and, overall, playing the Game was safe. The specifics of her explanation were hazy, lost in the whirlwind of her enthusiasm. Of all she said, he remembered a little in detail. Only that there were many uses of the Jinx-Ink, or commonly called Jinx-marks. Some, she’d said, could give blessings upon individuals or unleash curses upon entire cities. Others held the power to summon humble beasts or even terrifying, unstoppable demons from the Hells.

The door to Rina’s room was ajar, and Hiroshi accidentally saw the sorceress’s naked back as she changed. There was no part of her exposed body, except for her head and hands, that wasn’t covered in ink, which made it clear why long walks left her exhausted.

“Sorry!” he said, turning around.

“It’s fine. I should have closed the door.” Rina put the bottle of ink and brush on her dresser and reached for a piece of paper. “Here, I made you a map. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be fine, thanks. Please have a good rest while I’m gone!” Hiroshi bowed and headed towards the door, taking the opposite direction from where they had gone the day before.

Of all the complicated lessons, which lasted well into the night, the most important thing he had to remember of the jinx-marks was they were divided into passive and active. Passives, like the two he had in his body, required nothing from him to function except his stamina. It would work as long as his endurance or infused magic lasted. Then, it would need a re-infusion or even a redraw. The active, also energy draining and unuseful after a while, had to be practised so to make them work properly; not an easy task especially for a non-caster and, as Rina made it clear, even casters could spend a lifetime to master the use of one, and for the vast majority, it was a great feat to be proficient in more than a handful overall.

With Rina’s map in hand and a knee reminding him he’d not be much better for DPS or tank than a caster, he ventured towards the south walls. The streets mimicked the architecture of the ones he’d visit the day prior, only much worn, neglected, and dirtied by time. People there, just like east of Rina’s house, moved around taking care of their business, with the same dedication and spirit as others, although with more ragged clothes and tired faces. As Rina had told him, the city was safe, although at night, he had to be careful in some parts. Without the slightest sign of any unsavoury people, Hiroshi made his way down an alley of stairs waving towards the outer walls.

“Hey! Here, Hiro. Here!” Testa called from a small square where some market stalls were being set up. He was smoking a cigarette while leaning on a box of vegetables. “I can express how happy I am that you joined my team. You have my eternal gratitude!”

“It’s Hiroshi. And I just want to try.”

Testa walked with calm and a certain elegance, something completely opposite to the first they have met. He talked little either, almost as if he were afraid to do so. Sometimes, though, he would let out a quick sentence accompanied by sudden movements, like those of a child who has remembered a great anecdote and can’t wait to share it with a friend. “So, you play more like a Pele, or a J. Rice?”

Hiroshi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Rina assured me this is just a stupid game, and it’s safe, but you use magic, right?”

“Stupid? Did she say that? Or you?” Testa let out a big puff of smoke. “She, of course she.”

“Both of us,” Hiroshi replied between coughs. “Listen. I know nothing about what this is about, but you have to know that my knee hurts from an injury.”

Testa moved to the stairs of a small landing leading to a half-hidden green entrance. Inside, it stank of stale beer and aged wood. He sat down at one of the greasy tables and raised two fingers in the air. Hiroshi remained standing.

“Don’t worry!” Testa said. “We have a healer. She’s not very skilled, but capable enough. She’ll treat your wound. As for magic, this is regional, not much great spelling here. We also use the suppressors; the training pits aren’t well protected against big spells, you know? Have a seat. Don’t you want a beer?”

Hiroshi sat down but put the jar to one side. “I do not know what you’re talking about. How am I supposed to play knowing nothing? And why are you drinking at this hour?”

Testa lowered his head. “Ah, Hiro. Today, we train against some soldiers from the fort. Tough guys. They’re going to crush us! A coach can’t withstand such a mess without some help first. Are you gonna drink that? No?”

Testa emptied his jar without taking a breath and grabbed the second one to do the same. After hitting the table and letting out a loud and uncomfortable burp, he threw two coins on the table and walked away.

“Are you going to at least tell me how to play?” Hiroshi said as he caught him up the street.

“Sure, it’s a simple game. Introductions first, though.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

The smooth stoned city wall loomed on the far side of the esplanade between it and the last houses of the slums, its imposing presence stressed by the hundreds of crimson flags fluttering in the wind. The centrepiece of this barrier was a massive, rounded gate, flanked by two formidable towers. A wonder which contrasted with what was right in front of them.

The stretch between protector and protected could barely fit a massive wooden structure dilapidated by decay. The wooden mass stood quiet and shameless, betrayed by peeling planks and sagging beams. Gaps between the outside walls revealed the foundations of a building struggling to stay upright. Rough, weathered benches, rising to the height of nearby balconies, lined the interior. Inside, another wall, more solid and newer, guarded what Master Saphirin called the fighting arena, Rina the stupid game grounds, and Testa the training pit.

Testa pushed open a large door with a loud creak. Inside, a hallway dusted by the sandy floor gave a mysterious and gloomy air, making Hiroshi’s hair stand on end. On both sides of the corridor, papers with illegible runes were pinned to opposite doors. One of them was upright with hanging ropes, its frame crushed aside.

The interior was exactly as if someone had made a cheap copy of a locker room out of damp and corroded wood, where the sweat of hundreds of people had accumulated over centuries. Half dizzy and blinded by the rays filtering through the gaps, Hiroshi saw Testa’s team, all sitting on the long benches and all staring at him. The clothes were various, no uniforms, and several were shapes and sizes of that strange bunch.

“Team,” Testa said, slapping Hiroshi’s back loudly. “This is Hiro, our new wonder!”

Obviously, the introduction wasn’t received with enthusiasm. Of all the rolling eyes, heads shaking or hands flicking, the unwelcoming nuance hitting Hiro the worst came from the only girl in the group, who gave him a murderous look from under her messy, short, reddish hair. Turning away from the visual confrontation, his attention was drawn to the corporeal mass sitting beside her. It was a man, if you could say so, whose height, even sitting, was greater than Testa standing. He was huge no matter where you looked. Arms like a grown man’s waist and fists like the same man’s head. He noticed Hiro’s stare, and after scratching a bushy black beard, he raised a timid hand in greeting.

Of all the others: tall, short, fat or thin, none except the giant stood out in a special way.

“Trath, I’m going to make you pay for the new door, or bring your guys to fix it!” said a man who entered through the inner field entrance. He was wearing a yellow tabard and a large hat with feathers of different colours. He dropped a big box and started throwing leather bracers. One for each player. Right after, a curved old lady began to draw over them and when the inking was done, each player headed outside. When it was Tarth’s turn, the big guy got down on all fours, and no matter how he tried to contort himself to get through, the door frame creaked and split in his wake.

“That one too!” growled the man in the feathered hat. “You, the new one. Put on the suppressor. Or do you think I can contain this shanty of all your amateurish frenzy by myself?”

“Wait, Dorino, wait,” Testa interrupted. “Do me a favour and ink Serin. I need Mrs. Krissef’s hand to heal the boy’s knee.”

Dorino clicked his tongue and the wrinkled Mrs. Krissef groaned.

“Shoulder?” Dorino said to the red-haired girl. She nodded with a hum and he painted a simple rune on the inside of the bracelet, where a metal circlet glinted subtly. Maintime, Mrs. Krissef drew a Jinx on Hiroshi’s knee, the effect of which went unnoticed.

“Can you give the kid a protection mark? He’s new,” Testa said. “All right Hiro, this is it. Ball can be held by hand or kicked by feet, yes? Inner hands-down is a ten, outside a three. Inner kick in a five and outside a one.”

Dorino grabbed Hiro’s arm and put a suppressor. “I have to do all the work here!”

“Testa. It’s five for the knee and ten for the protection,” mumbled Mrs. Krissef.

“That much?” Testa protested for a moment, but quickly returned to explanations. “Arso is our steward. He protects the goals. Serin is our cavalier, she organises. Vanguards score, Guardians protect. I’ll put you as Vanguard, yes. What else?”

“Listen to me Testa!” Mrs. Krissef roared. “I’m a healer, not a buffer! And you owe me fifty coins already!”

“Boy, tie the suppressor. Are you one-handed?” Overwhelmed, Hiro pulled two long side cords that tightened the leather. “Here, attach the hook to the pin. Testa, this kid has four Jinx-inks! Which one do you want to use? Come on, we don’t have all day!”

“Protection!” Testa continued his chat about the game, but once Dorino drew the rune on the suppressor, his talking turned into gibberish. Hiro called him out. Repeated many times he’d not understand. But even after he was pushed to the playing ground, Testa didn’t stop talking nonsense.

From the top of the wooden planks, the coach raised his fist. Supposedly a display of courage trying to accompany his grimace of fierceness. “This is great,” Hiro mumbled.

The sports field stretched out in a rectangle, its entire surface covered in sand. Encircling the field were timber walls, their sturdy construction rising to the height of two men. At each corner of the field, large, circular metal discs stood above walls, subtly glowing with the intricate spells engraved on them. Connecting these discs, metal plates ran horizontally over the timber walls, their surfaces similarly inscribed and equally emanating magic.

Three goals with poorly made hanging nets rose at each of the opposing sides. The central, slightly larger than handball goal remained guarded by a player, while the two flanks extended much wider, frames stretching almost to the corners and giving the impression scoring was not a hard task.

From right in the middle of a circle of white painted runes, Serin beckoned with impatience. Hiro hadn’t run for years. Excited but also nervous, he launched into a trot that soon caused a sharp pain in his knee. After reaching with a limp he tried to hide, she spoke instructions unintelligible to him.

Serin placed on the ground a brown leather ball with magic rings around its circumference. Then she kicked it up to Hiro’s hand. A cloud of dust billowed out as she rushed forward. The opponents, who were distinguished by simple red bandanas on their arms, shoot towards him. Serin yelled. as did many others from all sides. Hiro, unwilling to take part, threw the ball towards the closest man, and stood there, considering watching the game rather than participating. His knee, which was surely hurting from the suppressor, wouldn’t let him do much more.

While entertained by the surrounding game, he’d not foresee the danger coming and an impact from nowhere knocked the breath out of him. He bounced across the ground, breaded with sand as he rolled. His shoulder hurt in an intensity he’d never suffered before, and when he tried to protest, his words came out as muted gasps. “This, this is a fault, no? Fault?”

Unable to stand, he saw a huge silhouette reach over him, covering the sunlight from above. The burly body knelt, pinning his arms, the threat of a fist raising. “What? Wait, wait!” Then, an unrestrained punch struck with no warning, smashing his head between knuckles and ground. And all went pitch black.