The arena reserved for the weapons category was filled with anticipation on a Friday evening. It was a prime fighting spot in the Ring. The fighters who got an opportunity to fight on weekend spots knew they were under the spotlight - a sign that they were valued. It was reserved for veteran fighters, fighters on long winning streaks, and rising fighters to gain popularity that would elevate them to the next level.
It was a stage of opportunities.
“I wanted to see Ironbull go against Lady Fir,” sighed a man in the audience.
The second man beside him spoke, “I heard she got called away on a mission.”
“I was there when Lady Fir fought Ironbull last time. I so wanted to see the rematch,” said the first man. “I don’t even know the substitute. What’s his name again?”
“Scars,” replied the second man. “He has a 42-29 record. Pretty good.”
“42-29?” the first man quirked a brow. “That’s seventy-one fights. Then this is his last fight on the rookie contract,” he knew a thing or two about how the contracts worked in the Ring. “Are they trying to get him to extend his contract by having him fight in a prime spot?” It was a known observation that many Ring fighters left after their first contract ended.
“Could be… but then why would they pair him against Ironbull? It’s like putting a newborn calf against a… well, bull. Scars is going to get slaughtered.”
The first man shook his head, “Ironbull is from the jutsu category - and the fight is in the weapons category. We don’t know how well Ironbull will fight with his ninjutsu tied up.”
The second man laughed at that. “You forget that Ironbull spent a year and a half in the weapons category before his first hiatus. And haven’t you seen the tetsubo he wields? Ironbull will win this one, no doubt about it.”
The first man cringed at the mention of the tetsubo. He had seen several Ironbull fights, and the man swung the war club like a demon on a rampage. The Ring might have desensitized him to the shinobi violence, but the memory of Ironbull crushing his opponent’s thigh with his tetsubo was still seared in his mind. His bones quivered at the mere thought of what it would be like to have the war club whiff past him.
“I already put money on Ironbull,” said the second man. “If you haven’t, do it quickly before the counters stop accepting bets.”
The first man wasn’t the gambling kind but wondered if he could let his purse strings loose and put some money on what seemed to be an already decided fight. He wouldn’t lose his money and would even make some winnings, no matter how minuscule, because of the odds.
———
.
A sheen of sweat covered Ironbull’s bronze body as he walked into the fighter’s tunnel with his bull mask that had a scratch on the lower left corner. Waiting for him were his team members, as they would be before any fight.
“Leader, about this Scars—”
Ironbull raised his hands. “My equipment,” he said. The Ring staff checked the equipment before fights, and he didn’t like to remove it once he had put it on, so he had them check it before he put everything on in the tunnel itself.
“Go ahead,” he said as he put on his guards.
“Scars uses the standard weapons pack, partial to the kunai the most. He is…”
Ironbull listened to the intel gathered by his team on his opponent. He hadn’t heard of this Scars before, it was decided that he would be fighting the fellow because Lady Fir had withdrawn from the fight.
He frowned behind his mask as his mood soured. The foul woman had beaten him twice before, and this time was supposed to be his victory. He had been preparing for a fight against her for months—hours spent recalling her patterns and movements, coming up with counters, and digging for openings.
All wasted. Who knows when they will get to fight next.
He was in no mood for this fight, and the only reason he had agreed to fight the nobody was because of the money. His contract promised great amounts of ryo for every fight, and he wasn’t going to let that go away. It wasn’t his fault that Lady Fir had withdrawn from the fight. Tsubura would have to kill him by sitting on him before he let a single ryo escape his grasp.
“… a seven-fight win streak,” the intel continued, “that is attributed to the chakra augmentation—”
That interested Ironbull. “Chakra augmentations?” he asked.
“Strength augmentations.”
Ironbull hummed. He had fought people stronger than him, but he hadn’t fought anyone who used chakra augmentations.
“It’s time,” one of the staff members came to inform that it was time.
Ironbull raised his arm for one of the members to hand him his trusted iron-cored tetsubo with iron studs covering the surface.
“My tetsubo versus his strength augmentations—let’s see who breaks first.”
With great fanfare, Ironbull entered the arena with his team members forming an entourage that followed him to the metal gates of the cage. The audience cheered in a frenzy as Ironbull lifted the tetsubo off his back and above his chest in greeting to the people who had come to watch. They were there to see him, and Ironbull made it so they felt like they were being seen.
From the other side, the opposite of the pomp of Ironbull’s entry, Scars entered the arena quietly as the crowd’s cheers drowned the announcer’s introduction.
When Ironbull noticed Scars entering the arena, he walked towards him with his tetsubo dragging against the arena floor. Usually, the announcer would stop the fighters from approaching each other before the fight, but as Ironbull walked to Scars, the announcer didn't say anything.
"You're just a kid," said Ironbull, looking down at Scars.
The size difference between the two fighters was apparent as they stood near each other. Ironbull was broad and tall with bulging muscles suitable to lift the bulky tetsubo. Scars, on the other hand, was lean and short with wiry limbs that didn't seem capable of holding any significant strength.
Scars looked up at Ironbull and tilted his head. "Ironbull, huh...with those things, Ironcow would be more suitable, don't you think?" he pointed at Ironbull's bulging chest, "Got milk? — Mooooo."
Stolen story; please report.
Ironbull laughed rowdily before staring down at Scars. He raised his tetsubo a few inches before letting the edge fall with a thump.
... thump
... thump
... thump
He finally said, "You're funny, kid. Try not to break quickly, or it won't be fun."
———
.
*Clang!*
The metal doors fell, and Ironbull charged towards Takuma with his tetsubo dragging on the floor behind him. Takuma felt for the metal in his weapons pouch and threw a volley of shuriken at his larger opponent.
Ironbull raised his war club with two hands and angled it to deflect or block the projectiles.
Takuma threw another volley of stars while moving back unhurriedly as Ironbull closed in the distance. He noticed the handle on the tetsubo was long with enough space for a two-handed grip, meaning that it was a two-handed weapon.
He recalled his experience facing two-handed weapons and based his strategy around it.
Ironbull leaped into the air, and as Takuma expected, he held the tetsubo in a two-handed grip and swung it down executioner-style. Takuma sidestepped at the last moment, and the metal ring on the blunt club's end cracked the floor.
Opportunity, thought Takuma, and without a doubt, he moved in for a stab in the chest with a kunai. Ironbull released one hand from the tetsubo and backhanded Takuma, sending him back staggering, but not before the kunai left a gash just above Ironbull's arm guard, spurting blood.
"Argh!" Ironbull groaned, his facial muscles twitching. The next second, the war club was up and swinging. Instincts took over Takuma like strings on a puppet—he bent his knees, and his back turned parallel to the floor as the tetsubo passed by above him, close enough that he could smell the wood, metal, and a faint scent of blood.
"Pesky little thing, aren't ya!" Ironbull laughed as he expertly swung his tetsubo in a downward swing that Takuma jumped away from to dodge with two kunai hurling towards Ironbull's face.
The tetsubo moved with surprising dexterity and blocked against the kunai before they could hit Ironbull. Takuma narrowed his eyes as he put a strain on his legs, pushing him away from Ironbull, who once again gave chase.
If there was one thing he had developed in seventy-one fights in caged arenas was a sense of distance. He knew that the edge was near. A plan formed in his mind.
Takuma slowed down, and Ironbull took a mere second to barge into range. The tetsubo split the wind with a horizontal swing for Takuma’s head, who squatted as the tetsubo neared and jumped with all his might as it passed.
In mid-air, Takuma turned back, grabbed onto the links of the cage, pushed with his feet, and in a moment, he was above Ironbull. Takuma looked down, and Ironbull looked up—their eyes met as Takuma raised his leg and brought it down in a Rock Lee-styled axe kick to the back of Ironbull’s head.
Under his feet, Takuma felt the neck snap down.
Next step, he thought.
In a reverse grip, a gleaming kunai was already in Takuma’s hand as he landed on the floor—and he stabbed it into the wrist that still stubbornly held onto the war club.
Ironbull screamed as his grip on his war club
gave Takuma a chance to seize it and pull away.
Takuma stared at the screaming man as he moved away.
“I wonder how strong a bull is without its horns,” he murmured as gears behind his eyes began to turn.
———
.
“You dirty brat!” Ironbull roared with a glower as he pulled the kunai out of his wrist. When he looked up, Scars was nowhere to be seen. He turned back and immediately found the kid with his tetsubo lying by the kid's feet.
Scars stared at Ironbull as he raised his foot and stomped it down on the tetsubo. Under the unnatural force, the wood cracked as it splintered and flew away in all directions.
Clink…. Clink…. Clink.
Ironbull looked down and saw one of the iron studs rolled by his feet. He looked up only to come face-to-face with three kunai flying toward him. His instincts screamed as he dodged away—and yet, one of the kunai embedded itself into his shoulder.
His heart thrummed as he smelled blood. Ironbull reached up to his shoulder and pulled the kunai with a grunt.
“Moooo…” sang the brat as he kicked the broken tetsubo towards him.
Ironbull breathed in a shaky sigh and growled with hatred bubbling in his eyes, “I’m going to kill you.” Under an enraged haze, he rushed towards Scars and picked up his broken tetsubo on the way—the outer wood might have been splintered, but the iron core was still intact.
Splintered wood would dig into the flesh—and he wanted it to hurt.
Scars ran towards him with a kunai in each hand, and the two met in a metal clash. Ironbull swung the war club only for Scars to stab a kunai in the wood and push it away while the second kunai flew for his head. Ironbull turned his head away to dodge the kunai and, with bared teeth, slammed his head into Scars'. The boy reeled back, and Ironbull swung the tetsubo with his good hand, sending the boy flying.
Scars rag dolled across the arena, feeling the splinters of wood digging deeper into his flesh, and shook his head to stabilize his vision only to see Ironbull’s tetsubo coming down for his head. He jumped back, and his eyes glanced at the ground for a moment.
Ironbull pulled the war club up to swing it again, feeling the pain from his injured shoulder, when he noticed Scars pulling senbon out of his pouch. He flexed his muscles and angled the tetsubo just before they could pierce his neck.
It was then he heard,
“You need to rely less on that club and learn how to dodge.”
The ground beneath Scars cracked and exploded as he all but teleported into range with a cocked arm with bulging veins. Ironbull moved the arm with the injured wrist in the way of the body shot.
Crack!
Before the pain could even hit, Ironbull knew that the bone in his arm had shattered. One thought passed through his mind—‘chakra augmentation.’
A guttural and deep cry escaped Ironbull that was immediately cut off as—
Crack!
— Scars' other fist dug into Ironbull’s torso, shattering ribs.
Ironbull coughed up blood as his vision blurred, and he began to feel faint. He tried to raise his tetsubo in front of him. His weapon, which hadn't felt heavy in his hands for ages, now felt like it was trying to pull his arm down towards the floor with an immense weight.
Scars raised his leg and kicked Ironbull in the front, sending the larger man flying across the arena.
Sango watched from the fighter’s tunnel as the metal gates opened, and Takuma walked out with the people slapping the mesh barriers as he walked past them. Most of them didn’t look happy. She knew those angry people must’ve lost their money and feared that they would swarm him if the barriers gave away.
She was about to call out to him when she heard footsteps behind her, and her breath caught when she saw a fat man that looked like he was made of tires trod out from the shadow with two guards behind him.
She recognized him— Tsubura, the Ring’s boss.
Tsubura glanced at her for half a moment before looking away at Takuma with a greasy smile.
“Ah, my proud boy, Scars. That was—”
Takuma cut him off the moment he stepped into the tunnel, “So much for balanced opponents, eh, boss,” he spat and stepped close to Tsubura. The two guards stepped ahead between Takuma and Tsubura. Takuma continued, “My contract just ended, boss. And if you want me to continue fighting, then you either pay me more or— make these fights balanced!”
Tsubura’s smile didn’t even twitch as Takuma spewed the heated words.
“From what I can see, you’re relatively uninjured while Ironbull is going through a tough time right about now,” his smile turned greasier, and his eyes sharpened. “Maybe you’re right, the fight was unbalanced— maybe we should’ve paired you against a tougher opponent. What do you say, boy?”
Takuma glared at Tsubura before walking away with heated steps.
Sango followed after him to the medical room, where the moment they entered, Takuma collapsed on the ground. Sango immediately locked the door and rushed to Takuma’s side. Other than some bruises and wood splinters cutting into his flesh, Takuma was relatively uninjured.
It was his arms… they were trembling aggressively and had turned a worrying red. She looked down at his leg, and even though it was much better, she could see similar signs.
Sango, having seen this before, began the healing process with haste. “You idiot,” she cursed as she removed his mask to help him breathe better. “Either figure it out already or stop using the augmentation.”
It was almost every fight where she had to heal bruising, internal bleeding, bones with hairline fractures, or outright muscle tears. He had been using the chakra augmentations for months now, and after healing him so many times, she had realized what exactly Takuma had been doing. She had researched to make her job easier and had found that his ways were primitive. When she tried to make him give up, as she couldn't see it reaching a point where Takuma was envisioning it, he had ignored her advice and kept on using it.
“I-I… used it three times in a row,” Takuma eeked out.
“What?”
“In a row,” Takuma said again as his chest rose up and down. “I haven’t been able to do it three times in a row.”
As Sango looked up at Takuma’s face, even though it was twitching with pain, there was a gritted smile on his face. She looked down at his arms only to notice that even though it had only been a minute... his arm was already looking stabilized.