Inside a locker room in the underground expanse of the Ring, two men prepared for their upcoming fight in silence. As dictated by the tradition and rules, they wore simple clothing: a pair of shorts, the two-mask set that hid their identity, and a pair of arm and shin guards allowed in the weapons category.

"How do you feel?" asked Smoking Tiger.

"My dear is feeling happy today," replied the other man, Razor, as he stroked his unsheathed sword with gentle caresses.

Smoking Tiger sighed. He and Razor belonged to the same Ring team, and he had long gotten used to the eccentric man's behavior. He wondered if it was the age difference; he could no longer understand today's youth and their antics.

"Did you go look at the fight I asked you to?" asked Smoking Tiger as he sat before Razor.

Razor nodded.

"And?"

"It ended quickly," said Razor, his eyes still admiring his sword.

The fight had indeed ended far too quickly. Smoking Tiger was there as well and wished it had lasted longer to learn more— but it was what they got, and they had to work with what they got.

"… but," Razor looked up, "I think he's easy to cut."

Smoking Tiger glanced down at Razor's sword. The blade was spotless; not even a speck of dust was allowed to mar the blade's gleam. Razor treated and maintained his sword better than anything in his life, perhaps even better than his own body. But all of that ended the moment Razor entered the arena. At that moment, the sword stopped being treated as an ornament and assumed the role for which it was forged— a tool of killing.

"My dear is thirsty today; I hope she'll be able to quench her thirst," Razor's toothy smile looked horrid on his angular face.

Smoking Tiger shook his head. He turned his head to the locker room's door just a second before there was a knock on it.

Smoking Tiger grabbed his sword and stood up. It was time for the fight.

As they walked to the arena, Smoking Tiger spoke to Razor, "I hope you remember the plan."

"I take care of everything while you stand back?" said Razor.

Smoking Tiger sighed again. The actual plan was for Razor to be on the frontal offense while Smoking Tiger looked for opportune moments and lapses in concentration to get in critical strikes. It put Smoking Tiger out of the spotlight, but he didn't mind it— he got paid the same, being on the back foot reduced the risk of injuries, and while there were advantages of being in the spotlight, as long as his peers and Ring administration knew his value, he had enough bargaining power during contract negotiations.

They walked out into the tunnel and entered the caged arena amidst the cheers of the crowd there to see their fight.

"I can't get used to this," Smoking Tiger sighed as he looked at the crowd. 2v1 crowds were larger than the normal 1v1 fights. He usually only saw half of the people in the crowd, and they weren't as rowdy as they were now. The draw of 2v1 battles was crazier than anything in the Ring, even reaching the level of fights in the ninjutsu category.

"Really? I see no difference," Razor replied in a merry voice as he waved to the crowd. "Come on, old man; show the people some love. Let's get them heated up as much as we are."

Smoking Tiger wasn't heated, but a little waving wouldn't do any harm. But as he raised his arm to wave, his instincts spiked, and he looked to the other side of the arena a moment before the announcer's voice blared through the microphone.

"… SCARS!"

A man– no, a child­– entered the arena. It was their opponent for the day. The fighter wore a mask with a green leaf, but his name came from the numerous scars that riddled the boy's body. Scarring was nothing new for a shinobi, and especially not for a Ring fighter who fought in the weapons category as most people had blades as their weapon of choice, but something was odd about the scarring— a mix of battle scars and what seemed like surgical scarring— it created strange imagery.

According to the rumors and gossip floating around the Ring, he was less than fifteen years old, making him a little over half of Razor's age and quite a bit younger than Smoking Tiger, who had ten years over Razor.

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Smoking Tiger didn't believe that Scars was fifteen even though the physique matched the claim. The reason behind it was quite simple. Why would someone as young as a fifteen-year-old who was allowed to participate and had won 2v1 fights be in the Ring in the first place? If someone could be the single fighter battling a duo at such a young age, they wouldn't be dragging themselves into the Ring.

Someone as talented as that would either be from a clan, who didn't allow their children down in the Ring— and if he wasn't from a clan, he would've been scouted by a chunin or perhaps even be part of a jonin team— those type of young genin lived a different type of life than the genin who fought in the Ring. They didn't belong in the same world.

He believed that Scars simply looked young for his age and was, at the very least, a couple years older than the rumor told him to be, and that was a soft assumption.

Smoking Tiger looked at Razor. Due to being on the same team, they knew each other's real identity, and because of that, he knew Razor was part of a chunin team and was doing quite well for himself. He was a talented young man with some unfortunate quirks that led him to enjoy fighting. If Razor dedicated his time elsewhere, Smoking Tiger believed that he would be able to advance his career. It was truly unfortunate that Razor continued to fight in the Ring.

As for an old man like himself, Smoking Tiger didn't want to risk injury in every fight. But his missus was pregnant with their fourth child, and raising children was expensive, and raising three with another on the way was more than difficult on a genin's income. He fought so that he could bring in more money to the household, give his children a good upbringing, and secure a retirement for himself and his wife— and his contract was set up in a way that he got more ryo than mission points.

"Are you ready?" asked Smoking Tiger.

"Absolutely," replied Razor, his voice tinged with a wild hoarseness as he stared at Scars.

Smoking Tiger sighed. He wanted to go back home and spend time with his children. But it was time for work.

———

.

"So, this is the Ring."

Arisu took in the other world that existed under the village.

"Uh-huh, enjoy it," Kano muttered as she got comfortable in the comfy chairs in the VIP booths that overlooked the arena. Unlike Arisu, she seemed used to it. So much so that she had gone ahead and placed a small bet on the fight they were going to watch.

It all started when Arisu couldn't get the Ring out of her mind and ended up asking Kano to show it to her. Kano agreed, and they planned to spectate an evening fight after work. They had entered through a back-alley bar that acted as an entrance to underground passages and caves that housed arenas and betting booths used by civilians and shinobi alike to watch fights and gamble on them.

"Who made these tunnels?" asked Arisu. She wondered how long it would've taken to dig out the underground

Kano shrugged. "Never bothered to look it up, and it doesn't matter." She glanced at Arisu, "You shouldn't be surprised by this. We live in a shinobi village; there are probably a hundred hidden underground structures like this of various sizes littered around the village."

Arisu couldn't deny that. She hadn't visited them, but she knew there were a couple of hidden passages on the clan grounds. If her clan had one, probably others had one, ANBU definitely had a few of their own, and so did many of the departments for their own use.

"So, who're we watching today?" Arisu asked Kano.

"Well, I asked the teller about the most interesting fight today. He told me about the 2v1 fight they're having today," said Kano, looking down as the announcer entered the arena. "It seems they don't have many 2v1 fights on the regular, so I thought we might as well watch that. It's between, uhm, Scars versus Smoking Tiger and Razor… Huh, weird names."

"Who did you bet on?" asked Arisu.

"On Scars."

"Really, why?"

"I don't know. Two versus one doesn't seem that difficult, and the odds were better if I bet on the single guy." Kano looked at Arisu, "You should've placed some money."

"Not for me," said Arisu.

"Well, your choice," said Kano. "Say, why didn't Takuma come?"

"I don't know, actually. He said something about hanging out backstage at the Kibuchi Theater and observing how the actors get ready… He does a lot of strange things," said Arisu.

A few weeks back, they were talking, and the topic of the weekend came up. Everyone was talking about what they were doing that weekend, and Takuma said he was going to open a stall at the monthly flea market and see if he could make some profit from "goods" he had collected last month— something about learning and polishing sales skills.

"Ah, that's smart," said Kano.

Arisu turned to Kano. "What do you mean?"

"Transformation Jutsu is good enough for civilians, but any shinobi who's paying attention can tell signs. That's why shinobi specializing in spy work and infiltration learn how to disguise themselves by using physical means like prosthetics and makeup. And who better to start learning from than from the people who help actors with their makeup and costumes," explained Kano.

"But you can't learn to disguise in one day, can you?" asked Arisu.

"Of course, not. Learning how to do a believable disguise takes time. But him going there and meeting the people creates connections. He gets to know people who he can go back to later when he wants to learn," said Kano.

Arisu once again felt Takuma's effort coming through from another place. It was like a race where she could feel someone breathing down her neck while trying to pass her.

"Oh, look, they're starting up," Kano said, pointing at the arena below.

Arisu looked down and saw three people in the arena. Two were standing together while another one was standing on the opposite end of the arena.

"Now, that's young," Kano commented with a frown.

Arisu looked at the fighter standing alone. That must be Scars, she thought. And as Kano pointed out, the Scars fellow was way younger than the other two fighters. He looked closer to her age.