It's a dark, desolate place, shrouded in mud and seclusion. In the midst of the gloom, a young child of about five years old can be seen desperately navigating through the oppressive darkness. Crawling through what feels like an underground tunnel, she clings to the hope of a distant flickering light that seems to beckon to her. Tears stream down her face, obscuring her vision as she struggles onward.

As the light draws nearer, the tunnel gradually expands, revealing glimpses of an unsettling scene. Echoes of distant voices reach her, further fueling her determination. However, the physical struggle of her journey takes its toll on her small body. Battered and bruised from the unforgiving rocks that scrape against her skin. Weakened by exhaustion, she succumbs to her dwindling stamina and slips into unconsciousness.

Slowly, she regains consciousness, jolted awake by a harsh, strident voice that pierces through her ears.

"Wake up brat."

Opening her eyes, she is met with a sight that fills her with horror. A man of imposing stature stands over her, his dark shoulder-length hair framing a face marked by the scars of war. His steely gaze betrays no trace of compassion, his hulking frame covered in tattoos that stop just before his wrists. The sheer terror evident in her expression fails to elicit any remorse from him.

"I suppose you're here because someone had the audacity to spare a child," he remarks with a sigh, taking a seat on the ground beside her.

"You're fortunate that I was the one who found you, Eloia." His words leave her frozen in his presence, unable to move or form coherent thoughts. Desperate to speak, she tries to find her voice, only to be overwhelmed by a wave of terror that leaves her sobbing uncontrollably.

"Hey! You brat, be quiet!" he shouts, though Eloia's panicked state renders her unable to silence her cries.

The man lets out another sigh, his gaze distant and troubled.

"I've never been good with kids," he mutters under his breath.

"From now on, you can call me grandpa, alright?" He retrieves a cigar from his pocket, lighting it and immersing himself in its smoke as if seeking solace in its embrace.

Eloia takes in her surroundings, her earlier fear giving way to curiosity. She musters the courage to ask the questions that weigh on her mind.

"W-who are you? And how do you know my name?" Her voice trembles as she struggles to form the words.

The man gazes at the cigar in his hand, his features reflecting a mix of conflicting emotions. After a brief moment of contemplation, he finally speaks.

"This is all my fault. And you're here, alive, because someone owed me a debt."

"Your father... my son, I made him into the horrible man that he is today."

Eloia's eyes well up with tears as she recounts the horrors she has faced.

"I heard.. them.. they told my mother..that I have to die because.. I was born a girl.. the deal was to have a boy they said.. my father sent them to kill us!"

He places a hand on Eloia's tiny shoulder his expression a mix of concern and determination.

"You can't afford to cry anymore, Eloia," he whispers, his voice filled with urgency. "They see it as a weakness, especially when you'll already stand out as a foreigner." As he speaks, he skillfully wraps her legs in bandages, providing some comfort and protection.

A sense of dread fills the air as he mentions the need to conceal her true identity further. He takes out a sharp object from his pocket, causing Eloia's heart to race with fear. She clings to him as he explains the necessity of cutting her hair.

"We can't risk anyone discovering that you're a girl in this place," he explains gently, his voice tinged with regret. With a swift motion, he severs her scarlet locks, leaving her with a shorter, more manageable hairstyle.

"Now, it's time to go," he says, lifting her effortlessly and carrying her over his shoulder. They make their way down the tunnel, the sound of echoing voices growing louder as they approach an exit. Eloia's eyes widen in astonishment as they pass by a crowd of men surrounding a massive cage. Within it, she catches a glimpse of two figures locked in a brutal fight, one clearly overpowering the other.

"Don't pay attention to that right now." He continues walking past the crowd and into another tunnel, at the other end of this tunnel is what appears to be an underground town, she sees men, but no children. She notices that no one dares to glance towards the old man that carries her. She also noticed the tattoo designs that every person shared.

"In this town, you will struggle to obtain food unless you fight." He says. He enters one of the huts that are molded out of what seems like mud and stone. He drops Eloia on a gigantic bench. He continues to tend to her wounds.

"Luckily, you have me."

Eloia wipes her tears."Why does everyone here have tattoos?" She sniffles.

"This town is a place for Yakuza's, most of them are voluntarily here, they get to leave, but only to complete missions. The rest are here because they've made costly mistakes and may be pardoned for it, but mostly.. this is a grave zone.. of forgotten faces. You see that cage you back there...they watch us through fights and place bets. Listen, Eloia, from now on, you have no name."

"What did you do?" She looked at him with curiosity.

"I voluntarily threw myself here... I guess.. I found myself one day with the overwhelming desire to live the rest of my life as a humble man," the old man explains, his voice filled with a mix of regret and sorrow.

He takes a deep breath before speaking.

"I was once part of this world, Eloia," he begins, his voice filled with a tinge of anger. "I had my reasons, but as time passed.. I realized the darkness I was immersed in, the pain I caused. I couldn't bear it any longer."

"I was once the head of all Yakuza clans. One day, my son—your father—took over. I witnessed the madness that consumed him, and through him, I saw the consequences of all my mistakes," he continues, finishing up the bandaging and helping Eloia sit up. He locks eyes with her, his gaze sincere and unwavering.

"I will teach you how to fight. I will train you until you reach of age. There is a tournament that takes place every year. If you win, you will be pardoned, and you can live a normal life as a Yakuza. In your case, you're only choice is become and live as Yakuza, but I will raise you to be strong, and you will have a second chance at life."

____

As Eloia grew older, she became adept at avoiding conflicts within the underground town. She learned her way around but felt a profound sense of emptiness that only grew over time. The old man was the only person she knew, and not the warmest. She grew increasingly curious about the cage fights, but he constantly warned her to steer clear until the designated day. Every day, he trained her and imparted his knowledge of combat

"Why do you make me stare at this wall 5 hours a day." She crossed her feet, her hands laying above her knees.

"One day, you will notice. It is a trait passed on through our family. I have to go leave for a fight, continue on for another 15 minutes, then start practicing your punches and kicks. The old man leaves closing the hut behind him but Eloia was losing patience. Still, she sat and stayed concentrated on the wall in front of her.

As years passed, she grew older and more skilled had she become in the arts of fighting.

"You'll be fighting me everyday from now on." Said the old man one day.

"I am the strongest opponent you'll find in this underground tunnel, so trust me when I say there is no better opponent for you than me."

For some reason, as the geezer got older in time, he only grew stronger. Eloia didn't know what to make of it. She'd see him workout for hours everyday, to the point she'd begin to work out right beside him. She felt she had no choice since he's make her fight him each day.

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The first couple of years, he'd go somewhat easy on her, still beating her to a pulp, every time. It got to a point where it didn't hurt anymore. Eloia had forgotten how pain felt, she had forgotten the concept of it ever existing. The next couple of years, she had begun to be able to somewhat dodge one or two of his attacks, but still, she could never hit him. Not even a scratch. It all felt hopeless to Eloia, and she got used to feeling like a punching bag. At a point she had forgotten her life before this.

One day the old geezer had gone to fetch some rice and water. She knew he'd be gone for a while and decided to sneak out to the fighting sector. She pushed her way through the crowd to see the fight up close, everyone towered over her so she pushed her way through to the front gate.

A huge snail hung over the cage match with what looked like a TV screen. She stared up in amazement. The match looked like it was almost over, one man completely destroying the other. Eloia ended up facing the door of the cage when in an instant, one of the opponents is kicked through the cages gate, his weight forcing open the door as he lands right in front of her. All bloodied up he looked towards Eloia.

"Help..me," He lifted his right arm towards her. Eloia looked down at his pale, frail body, she figured he wanted her to help him up. She grabs his hand, but as he got a hold of her, he swings her body into the cage match. Men cheer even louder and the voice over the snail resonates through the fighting sector, amplified and echoing:

"By the rules which say there may only be one switch per match for each opponent, we now have a new contestant. What an amazing turn of events!"

Eloia lands inside the cage, disoriented and surrounded by the roaring crowd. She turns to leave as the cage door is shut lock in front of her face. Fear grips her as she realizes the gravity of the situation she is in. She looks around, trying to assess her surroundings and the imminent danger she's in.

"Where do you think you're going little guy.."

She felt a grip on her shoulder and looked back in horror. The man facing her gave her a sinister look. He laughed sadistically. His fists flying towards her as she is repeatedly struck with his punches.

She falls to the ground and finds herself in a small puddle of her own blood. She gently lifts herself up as she gazes over the crowd.

She notices all the joy across each mans face cheering her opponent on. A feeling of disgust grew within her. The emptiness she once felt, was now filled with rage.

In that moment a familiar voice rung out to her.

"𝘌𝘭𝘰𝘪𝘢.."

"Mom?"

At that moment she saw her mothers face in the midst of the crowd.

Her mother always wore a necklace of beads, a shark tooth dangled in the middle. In their village it was a sign of a warrior spirit, it represented honor, integrity and bravery.

Eloia started to remember the night where it all was taken from her. The village was set on fire. Her village people were fighting for their lives.

She remembers those men in suits entering her home and beating her mother, as she watched in horror. The next thing she remembered she had been thrown into a sinkhole left for dead.

She tries to snap back to the present moment but everything suddenly felt slow, she didn't know if it were because of all the blood she had lost, or the bruising on her head that's probably turned into a concussion by now. Her focus is consumed by the antagonizing faces of men and their joy of pain.

"Men are supposed to protect." Her mother used to tell her.

She begins to see red.

"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲, 𝐡𝐮𝐡?"

Her mothers face disappears from the crowd. Her opponent pulls her up to her feet. She turns to face him.

He pulls his arm back to strike her but this time, he moves slower. Eloia dodges her head out of the way before one of the punches could hit her. He continues to throw punches continuing to miss them.

T𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘴.. She thinks to herself, her focus growing each passing second. She regains her balance and assumes her fighting stance.

"Why don't you just sit there and be killed, then this match could finally end." He spits at her.

"You don't realize that we're just getting started?" She chuckles.

"You want to struggle til your final moments, all fine by me." He taunts.

Eloia's focus intensifies. She shuts out the distractions and zeros in on her opponent. A newfound clarity fills her vision, allowing her to see through his movements.

He charges towards her, his movements becoming slower and slower.

Her perception sharpens, and she notices the vulnerabilities in her opponent's stance. Her grandpa's teachings resonate within her, guiding her instincts.

With a surge of energy, Eloia strikes with precision, aiming directly at the weak points she has identified. Her movements are swift, purposeful, and calculated, she is consumed by what feels like a natural instinctive nature.

As her punches land with force, the man's confidence wavers. He stumbles backward, realizing he underestimated Eloia's ability.

Eloia presses forward, relentless in her assault. Each blow is infused with her pent-up rage and her refusal to be belittled. She unleashes a combination of strikes, delivering each blow with determination and skill she has honed through years of training.

The crowd, once entertained by her suffering, now watches in astonishment as Eloia's transformation unfolds before their eyes. Her resilience, and underdog spirit inspire a new wave of admiration.

With a final powerful kick, Eloia sends her opponent crashing through the gate, striking into the wall of the arena. The crowd falls silent.

"𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘥.. 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.."

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥.."

What just happened? She realizes to herself, she looks down at her bruised knuckles, her mind still reeling from the intensity of the fight.

The loud voice over the speaker breaks the momentary silence, announcing the end of the match and the declaration of a winner.

"The match is over, we have a winner. Please reward the winner with their merits."

In that moment the crowd erupts into shouts of cheers, acknowledging Eloia's victory.

She reaches out for the cage door, her body trembling with exhaustion. But before she can reach it, everything fades away, and she loses consciousness.

____

When Eloia finally awakens, her surroundings slowly come into focus. She finds herself in her grandfather's presence, his face etched with a mix of concern and anger.

"You could have died." He stares at her angrily.

Eloia body winces in struggle, her body paralyzed in soreness. She attempts to lift herself up, her muscles protesting against the strain.

"That's funny coming from you.." She says.

"You must learn that here is a fine balance between valor and recklessness."" He shakes his head.

"It's okay.. my body is just a little sore.. that's it."

Eloia notices her grandpa going to the backroom. He comes back carrying a red jacket, filled with golden pads and buttons.

"Here, from now on wear this." He hands her the worn out jacket.

"I've filled this with my own Ryuo since you aren't able to fully conjure your own up yet. I wanted you to have this jacket to assist you from now on for when you finally get out of here. I know how rebellious teenagers are and I probably won't be able to hold you off much longer."

Eloia grabs the jacket from him, she excitedly puts the jacket on. It's like she had seen color for the first time.

"I want to fight some more.." Eloia sternly says under her breath.

"I'm going to teach the people here.. some manners. Grandpa, I was finally able to see the weak points, like what you've been teaching me." She looked at him determined.

He sighed.

Something about his granddaughters determined attitude had reminded him of her father. He decided to keep that thought to himself.

"Fighting isn't just about physical strength. It's about understanding yourself and your opponents, finding their weaknesses, and channeling your energy wisely."

________

Years had passed and Eloia had reached the age of 18. Her eyes embodied a look of controlled rage. Her hair had grown weary. There was only dullness reflected across her face, her aura had become a sense of doom. She made her way towards the fight sector when one of the town's men had called her over.

"Hey kid! Come over here."

Eloia turned her gaze towards the group of men sitting in a circle near a hut. With a sigh, she approached them, bracing herself for their request.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice tinged with resignation.

"Well, do you think you can pretend to almost lose a fight for once? Give the guys a chance to land a few hits? Aren't you tired of messing up the bets around here?" One of the men confronted her.

Eloia's expression grew serious, and her response left no room for negotiation.

"I refuse." she declared firmly, conveying through her face that they should not ask again.

The guys all looked at each other and sighed.

""Well, we know you'll be entering the next tournament in a week. You're old enough and have been here long enough. Don't you think it's time to get your tattoos? You're one of us, after all," one of them spoke, his tone tinged with a begrudging sense of acceptance. Hell, it's a gift from me.. if you promise to get the hell out of here already."

Eloia stopped for a second.

"You know what, that's not a bad idea." She gave them an ominous look.

"Let's do it."