A black-haired man in a black suit, wearing black sunglasses stepped out of the elevator onto a busy office floor.

It looked like hundreds of people were walking back and forth between rows of open-concept office desks, or filling chairs and typing away on computers. Other black-haired men in black suits mingled with black-robed proctors, smartly dressed women in black jackets and pencil skirts amongst them, all with uniform, short-bob hairstyles, all black, and every single one of them was in sunglasses.

Rudolph walked along the edges of the room, not wanting to join the turbulence in the middle, and nodded his head towards a number of figures that looked much like him, though various ethnicities kept them from looking like complete clones. All of them were dressed in the same clothes with as close of hairstyles as they could manage, however.

He suppressed the urge to remind some of them to keep their shirts tucked in or buttons all the way up; he was immaculate, of course, but compared to some of these sloths in suits, he was the pinnacle of sharp fashion! He couldn’t wait until he’d been promoted to a proctor position; as uncomfortable as their outfits looked, he couldn’t deny they at least stood out compared to the ocean of similarity he was lumped into.

Heading towards the rear, he approached a pair of men. These men weren’t wearing black, and instead, the older, tougher looking white guy and his black partner were in white suits, their hair and facial hair dyed white, their sunglasses still black.

Rudolph stood before them, cleared his throat, and presented his phone, his two imposing superiors staring down at him with emotionless expressions.

“Rudolph Reffe the thirty-eighth, here with a priority-two delivery for Lord Reffe.” He explained.

Both men examined the credentials on his phone, then lowered their sunglasses, revealing completely blank, empty white eyes that seemed to stare straight through him. Rudolph straightened up, trying to keep confident before the gaze of the Reffe Seraphim Guard, afraid that some unnoticed detail might draw their disapproval, but after a far too long evaluation, they slid their glasses back into place, and the black one opened the door for him to walk through.

He nodded his thanks and stepped into the stairwell to rooftop access. Above, he saw a half-dozen seraphim guard wandering the open-air rooftop, atop which a wooden shrine the size of a small building had been constructed. The guard watched him as he walked across the rooftop and up the shrine’s wooden staircase, and paused at the top.

A petite feminine figure stood before the doors, their light bronze skin contrasting with their white hair, other than a single black dreadlock running long and straight amidst the bushel of white ones. Their suit was black on the left, white on the right, and they didn’t wait for him to speak to dip their sunglasses down, revealing eyes as deep and black as the void, not a speck of white in the empty darkness.

“Name?” Cerberus demanded of him.

“Rudolph Reffe the thirty-eighth.”

“Priority-two delivery?”

Rudolph nodded, and Cerberus stepped aside. The doors behind them opened, revealing the other two-thirds of Cerberus standing at each side, one with a black dreadlock hanging at the left of their scalp, the other with a black dreadlock hanging at the right.

He walked inside under the deep and almost invasive scrutiny of the three guards, the left and right hands of Cerberus mirroring his walk at the far ends of the wooden room, past the numerous seating filling the middle, and they opened the doors to the back for him.

The interior of the back room was lined with video screens hanging above valuable and delicate electronic equipment. Sitting in a seat in the center of it all was the single most revered figure in the Reffe clan… and perhaps the second-most revered enlightened in the world.

“So you’ve come.” Lord Reffe spoke, turning slowly in his swiveling chair to face Rudolph. Behind him, screens displayed the replays of multiple fights throughout the week, from Mortimer Graves’ latest decisive victory in the wee hours of the morning, to the utter rampage between Jorge Brutus and Kevin Snitt after Brutus’ hospital recovery.

“Of course, sir.” Rudolph slipped to his knees to prostrate himself before his clan head, but a wooden cane pressed against his forehead, preventing him from lowering his gaze to the floor.

“Come now, Rudolph, we are family friends, are we not?” Lord Reffe said jovially, slipping out of his seat to lean down, his back hunched. “You may discard the formalities, Rudy.”

Lord Reffe smiled, not that Rudolph could tell. He was dressed much like the various, lower-level proctors – though they were still his seniors – except Lord Reffe’s sleeves were striped, white on black. But, more notable than that was the Reffe Clan symbol emblazoned on his hat: an eye, with a purple iris, and heavy purple detailing down the center of Lord Reffe’s robe, dignifying him as the highest superior of the clan, and a king in his own right.

Rudolph rose to his feet, red-faced and shuffling in place like he was still a boy looking up at his father’s best friend, waiting for a handful of candy.

“My apologies Lord—I’m sorry Uncle Ray.”

“Cerberus will not care if you show me a little disrespect, Rudy; our organization might be strict, but absolute respect between friends is foolish. Come now, I entrusted you with a very special task.”

Rudolph gave a small nod and smiled as he presented the old man with a USB stick. He took it eagerly, and shuffled over to the master computer controlling the entire viewer set-up, plugging it in as Rudolph stood attentively by his chair, grinning silently to himself, knowing he was about to get his uncle’s blood roiling.

Lord Reffe plopped down in his chair and sank in low, adjusting his small spectacles before typing into a keypad. The screen above showing a post-battle interview flickered, and was replaced with a beautiful Chinese garden.

An audience of healthcare specialists and attending guests watched as two young asian women stood in the center of a ring of stone, one tall, powerful, and drop-dead gorgeous, the other small, slight, and cute as a button.

The fight was as quick and brutal as Rudolph remembered, the girls’ fighting styles both graceful and relentless in their own ways. This wasn’t some Hollywood slapfight between women… though Rudolph wasn’t alone in thinking the taller Japanese girl could have very easily put a number of actresses to shame with her sheer looks.

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“Good God…” Lord Reffe whispered. “Her form, her power… the ruthless use of her enlightenment…”

“I told you, uncle, this is the same thing that happened with the Bull of Ishtar.” Rudolph smiled a little to himself as Lord Reffe leaned forward, watching intently as the bigger girl was driven to one knee, surviving a flurry of blows to catch her smaller opponent off-guard with a faceful of pepper…

Lord Reffe rewound the footage and watched again, twice more as his hand slipped under his veil to stroke his chin in thought.

“She’s gorgeous and young, passionate and kind, she obeys the rules of engagement and ensures they are established from the get-go, she fights like she was trained to fight, not just show off, her power is flashy and fragrant—lord, I can smell the spiciness from here! And in addition… she’s PG-13.”

Rudolph nodded his head eagerly. “I agree, she’s very marketable. The Bloody Angel is a magnificent female role model but—”

“But the blood, Rudy!” Lord Reffe threw his skinny arms into the air, grasping at the ceiling with agony in every curled finger. “How can we market her to underage girls when there is blood and gore in every engagement?!”

“I wish I knew, Uncle.”

“The answer is we can’t.” Lord Reffe’s hands fell into his lap with a sigh. “We are averaging two-hundred and fifty thousand views across multi-media platforms only five days into the tournament. Advertisement across the world is increasing as people become aware just how real the fighting is. The problem is…” Lord Reffe’s voice dropped a moment.

“The problem is…?” Rudolph asked, resting a hand on the older man’s shoulder, giving his nominal uncle’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Only seven-percent of our regular viewers are women.” Lord Reffe bridged his fingers in front of his face. “This is the greatest opportunity we have had in over two centuries, Rudy, and we can’t attract a female crowd.”

“Until now?” Rudolph asked with a small smile.

“Maybe.” Lord Reffe opened his eyes, rewinding the footage once more. “This girl – well, really, both of these girls could attract a female viewing audience. My God, this Hanaya girl, she’s a cook and a powerful fighter! She’s a blending of classic female stereotypes and a breaker of the mold!”

Rudolph grinned at his uncle’s enthusiasm, helping him up to his feet so the man could pace with the assistance of his cane.

“If we can get her to participate in the tournament, I predict a four-hundred-percent—no! An eight-hundred-percent increase in female viewership!”

“Lord Reffe?”

“Rudy, please—”

“I’m speaking to you as a subordinate now, sir.” Rudolph explained calmly, and Lord Reffe paused to give him his full attention. “If we convince her to join the tournament, I am prepared to ask Rubi Ruthless to get in contact with the Food Network channel’s owners to try and secure a syndication deal regarding this Hanaya girl’s profession.”

Lord Reffe suddenly rushed Rudolph, holding him by the arms, a grin hidden beneath the veil as he shook the boy with a mute joy. “R-Rudy, my boy! Genius! Genius genius genius!” Lord Reffe all but danced in place! “Yes, if we get her to sign-up with us and get Food Network participating, we’ll be spreading our influence to a whole new audience!”

“She is also confirmed Japanese, she would easily draw in the Japanophile crowd as well.”

“And the greater Asian audience in addition! She’s a multi-cultural, multi-talented professional! RUDY!” Lord Reffe turned on the boy, almost trembling in excitement. “We need her. Whatever it takes, please, have her sign up! We can promise promotions, contracts, sponsorships, whatever might interest her! She could be the key to attracting a fleet of new audience demographics to the tournament!”

Rudolph gave a short bow of his head. “You have my word, Lord Reffe, that I will do whatever it takes to convince her to join the tournament.”

“Excellent!” Lord Reffe threw his arms in the arm again, a loud ‘crack’ making him freeze, groan, and hunch forward into Rudolph’s arms. “Lord, don’t take me before I can see this to the end…”

Rudolph chuckled, and guided the elderly Reffe back to his chair, where he sat with a deep sigh. “Uncle, do you think Master Wangui will like her?”

Lord Reffe paused at that, leaning back into his chair and thinking as he stared up at the numerous TV screens surrounding him. He closed his eyes, bridged his fingers, and hummed.

“Master Wangui’s search for an apprentice is the reason for this tournament. Should the Hanaya prove herself worthy, I doubt he’ll care much for our reasons to promote her. Regardless, he can decide for himself whether she’s worthy or likable. At the end of the day, all we are are what we’ve always been: Clan Reffe.”

Rudolph nodded. “Arbitrators, judges, promoters—”

“—kingmakers, and reputation takers; never in the spotlight, but always the backbone of every recognized achievement.” Lord Reffe finished with a pleased sigh. “I really must thank Master Wangui for giving us this chance again.”

“I’m sure the endless series of gift baskets and presents hasn’t clued him in on our thankfulness already…”

“Watch your lip, boy.” Lord Reffe snarled. Rudolph flinched, and Lord Reffe sighed. “We have awaited this opportunity for centuries, ever since the last great tournament of enlightenment ended, and the world decided that enlightenment was too difficult to attain. The Reffe Clan has bided its time, humiliated itself with humble martial arts tournaments in safe, even arenas, arbitrated sporting events and spelling bees, keeping strong until finally, finally somebody with enough influence could attract the empowered from far and wide.”

Lord Reffe relaxed in his chair. “That I get to preside over it personally in my twilight years… such an honor can only be given, never taken. I will die satisfied at the conclusion of this tournament, and the name of the Reffe Clan will shine anew.”

Rudolph stared at his uncle thoughtfully, and bowed low to the man, though his lordship hardly noticed until Rudolph straightened up and cleared his throat. “I’ll get to work getting Hanaya to sign up as a combatant. In the meantime, uncle, watch your health, please? This excitement can’t be good for your blood pressure.”

“Fah and fie, says I.” Lord Reffe grumbled. “These old bones haven’t had a reason to be this excited since I was chosen as clan head. Carry on, Rudy, and do let me know her final answer.”

Rudolph bowed once more, and excused himself from the room, too deep in his thoughts to notice Cerberus escorting him from the edges of the room.