“R is for Radiation. Radiation from the Blast makes the world outside our city unlivable.”

— Chikara City Elementary Primer

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“This is it,” said Eigo in a voice just a little too loud and excited. The lanky figure of Kiriai’s best friend practically bounced next to her in the crowd instead of walking. He had none of the decorum one would expect from a member of a brawler crew.

“Oomf.”

Eigo’s soft grunt of pain made Kiriai turn, and she smiled when she saw him aim a glare at Shisen and Mikata, who walked beside him. Both pretended neither of them had just elbowed him. The knot of tension inside Kiriai relaxed at the antics of her friends. Brawler Initiation started today, and she couldn’t decide if it was nerves or excitement that had her insides jumping. Probably a bit of both.

“Crew for Brawler Dento Kiriai,” Aibo said up ahead, to a clerk who had waved her over. Aibo, their crew aide, handled all the tedious minutiae for their crew, which Kiriai especially appreciated during events like this. The officious clerk wore a Southern Burb armband and seemed tired of her job even though it was barely mid-morning. The rest of their group stopped while Aibo presented their papers. Kiriai wanted to just ignore the formalities and hurry through the huge doorway she could see at the end of the hall. Instead, she let her eyes roam over the ornate calligraphy scrolls on the walls and the rugs under their feet that probably cost more than the entire home she shared with her grandfather back in Jitaku Hood. Kiriai forced herself to breathe and relax as the clerk checked each of them off a list.

“You’re missing your trainer,” the clerk finally said as her eyes moved between their group and the paper in front of her.

Kiriai stiffened. She had decided to talk to the rest of her crew about this tonight, after putting off the subject multiple times. She’d seen questions in Mikata’s eyes, but everyone had given her space and not broached the topic of her crew trainer. Well, to be honest, Kiriai had kept delaying, hoping for an answer, still conflicted about who she really wanted. No, after their trip here and their first day in Southern Core, she still didn’t have an answer.

Before Kiriai could stop her, the clerk went on. “Trainer Mosa Sento? Will he be joining you?” she asked. Disapproval filled her tone as she continued. “The doors close after the last person here enters. We allow no late arrivals.”

Eigo’s head snapped around at Sento’s name, his expression a mix of shock and outrage. Behind him, Aibo gave her a helpless shrug. She’d kept Kiriai’s secret, but neither of them had expected the clerk’s involvement.

Eigo pulled her to the side, into a small nook created by a display table, and she let him. This was her own fault. She was the one who had put off this discussion until it was too late.

“You chose Sento as your trainer?” Eigo hissed, keeping his voice below the sound of the crowded hallway. “After everything he put you through?”

“None of that has anything to do with his fighting and strategy talent,” she said, hating how defensive she sounded. This was her decision, not Eigo’s. “Besides, at the end of the brawler tournament, he stepped in to protect me from the chief. It’s not as black-and-white as you’re making it seem.”

Eigo stared at her, speechless for a moment. An expression of dawning realization spread across his face.

Kiriai swallowed, wanting more than anything to not do this right here, right now.

“You’re actually considering getting back together with him? Not just taking him on as trainer?”

“No!” She shook her head, one hand raised in protest. “Being willing to learn from him and salvage a friendship isn’t the same as getting involved again. In any case, he hasn’t taken me up on the trainer position, if you haven’t noticed.” She waved back at their group and the missing Sento.

Eigo relaxed a fraction and let out a harsh breath. He looked around and seemed to suddenly notice the awkwardness of the whole situation.

“Our trainer is indisposed at the moment, but I wanted to thank you for being so attentive to the details of our paperwork, M’ Clerk.” Tomi’s voice boomed ahead of them with its usual cheerfulness, drawing the gazes of those nearby. Their crew ‘ranger tended to do that. “None of this would be possible without the hard work of people like you. We should all acknowledge the clerks and all they do more often.” Tomi folded his considerable bulk into a bow to the surprised woman, whose frown disappeared. She smiled and preened at his attention. Without another objection, she waved them on, and they rejoined the throng heading toward the towering entrance at the end of the hall. They had slid the doors wide open to accommodate everyone. While there were only eight new brawlers this year, together with their crews and a smattering of household members, they made an impressive number.

Passing through the doorway, Kiriai stifled a gasp as she saw how vast the training space was. She should have known it would be impressive based on the opulence of the entryway, but she’d never imagined anyone spending so many credits furnishing a practice area.

“Keep walking, little one. Can’t have you looking too new to all this,” a cheerful voice prodded her, quiet and near her ear so only she would hear it. Startled, Kiriai looked at ’Ranger Tomi with a grateful glance before picking up her pace. Despite his mop of red hair and easy smile, Tomi’s prodigious bulk ensured that no one got too close or jostled their group.

As the crowd filtered into the large space, clerks directed the traffic, giving Kiriai the chance to take everything in. Her head swiveled from one sight to another, some of them making her drool. Against one wall stood practice dummies in pristine condition, padded and wooden, lined up like a small, frozen army, affixed to their heavy bases and awaiting orders. A far corner had walls covered with mirrors, an expensive but invaluable tool when training to hone skills. And the equipment . . . Kiriai couldn’t identify half of it. They had filled shelves and tubs with weights, balls, padded bats and everything Kiriai could imagine being used in practice.

“Well, that’s the most sensible thing I’ve seen yet,” Isha said under her breath as she tipped her head. Kiriai glanced to the left where her crew fixer was looking and saw a row of alcoves with padded tables and shelves filled with an orderly assortment of fixer equipment and treatments. She smiled.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure as soon as I get started, you’ll get to use all kinds of the new fixer gear to patch me up.”

Isha let a quiet sigh escape, and Kiriai felt a twinge of guilt. Isha had treated her after some hefty damage and didn’t consider the topic a joking matter. Her tone was more clinical as she continued. “Having treatment alcoves right here, in addition to the rooms in the fixer hall, saves having to transport the injured.” She aimed a frown at Kiriai. “Though I’m not sure it bodes well for you. How hard is this brawler initiation going to be?”

Kiriai swallowed and didn’t answer. Her tingling nerves slipped a bit from excited toward worried. She didn’t know any details and despite asking around, the initiation seemed to be a well-kept secret. No one who’d endured it was willing to share. Even Boss Akuto, who’d opened up more and more lately, had just shaken his head and changed the subject.

Isha must have sensed her worry, because she reached out and gave Kiriai’s hand a squeeze. “We’re all here to help you through this, Kiriai-chan. Besides, I promised your grandfather I’d take care of you until he can come join us after graduation. And everyone knows it’s a bad idea to break a promise to Fixer Ojisan.”

Kiriai gave Isha a small smile and squeezed her hand back, thinking of her own promises to her grandfather. Protect the secret of the gifted and help get reinforcements for Jitaku, but above all, make sure she and her crew stayed safe.

“Brawlers on the mat. Crew and household members, please find a seat,” said a short clerk, her sharp orders interrupting Kiriai’s thoughts. The man waved an impatient hand, directing Kiriai toward the center of the vaulted training space while motioning with his other hand for her crew to move to the seating area. Kiriai turned to follow his directions, but paused, surprised by the sudden desire to cling to her friends.

“Try not to hurt the other brawlers, dear,” said Mikata in a droll tone. Kiriai’s training partner startled a chuckle out of Kiriai and her heart lightened as Mikata waggled her fingers before turning and following the rest of her crew toward the seating area. Feeling more upbeat, Kiriai followed the clerk’s directions.

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As she emerged out of the throng, her eyes widened and her step stumbled for a beat. With all the people, she hadn’t been able to see the welcome awaiting the new brawlers until now. Arrayed in a line at the front of the central space stood a line of senseis, men and women, experienced fighters, all wearing the brown belt instructor rank and staring straight ahead, still as statues. It was intimidating and made Kiriai want to run to her position and snap to attention. She settled for a quick walk and stopped on the spot pointed out by another clerk.

She couldn’t help reaching up to feel the familiar shape of her medallions under her shirt. Eigo had given her one, a duplicate of the virtual symbol only she and Yabban could see. And Boss Akuto had given her the other, a token that let her request help with his backing. Steadied, Kiriai found her place and with the ease of long familiarity, snapped to attention, her feet together, back straight, eyes forward and face expressionless. In her peripheral vision, she saw the rest of her new class find their places and follow her example. To either side came soft, murmuring voices from their crews and household members as they took their seats.

This is happening. Kiriai felt a wave of disbelief and awe at the notion. She was living one of her childhood dreams and only a year after first making scrapper. That made her younger than everyone here, something she usually didn’t pay attention to. Right on the heels of that thought, though, came another that punctured her excitement. Her hood was losing the war, and if she and her crew couldn’t find a way to send reinforcements, she might not have a home to return to.

“Welcome to this year’s brawler initiation! I am Sensei Hisho.” The booming voice came from a lean, middle-aged woman who stepped forward from the center of the line of senseis. All eyes snapped to her, and every voice fell silent. The other senseis kept their eyes on the new brawlers, except for a woman on the far right. Her demeanor caught Kiriai’s attention, and she wondered why a sensei so obviously bored with the proceedings was even there.

“This is the first day of your new lives,” said Sensei Hisho, and Kiriai focused back on the leader. “You are like children, leaving your homes behind and starting adulthood. You are no longer scrappers from different hoods. You fought long and hard your whole lives for this opportunity. This initiation will rip away your past and rebuild you as part of a group of elite fighters, one only a select few ever join . . . the Southern Burb Brawlers!”

A resounding cheer met her short speech and Kiriai felt the thrill sweep away some of her reluctance.

Before the sensei’s words faded, a loud bellow came from both sides of the large hall.

“Oda!” yelled a whole cadre of voices in unison.

The brawler next to Kiriai flinched. Only long practice kept Kiriai’s gaze forward and body still as the noise of what sounded like hundreds of bare feet pounded in their direction. Then she saw them.

Brawlers jogged forward in lines, steps in sync and faces impassive. They wore identical black uniforms, blue belts around their waists and Southern Burb patches on their chests. But their clothing wasn’t the only similarity. It was their movement, light and quick with a smooth economy, that suggested they could break out into violence at any moment. They filed into neat rows in the large space behind the senseis and snapped into ready stances with uncanny precision.

Not only that, she saw familiar faces she had only seen on the screen before, brawlers she’d admired as they fought in burb battles.

Was that Brawler Haran? He’d been a finalist in last year’s City Warrior Tournament. Kiriai’s heartbeat quickened, and she worked to steady her breathing. These were her heroes, and she was joining them. These men and women radiated power on a level she hadn’t seen before. A stab of doubt hit her. Was she good enough to do this?

“Chief Kosui has given you an honor that not all of you merit,” said Sensei Hisho once the ranks of brawlers behind her had stilled. It was as if she’d been reading Kiriai’s thoughts.

“During the next month, you will prove to us and to them”—she paused to indicate the brawlers behind her—“that you deserve to join them. If you show yourself worthy, at the end of your initiation month, you will celebrate your graduation with your first official fight as a Southern Burb Brawler. However, we know this life is not for everyone and there is no shame in choosing something different.”

Kiriai stifled a scoff of disagreement as the sensei reached into her gi top and pulled out an armband and held it up like a limp snake. Squinting, Kiriai recognized the pattern as Chief Kosui’s with an additional embellishment she didn’t recognize running along the bottom.

“Chief Kosui is always looking for new talent in the ranks of his ’forcers, and as the top fighters from your hoods, he offers you a top rank should you decide the brawler life isn’t for you. The pay is excellent, and from what I hear, while the training is intense, injuries are mild and rarely happen.”

Kiriai didn’t know why the sensei was waxing on about ’forcers. Her attention wandered to the rows of brawlers still standing motionless behind the senseis. These would be her new colleagues, opponents when chosen for the disputes of the rich and powerful, but team members in battles against enemy burbs. Like the territory tournament fought by brawlers from different burbs, with ownership of an entire hood as the prize.

Kiriai shuddered. That was exactly what everyone back home fought to avoid. With a handful of scrapper reinforcements, they could hold on to a majority of their home property and keep Western Hood from initiating a territory tournament.

Her anger flared at the stupid politics and power plays that were leaving her home in danger of being taken.

“It is your choice and yours alone.”

What? Kiriai berated herself for letting her attention wander. What choice? She couldn’t raise her hand and ask for the sensei to repeat herself. Definitely not the way to make a good first impression. Yabban?

There was a hesitation before her AI answered. I am not an in-game personal assistant, Kiriai. That is something you unlock and pay for in an entirely different game path.

But you know what she just said?

Of course.

Kiriai thought for a moment. She needed to frame the request in Yabban’s training language. A sudden idea made her smile.

When I leveled up your autonomy, you could offer unsolicited strategy advice, right?

Correct.

Could you advise me about the upcoming training, my choices and which you think would be the most beneficial to my martial art skills?

Kiriai felt a pulse of amusement along her mental link to the ancient gaming AI. Sometimes she still felt a flash of surprise at how normal the trainer’s presence in her mind felt now. Yabban’s accidental addition to her fighting implant so long ago had turned into the best thing to happen to her fighting career.

As your martial arts trainer, I would recommend not quitting the brawlers during initiation by walking up to that stand, taking the armband and choosing to join Chief Kosui’s ’forcers instead.

What?

Kiriai glanced at the ornate wooden stand two assistants had just set down in front of the sensei. With a flourish, the imposing woman connected the armband to a gold clip at the top and let go. It fluttered down, hanging there, taunting. Behind the row of senseis, the ranks of brawlers stared on, impassive. They must have all refused the same offer during their own brawler initiations.

Sensei Hisho turned and spoke, her voice almost friendly as she addressed the spectators to either side. “Crew and household members, you will be sorted and shown to orientations discussing your roles, and responsibilities and resources available. You will attend classes and at times participate with your initiate’s training during the next month.”

Then she turned back to the short row of initiates. Her expression hardened. “Initiates, we will give you your gear and an orientation of our facilities. Afterward, I suggest you make an early night of it. Tomorrow we will find out what you are truly made of.”

Complete silence greeted her pronouncement. Kiriai knew there was no way she would ever quit and take a ’forcer position. Now she just had to prove it for the next month of training.

“Dismissed!”

The room erupted into sound and movement as everyone relaxed, and officials began calling and sorting various crew members. Kiriai went up on her tiptoes to try to see her people.

Tomi was the only one she could easily pick out. When he saw her, he gave her an encouraging wave before turning back to the official addressing his group.

“Initiates! Follow me, please.” An impatient man holding a clipboard barked the command and, without waiting for a response, spun on his heel and began marching toward a smaller exit door on the other end of the hall from where her crew had been sitting. Kiriai hesitated before hurrying to fall into line.

What exactly will tomorrow be like? she wondered, trying to quash her growing feelings of trepidation.

Will you remember me tomorrow? Yabban suddenly asked in her mind.

Kiriai cocked her head to the side as the crowd parted to let their group pass.

What kind of question is that? Of course I will.

Knock, knock?

Kiriai felt a half-smile emerge as she followed the other initiates and left her crew behind. At least she had Yabban with her to face whatever torments they had in store for her.

Who’s there? She humored her AI trainer’s penchant for telling jokes.

See? You already forgot me!

Kiriai snickered. The burly man in front of her looked back at her, and she quickly schooled her expression.

Tomorrow wouldn’t be all bad with at least one friend along for the ride.