At that moment, he lunged forward—
Like a panther, he *leapt*.
His unreal claws slashed through the air.
The young man remained calm. He took a slight step back with his right foot.
What would he do against this feral beast, claws bared, charging at him?
Why was he waiting so long?
Suddenly—he pivoted!
Using his left foot for leverage, he lifted himself slightly into the air.
His right leg twisted mid-motion, and in that suspended instant, his kick slammed straight into his opponent's throat.
For a heartbeat, everything fell silent.
Then—what was this? The crowd watched as the "panther" crumpled to the ground, howling in agony.
He writhed, choking, clutching his ruined throat.
The young man stepped forward slowly.
He bent down.
*"Either surrender… or die right here,"* he whispered.
*"A kick to the throat? Is this bastard mocking me?"* the panther-like fighter thought, seething. He tried to rally—but couldn't. Why? His body refused to move.
The young man straightened.
Then, almost lazily, he raised his foot over the fallen fighter's face.
So *this* was what he'd meant by *"die."* Maybe the blow wouldn't kill him. Maybe he'd survive.
But who could guarantee worse wouldn't follow?
The "panther" had no choice. Gritting his teeth, he forced his hand up and slammed it against the ground.
The signal of surrender.
The crowd was stunned. This might've been the shortest match in the tournament so far.
The announcer hesitated, then declared:
*"Kevin! Winner of the first match!"*
Kevin turned and walked away.
As he exited the arena, an older man—stooped slightly at the waist, with a thick beard—approached him.
*"Well done! Keep this up."*
*"That was easy, Bıfrat. He just charged blindly. I'm surprised he made it this far."*
**Bıfrat?** Yes, Bıfrat. A ridiculous name, wasn't it? Like something a ten-year-old would invent.
*"Your next opponent's already decided,"* Bıfrat said.
*"How? The first match just ended."*
*"Whoever wins the upcoming fight faces you. But the winner's obvious."*
*"Who?"*
*"Remember that… *thing* we saw when we first arrived? The one with the long tongue?"*
*"The grotesque one?"*
*"Yeah. Probably him."*
*"How do they even dig up these freaks?"*
*"That's Macu energy for you."*
They walked out, the noise of the arena fading behind them.
*"Let's head back. You need rest—and some training. Tomorrow's gonna demand it."*
And with that, they set off toward home.
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File #002
Excerpts from "Surface History":
The **Taka Region**, centered around Taka City, is one of the "Big Three" territories. Though smaller than the Underground Dynasty of Aid and the Dragon Dominion, it surpasses both economically. Its neon-lit streets evoke old-world Tokyo, and its nights have seduced countless souls.
The region is governed by a council led by the Taka family—a de facto monarchy masquerading as a republic. (As with many surface states, power clings to bloodlines, not ballots.)
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