Across the sea, the island known simply as the 'docks' appeared standing like a giant floor of metal and containers. They went in.
And although this place was like a maze, a labyrinth in of itself with all these industrial, worn out containers, Watou walked like he knew which path to take. Which route to follow— which shortcut would be plausible for a short way into whatever direction he was leading the young man into.
This place itself was partway history. Worn out containers, glass shards, papers and stardusts littered the floor like a graffiti on its own. And with each step, they were getting closer and closer to smoky scent.
Right there, right in front of the two were three other people, with there a burning barrel beside them all. One of them wore a buttoned shirt and a silver chain around his neck. The other a civilian attire of a hoodie and shorts over joggers. But the one that stood out the most…
was the tallest individual here, and byfar the tallest man Imura has ever seen. Standing a scary height of 7'11. A slender build, but he had a suit that belonged to a fancier place than this.
Watou didn't seem fazed by it, though. Clearly he's met them all more than once.
And he didn't bat an eye at Imura again— the tallest person in the area stepped aside—
"HOO!" and so the smallest looking guy around here, the one with the hoodie rushed toward him and threw a punch using the momentum of his sprint. What?! Imura begged in his mind, confused about the sudden escalation. He blocked the strike, and stumbled back.
Without ever letting him ever get the chance to process this situation calmly— the fellow was already gaining at him with a flurry of punches that came from fluid angles. Decent speed, and yet decent power.
Imura tried to run back..
This guy just wasn't letting up. He tried to land each punch that he could everytime he could get within the range, but Imura held one hard towards his opponent's chest, trying to block him off. Then when the space for opportunity came, he moved to the side, finally taking his stance.
The opponent charged in— falling his upperbody to the ground on purpose, standing with two arms and one leg— the other snapped forward for a kick. It worked somewhat, Imura almost lost his balance. Then he saw the man retaining his stance— no. He wasn't retaining it, he was taking one. A stance that you'd see in karate, the knifehand stance, he took it and stood still like he was aiming blades at him to throw. Is it actually karate? Imura wondered.
He took a step back, and back, and back and back. All the while circling around his target. His target's gaze didn't give up. He pivoted everytime with that same stance.
He dashed toward him, a fist hanging readily to his side, clenched to its maximum. What he was going to do seemed reckless, but no one really knew— maybe he was planning something.
Amidst the tunnel vision there was someone big in front of him all of a sudden—
A PUNCH—
WHITE, BLACK—
THEN THE WORLD.
IT ALL TRANSITIONED IN AN INSTANT THE MOMENT HIS FACE SLAMMED AGAINST BARE KNUCKLES. FIST SLAMMING INTO HIS NOSE IN WHICH PAIN DWELLED. The whole world felt disorientating…it all happened so fast, imura couldn't understand just how that happened. He sat up slowly, hand over his head. Blood escaped out of his nose…
"What an idiot," the puncher with the buttoned shirt seemed to say. And the one he was supposed to be fighting with protested against it playfully, "Hey, c'mon now! That all came out unexpected, y'know."
A hand entered his vision. Hanging in the air, waiting. Imura's eyes ran toward the source, and gladly enough it was Watou's. "You alright?"
Imura shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. He grabbed the hand nonetheless and effortfully pulled back up. "Yeah…fine." He murmured.
Watou slouched an arm behind his neck, helping Imura stand still. He looked at the three without any resentment nor despair in his face. But with a form of agreement that it seemed. He nodded to them and said: "That should probably be enough for now. Thanks for giving him a chance."
None of them said anything to that. The hoodied one shrugged.
Imura spoke quietly, "Who're these guys…?" Watou replied, "The guy you fought the longest is Kuroiwa Mitsuo. The one that intereferred is Hasu Kang. And the tallest man there?" he jabbed his chin to that giant. "Is Kuyo Jang."
Kuroiwa, Hasu, and Jang. Three intimidating figures. He's yet to see any of their full capabilities, but that session itself was enough to give him ideas. They were dangerous. Even the one that talked the most and acted the most friendly was dangerous.
"Oh yeah, and who're these guys? Well…
They're part of the fight club association known as 'Ground Slam'."
Ground Slam, huh? "That's where Wu Sha operates." Watou added.
Ground, a name that sounded cheerie and intriguing.. This is where Wu Sha operates. This is where he's hidden— THIS is where he's been spending most of his time in.
Or at least…that's what he was told.
Imura's mind was still reeling from that initial blow he just took. What a strength that was…
"By the way, you know how to fight! I could totally see that from you." Kuroiwa tried to encourage. But Hasu thought otherwise, "I don't think he does." He said, unbothered, bored, his big arms folded on his torso. He never gave a bigger look than just a quiet face.
"Hey c'mon now, Hasu. Don't be like that…" Kuroiwa said back. "You jumped in when the kid was going after me, isn't that a little unfair to say he's any bad at all?"
Imura didn't talk. He thought he couldn't afford to argue with those three machines. The next moment, Hasu was approaching his employer, Ehara Watou with a stern look. He went up close to his face, a look of disapproval, Watou wasn't fazed. But Hasu said: "You're telling me you want this kid to sponsor you?" his eyes set over Imura then back at him.
But Watou laughed. Laughed like he knew any better. "I don't see what's wrong with having this 'kid' fight in the ring, Mr.Hasu."
Ring and sponsor?? Imura couldn't understand what these two just meant by those. But he thought he'd protest later. "We can't see eye to eye when suddenly you crash into the middle of the fight just because it's an…'interview'."
His rough hand fell onto Watou's shoulder, flinching him slightly. Watou's face changed a little to that when he glanced at the hand then back at him. His eyes were venomous with threat.
"And you think you can just cut me off like that??" he was talking about the moment before Watou gave his second speech.
"Please let me go, Mr.Hasu."
Hasu gripped tighter. Fingers biting into the back of his shoulder. The kind of grip that that by itself just told, 'try me'. Hasu's demeanour broke into wider eyes filled with a challenge and a dare all combined—
Watou swiped it off.
"Watou…—" Imura spoke.
"I have absolutely no idea why you're acting this way at all, Hasu."
Watou seemed to hold Imura closer. More tighter, like he was preparing him to be his shield. But Hasu didn't act.
Only glared.
The pressure that came off from just this standoff was a mess. Let alone intense, just what was happening right now?
"I'm not trying to ask for violence. This is only an interview after all. So please, calm down." Watou said calmly. Hasu didn't reply.
He stepped back.
What…just happened? Imura didn't dare to ask.
When Hasu Kang slowly began to turn his back, he let out a small gesture. By lifting his thumb, he was hinting something that was very obvious.
Imura has been accepted. But for what?
Whatever it was, it made Watou smile.
"Let's head back home, Imura." Watou said.
Imura didn't question. He was given a pair of tissues from Watou to treat the nose wound he just got. Imura pressed it against his nostrils.
They all left.
"Hey…What was all that just now?"
"Hm?"
He stood right behind Watou when he said that. They stopped on their tracks before Watou could land back onto the boat.
"What was all that…about sponsors, and— and what, the ring?? What was all that about???"
Watou turned around slowly. "Oh, I'm sorry for not telling you about that before, Imura. The truth is…"
he lifted a fist up, right below his chin. "You're going to be fighting in one of those matches."
Fighting…IN THOSE MATCHES? NO!
"Hey— what?! You can't be serious!" Imura grumbled forward. "You can't—"
"It's all part of the plan, Imura. I'm sure," Watou cut. "If we want to get to Wu Sha without risking too much suspicion, this would be it. I'm only asking you to go undercover for all of this."
"You're telling me to fight in a ring where I can't—"
"You CAN fight in that ring, Imura. You CAN."
"Stop interrupting me!"
Imura dropped. Words as sharp as a strike to the face. A response motivated by resolve going directly towards his employer. "Those guys nearly tore me apart today…And whatever that confrontation was— what even was that?! It didn't make any sense at all! And you're telling me I'm participating in the same matches as them?!" his eyes flicked over to where they came from then back to him. "What is this?!"
Watou sighed, like he understood the man's frustrations. "I know," he said. "I know, Imura. I know. But listen, this is the only choice we have. It's not easy, sure, but we have to take this opportunity."
"Get out there and get myself ten fractures?" Imura joked sickly. A mocking smile forming underneath the treating tissue, shaking his head. "Yeah right."
Watou replied with a strong hint of challenge, "If that's the case, then why don't you figure out what we should do next, Imura?" they both hung for a moment there. Until Ehara stepped onto the driver seat, motioning him to get on. Imura did, though resentfully.
They took a different way out of the place. The docks shrunk behind them as they went. "There's a way around here that's nearer to your house. Don't worry about where I go."
Imura didn't reply to that. His eyes fixated over nothing. Words and scenarios filled as mind as the vehicle swam on the sea. The cold air brushing past them both during the dash.
When reached a different shoreline, he turned around to Ehara for a moment, who gave him a nod. He didn't do anything— nor did he respond. Instead, all he did was leave quietly afterwards, calling a taxi for him to take home.
When he was finally in his house, he was staring blankly into the turned off computer screen of his. His reflection staring back at him.
He turned it on.
The screen flashed light, washing Imura's face with its blue-ish tint. His mouse slid around on the table, cursor clicked, his eyes twitched around whatever he saw on his screen. For a moment, it seemed as though he hung; carefully reading a message, perhaps? He clicked again—
The 'Web'.
There was a part of the internet that lurked secretly under the shadows of the public. That'd be the 'Web'.
Pictures of unwanted substances filled the screen. Disturbing videos as well, but those weren't what he was looking for.
He was looking for something to type on the search bar…
'Arima's trades association'
Results took their time to load. And when they did, they popped up immediately.
Videos, images, community posts, and discussion tabs…Images mostly consisted of just random office spaces with empty chairs, computer desks and windows. Picturesque views of maybe the front of a building? Whatever it was, it was outside. Videos gave a similar story.
But it were the discussion tabs and community posts that seemed the most intriguing.
[12.12.2025
User: Anonymous@1234123
genuinely some of the more brutal fights I've seen around here man
12.12.2025
User: Anonymous@542343
Thomas had an opportunity to elbow him there, why didn't he do that????]
[Post by: Anonymous@1234123
Monday rounds 2: some of the greatest fights I've ever seen in Arima's trades association
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…This is a hidden organization, Imura realized. From the front they're an average trading company, but deep within they're a fight club. Watou sent one last message that popped up on the bottom right corner of his screen as a notification. He clicked on it:
[Meet me at the park nearby at 2:30. I'll be standing beside the bench near the pond.]
[Okay]
He left the PC on, the monitor's screen still glowing. He pivoted his chair and got off, moving to the balcony next.
He slid the curtains and slid the door open slowly, and which each movement the glass door groaned. The cold air welcomed itself in his room, the soft sunlight filling a part of his living room. Once he was done, he went outside. Resting his arms onto the railing beneath it, as he stared off into the distance.
Roads, buildings, buildings, and buildings. A few cars crawled around the neighbourhood, and a few bicycles pedalled busily onto the road.
He sighed.
What did I get myself into?
How'd I get myself here?
Is this real?
I don't want to believe it's real…
I hate when I think…
I hate it when I do…
All he could ever do was scream in his mind, instead of out. There was something that fogged the present in his mind. Something he hated to think about. Something…bitter.
Something sweet.
And that's what made it less the worth revisiting to…
Tokyo has always been a nice and colorful landscape with buildings and busy roads. It has always been that way. Even ever since he was born…
One winter evening he and his parents went out to walk one day. Right in Shibuya. He was 15, didn't have much interest in biology then. His hair was browner than now, longer than it is now. Nowadays, he keeps it above the middle of his neck, but then it went as long as beyond the nape.
It was a nice day, really. A soothing day. Back when he was out just walking with his father and his mother outside, just strolling around the pavement— his father barely got looks catching him back then, and that's what made it even better.
He walked on the center, while his father walked on his right, his mother on his left. A smile that really never left from both mother and son.
Even from the father when he finally let go of that mask.
They had stopped in front of a small local clothing shop. Looking around for something they didn't find as they turned heads left and right. Still clueless despite their efforts.
"Wasn't there a vendor around here last time?" Katsumi had said. "I think he went away…" Imura chimed.
"Then, let's go to the restaurant nearby," Imura's mother suggested.
"Huh? Seriously Eiri? That crabhouse nearby?" Katsumi then said, his tone tinged with disapproval. "You don't like crabs, don't you? Mrs.Eiri laughed.
"Never liked it since I was a kid, woman." Katsumi shook his head, looking away like a picky child.
Imura was a more sarcastic and an extroverted being back then compared to how he is now. It's like seeing a different person almost. "C'mon, Pa' you gotta try it now at least!" he nudged his dad like a friend.
Katsumi looked back. "I hate crabs, kid."
"Awwwhhh…" he couldn't help but just give up, knowing the stubborn nature of his father. His mother combed him on his back with her hand.
"Actually…" then suddenly, his eyes flickered with an idea. His spine climbed back up. "There's another place nearby. It's a beefhouse, what do you say??" he glared at his father like a kid pleading with excitement. Mr.Katsumi seemed to consider it. His face already said, 'not bad actually…'
"Okay."
"MA?" his head snapped back to her without a wait. She nodded quietly. "ALL RIGHT!"
What an enthusiasm he displayed back then…raising his fist above in excitement— celebratorily. Moments after that, he led his family to where they all agreed to. Walking fruther away from where they once stopped, strolling amidst the cold and frosty evening.
And that day…just went away like no other…
He exhaled hard through his nose.
Must go on, he knows he must. He needs to keep living in the present. But in times like this— nostalgia is an unyielding opponent. An opponent too hard to ignore. And the deeper he thinks, the more he prefers to break down once again.
He doesn't prefer to be happy. He prefers to be numb.
And that's because…maybe that's easier to strive for right now.
2:30 PM
Joggers and children with their parents passed by. He came…but there wasn't any sign for Watou anywhere. Was he too early?
Some people looked at him as they went by. Like he was a doll to be admired with the way he simply stood beside a bench. Imura just ignored that.
His eyes caught to the right.
Oh, there he is.
Watou was wearing a more proper suit this time. A blue tie underneath his suit jacket. His hair was styled differently— swept to the right and cut shorter than in the morning. "Sorry about the wait."
"It's alright," Imura replied. "So? What's this about?"
Watou sighed, preparing for an answer. "Imura…" he began. "I want you to quit the boxing gym right now."
His brow raised to that. He tilted his head slightly as he repeated, "Quit??"
Watou nodded. His expression didn't break, "Starting from today, I want you to move to a different place to train in. And fortunately, I have a place readied up for you. It's necessary that you switch."
But— his friends…Katsuragi Himuro, Nakamura, Kazuki Yuta…and Coach Keichi. He's already developed a deep connection with them…
And now he's telling him to leave?
Imura shook his head, disagreeing with what he just said. "I can't just do that, man…"
"You have to."
"I've already made friends there! I can't just leave the place like that. Can't I just— just— swing by that one place as well?!"
"Can you? Unfortunately, no. I can't afford to let you do that. That'll dissolve your reputation with those people." Watou replied. One word too many, and it held a point.
A good point. And even if Imura understood, he just had to make sure: "What do you mean by that?"
Watou smiled a little. One that didn't seem to come out of amusement but despair.
"If those people found out that you're involved with criminal activity, they'll end up resenting you for it. The bruises that you'll take, they'll stick too much for them— for Keichi to feel suspicious about. And as you know him and the others, Imura, they won't take this all lightly. So that being the case…" he paused. "That should dissolve your reputation, slowly. That's why you should leave them for now. Do you understand?"
But it was still an answer that he didn't want to hear…
"Forget these people for now, Imura. There's something more important you have in hand. So let go."
"And that also accounts for your college. Forget your studies for now."
Why can't you just let me be?
Why am I involved in your work?
What do I have to do with you?
Why do I have to go after 'Wu Sha' personally to help you?
And if I don't…as you said you will—
There's no point in arguing, huh?
…Fine.
I'll play your games. "Fine." I'll play your games for as long as you like.
Watou smiled again. And then, he led him to his personal car. They drove far away from here, and far away from his home. Imura was taken away to his next destination. The next stage.
…They stood in front of a giant building just standing in the middle of Nagasaki downtown. It looked more like an office than anything. Imura stared at it, wondering to himself just what he's going to be put into next. He felt Watou nudge his arm, he looked at him— and saw the same thing Eiji was offering this morning.
A cigarette. But this time the whole pack.
Imrua quietly said no with his head. Watou put it away. And so, they went in. Inside the tall building.
The reception section was cold, the hallways were cold. Quiet and busy like a normal office. But they didn't have time for that.
The elevator door closed. Consuming them both. Watou seemed to step toward the buttons of floors. He digged out a small card out of pocket,
and scanned it.
The elevator itself lit green of approval. It started to climb afterwards. A quiet ambience went by, as the two waited for it to stop.
Imura ignored him, like he had too much resentment to talk.
Meanwhile, Watou remained silent like he knew what he felt.
The elevator came to a halt. The doors slid open, revealing a long hallway in front of them both. They walked.
'Room A, Room B, Room C, Room D, Room E'... Of course there was more, but why were those rooms labelled that way?
Ignoring that, they made it to a giant, black door in front of them, waiting to be opened. Imura looked at his employer at first. "Go on," he told him. Then so, he did. He pulled the door open slowly, and what revealed next…
was an empty training facility.
Imura looked around, confused. When the door closed behind him, he realized Watou didn't get in with him. Feeling that he had no other choice, he marched deeper into this clear scape, seemingly devoid of any other human being.
Then— from a corridor— "HUAAAAAAA!"
Imura snapped around QUICKLY TO HIS RIGHT.
"HA!" someone swung a metal bat overhand— it dodged him scarily by inches. The man followed it up, "USHA! ORA! HA!" he was actually aiming to hit him clean on his head…
Then Imura saw an opening— he took advantage of it by going for a tackle. But not just any tackle, a wrestling tackle— they both crashed onto the ground with Imura using him as a form of safety plant— the bat went loose off of his unknown opponent's grip. With wide and alert eyes he began to mount. "KCH…HA…." He exhaled.
"TEH..!!!" he began punching the man's face, all the while crying from his throat. He punched, and punched and punched, until the man's nose began to bleed. And before he could punch him again—
"KYEAH!" a hard kick slammed him from the side, causing him to fall off the mount. The pain of a brute's leg filled his side— Imura had to clench it as he groaned.
"Well done, kid. You've just proved you're not just cute…" a strong voice began to talk, one of command, and one of brutality. "You also do not MESS AROUND!"
His arm lifted him up. His breath ragged, he saw the other guy in front of him— and he was a tall no-messer.
A strong build, a confident grin on his face that seemed as though it'd rarely leave, and hair styled a similar way as his. He stood there with folded arms. "Well done, kid. Well done."
Imura got up a bit more, now sitting. Through ragged breaths he asked, "Who're you…?"
The man was quick to reply. "Hideki Akio. Nice to meet 'ya, Kashiwada Imura."
So he knows my name…
And his opponent— who got up after that beatdown like a well-placed act has been performed and said: "Kaito Takizawa. Nice to meet ya." He didn't have a grin.