The Price of Iron Skin

It was there, sitting on the floor with a bowl of instant ramen going cold, that Renji planned his war.

He stared at the crumpled "Kanto Cup" poster he had torn down from the gym.

"Thirty-two fighters," he murmured, marking the paper with a red pen. "Karateka, judoka, kickboxers, street brawlers. In the 'Wildcard' qualifier, there is no seeding. It's a mess. I could get matched with a 260-pound guy or a dwarf who runs like the wind."

He looked at the black mark on his wrist. It pulsed slowly, like a second vein.

"Master?" Renji called out, feeling like an idiot for talking to his own arm.

The answer didn't come as sound, but as a vibration in the bones of his ear.

— I am listening, Warden. My floating house is very quiet, but your thoughts are loud.

Renji ignored the sarcasm. "I need to negotiate. You said you could optimize my body for the next fight."

— Exactly. What do you desire? The speed of lightning to flee? The strength of a bear to crush?

Renji closed his eyes, visualizing the qualifier ring. It would be a slaughter. He didn't have the technique to knock everyone out, nor the speed to be untouchable forever. His biggest flaw had always been his "glass chin." One solid hit, and his body would shut down.

"I don't need to hit hard," Renji said, opening his eyes. "I need not to fall. If I can stay standing when they hit me, they'll get tired. I want Resilience. I want to be unbreakable."

There was a pause. A dry laugh echoed in his mind.

— A conservative choice. But smart for a cornered rat. Very well. If you want skin as hard as steel, you need to hunt something that possesses that property.

The mark on his wrist heated up, projecting a map of Tokyo into Renji's mind. A red dot glowed in an industrial district near the Arakawa River.

— There is an ancient spirit there. A 'Tetsukui'—Iron Eater. It feeds on abandoned metal and industrial resentment. Its body is compacted scrap. Its soul is dense. Bring me its essence, and I will make your bones as hard as construction beams.

Renji gulped down the rest of the noodles, cold by now. He grabbed the stack of black seals, pulled on a dark hoodie, and laced up his worn-out running shoes.

"Iron Eater..." he tested the name. "Sounds fun."

The Arakawa junkyard was a labyrinth of stacked car carcasses and mountains of rusted appliances. The full moon reflected off the metal, creating shadows that looked like teeth.

Renji hopped the barbed-wire fence, landing silently on the oil-soaked dirt. The smell was strong—rust, gasoline, and something rotten, like spoiled eggs.

— It is close, the Master whispered. — Use your eyes, boy.

Renji focused. His spiritual sight activated, and the world took on that grainy, gray tone. And there, in the middle of a pile of hydraulic presses, he saw it.

It wasn't an organic monster. It looked like a giant hermit crab, but its "shell" was made of crumpled car doors, exhaust pipes, and motorcycle chains. The center glowed with a pulsating orange core—the soul.

The Tetsukui dragged itself along on six legs made of steel rebar, crushing a washing machine with hydraulic claws.

Renji felt cold sweat. I have to fight that? With my bare hands?

— The seal only works if the entity is weakened or distracted, the Master reminded him. — If you try to slap that on now, it will slice your arm off.

Renji took a deep breath. Okay. It's just a heavy opponent. Slow. Predictable.

He picked up an iron bar from the ground—an improvised weapon just for the hunt. He struck the chassis of an old bus with force.

CLANG!

The creature stopped. The heap of scrap turned. Two car headlights, serving as eyes, flared with a furious red light. With a screech of twisting metal, the Tetsukui charged.

For something made of trash, it was terrifyingly fast.

Renji rolled to the left, feeling the wind displaced by the metal claw that passed inches from his head. The claw slammed into an old refrigerator and tore it in half as if it were paper.

"Shit!" Renji yelled.

He ran down the aisle of stacked cars, the monster on his heels, knocking over piles of metal.

Think, Renji. Think!

He couldn't trade blows. If he tried to block, he'd break his arms. He needed to expose the core.

The Tetsukui attacked again, a straight thrust with a rebar leg. Renji used his footwork, pivoting his body out of the line of attack.

"Hey, old tin can!" Renji threw the iron bar. It hit the "shell" and ricocheted off harmlessly.

The creature roared—a sound of metal tearing metal—and reared up on its hind legs to crush Renji with its body weight.

That was the opening.

When the creature lifted its "chest," Renji saw the orange glow between the rusted metal plates. It was a small gap, protected by a radiator grille.

Renji didn't retreat. He advanced.

He slid across the oily ground, passing under the creature just as it came down. The weight of tons of scrap crashed where he had been a second ago, shaking the ground.

Renji scrambled up onto the creature's back.

"Sorry, but I need your shell!" he shouted.

With adrenaline spiking, Renji reached into his pocket, pulled out a black seal, and in a suicidal move, jammed his arm inside the metal structure, through an opening near the beast's "neck."

The metal sliced the skin of his forearm. The heat of the core burned his hand.

But he touched the essence. And stuck the seal.

BAM!

It was like pulling the plug on a machine. The orange glow in the headlight eyes extinguished instantly. The scrap structure lost its magical cohesion and collapsed.

Renji jumped back, landing on his back in the dirt as the mountain of trash fell inert before him.

Amidst the wreckage, the black seal floated. It was no longer matte paper. Now it glowed with veins of orange light, heavy as lead.

Renji stood up, clutching his bleeding arm. He was panting, covered in oil and blood, but alive.

He reached for the seal, and as soon as his fingers touched it, he felt the absurd density of the object. It weighed ten pounds.

"I did it..." he was about to press the seal against his own wrist, eager for the power.

— Stop! — the Master's voice cracked like a whip.

Renji froze. "What? I caught it. It's mine."

— Don't be reckless. The energy contained in that seal would crush your bones if you absorbed it like that, the Master explained. — Bring me the seal. We need to perform the Infusion Ritual at my house.

Renji stowed the heavy seal in his backpack, feeling the weight on his spine. "Ritual? How long does it take?"

— One hour of deep meditation while I stitch the essence into your spirit, the Master replied. — And listen carefully, Warden: this magic is not permanent. Once infused, the 'Iron Skin' will last exactly twenty-four hours.

Renji stopped at the exit of the junkyard, looking at the moon. "Only one day?"

— And after the effect wears off, the Master continued, relentless, — your body will enter spiritual collapse. You will be unable to receive any other blessing for a full week. One vulnerable week. One deadly week.

Renji swallowed hard. The cost was high. If he used the magic now, it would run out long before the tournament. And if he miscalculated, he would enter the ring in full collapse.

"Got it," Renji said, tightening the strap of his backpack. "I have to save this for the exact moment."

He looked at the illuminated city in the distance. Thirty days until the Wildcard. He had the fuel in his backpack. Now, he just needed to survive until then.

"Prepare the tea, Master," Renji said, walking into the darkness. "Before the first fight, I'll pay you a visit.".