The Fall and the Gambler

There were only a few minutes left before the twenty-four hours of the ritual expired. The "Iron Skin" was still active, keeping his bones intact, but the spiritual energy sustaining the magic was evaporating from his pores like hot steam.

With every step, Renji felt lighter. But it wasn't a good lightness. It was the lightness of weakness. The density of a tank was being replaced by the fragility of cracked glass.

"Hey! You! The guy from the Blue Corner!"

Renji stopped, bracing a hand against the concrete wall to keep from falling. He looked back.

A woman was running toward him. She wore a tight, designer tracksuit that highlighted an athletic and dangerous musculature. She had short hair dyed an electric purple, and eyes that shone with a predatory intensity.

Renji recognized her from the gym posters. Kaori "The Blade" Tanaka. The rising star of the women's Muay Thai division.

"What is it?" Renji asked, his voice coming out raspy.

Kaori stopped three feet from him, invading his personal space without hesitation. She scanned Renji's face, looking for scars, cuts, swelling. She found nothing.

"I saw your final," she said, direct as a jab. "And I saw the semifinal. And the quarters. Goro hit you hard enough to crack a motorcycle helmet. You took a headbutt to the nose and didn't even bleed."

Renji tried to keep walking. "I drink a lot of milk."

Kaori blocked his path. "Don't give me that crap. I've been fighting since I was six. I know the difference between endurance and... that. Your style is suicidal. You don't block. You offer your body up. It's arrogant. It's stupid."

She paused, and a strange, almost manic smile appeared on her face. "And it was the most exciting thing I've seen all year."

Renji blinked, confused. His vision was starting to blur at the edges. "Sorry, I have to go..."

"I want to train with you," Kaori insisted, grabbing his arm. "I want to know how you do it. I want to know if you're real or if you're just some trick of..."

The moment she touched his arm, the clock struck.

Twenty-four hours.

It was as if someone had cut a puppet's strings. The sensation of power vanished in a snap. And in its place came the pain.

All the pain the magic had suppressed throughout the day—the impacts of Kenta's kicks, the kickboxer's punches, the judoka's grip, Goro's headbutt—crashed down on Renji all at once.

It was a sensory avalanche. His nerves screamed. Renji's legs turned to jelly.

"Hey?" Kaori's expression shifted from excitement to alarm.

Renji couldn't answer. The world spun and went black. The last thing he sensed was the smell of Kaori's citrus perfume and her strong arms trying to catch him before he hit the floor.

"...says he's fine, just needs to sleep for a week. The doctor said it's extreme exhaustion."

"Exhaustion? The guy looks like he got hit by a truck and then ran a marathon."

Renji opened his eyes. The ceiling wasn't the hospital's. It was the damp-stained ceiling of his own apartment.

He tried to sit up, but a groan escaped his lips. It felt like every cell in his body had a hangover.

"He's awake!" a shrill voice shouted.

A round face with thick glasses and a "Seven Hills" convenience store cap appeared in Renji's field of vision.

"Hiroshi?" Renji whispered.

Hiroshi, his night-shift coworker, was sitting on the floor, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and... stacks of cash?

"Renji! You magnificent bastard!" Hiroshi hugged him, making Renji yelp in pain. "Sorry, sorry! But look at this! Look at this mountain of yen!"

Renji looked at the floor. There were bills scattered all over the tatami. A lot of money.

"What did you do?" Renji asked, afraid his friend had robbed the cash register.

"What did I do? I had faith!" Hiroshi adjusted his glasses, beaming. "When I saw your name on the Wildcard list, I went to the underground betting site. The odds against you were 50 to 1. No one believed in the 'Punching Bag.' But I thought: 'Renji is stubborn. Maybe he wins one fight.'"

Hiroshi laughed, throwing bills into the air. "So I bet my month's salary. And you won the first one. I didn't cash out. I let it ride—a parlay. You won the second. The third. And when you knocked out Goro in the final... Renji, we're rich! Well, I'm rich, but you're the reason!"

Renji let his head fall back onto the pillow. "I'm happy for you, Hiroshi. Now you can pay off your Pachinko debts."

"Pay debts? I'm going to invest!" Hiroshi suddenly turned serious. "But seriously... a girl brought you here. Someone named Kaori. She found your address in your wallet. She seemed... worried. And scary. Said if you died, she'd kill you."

Renji groaned. Kaori "The Blade." Great. Now he had a dangerous stalker.

"Hiroshi... I need to ask you a favor," Renji said. "I can't move."

The Master's voice echoed in Renji's mind, faint and distant: The Collapse has begun. For seven days, you will be less than a man. Do not try to fight. Do not try to use magic. Just survive.

"I can't go to work," Renji continued. "If I miss a shift, the manager fires me. And I need the job to keep my amateur athlete visa and..."

"Shhh," Hiroshi placed a finger on Renji's lips. "Say no more. I got you covered."

"What? It's a whole week of double shifts."

"Renji, you just made me enough money to buy a decent used car. I'll do your shifts. I'll mop the floor. I'll heat up the bentos. You stay here, eat pizza, and recover."

Hiroshi stood up and struck a dramatic pose. "You're my racehorse now, Renji. I'm your angel investor. Rest up. The Tournament starts in thirty days. Until then, I'll handle real life. You handle becoming a monster again."

Hiroshi left the apartment, whistling, leaving Renji alone with the pain and the scattered money.

Renji looked at his own wrist. The Warden's mark was gray, inactive.

He had secured the spot. He had a crazy "sponsor." He had a dangerous admirer. And he had a body that felt like it was made of ground glass.

"One week..." Renji whispered, closing his eyes.