1.Find Me

Smack!

The dry sound of a fist against skin echoed throughout the venue.

Smack! Smack!

The old ring boards creaked beneath the fighters' movements.

The place had once been a respectable gym.

Now, the concrete walls were stained by years of dampness. Old metal structures crossed the ceiling, and several industrial lamps hung above the ring, concentrating all their light on the canvas while the rest of the venue remained in a grayish dimness.

The smell didn't help either.

Sweat.

Tobacco.

Wet wood.

Spilled alcohol.

And that metallic smell of blood that Izan already knew too well.

There were no cameras.

No commentators.

No giant screens showing the fight.

Just a worn ring, spectators too close to the ropes, and two people hitting each other as if their lives depended on it.

Although for one of them...

maybe it really was.

—Come on, Izan! Move!

The voice came from somewhere behind him.

Izan Elior barely heard it.

His arms were raised in front of his face, though every second it became harder to keep them there.

His breathing was heavy.

His lungs burned.

Every time he tried to fill his chest with air, it felt as though someone were squeezing his ribs.

His dark hair was partially stuck to his forehead with sweat, sometimes hiding his mismatched eyes.

He's tired.

His opponent kept his fists raised in front of his face.

So am I.

A drop of sweat ran down to Izan's eyebrow.

He blinked.

Just for an instant.

One damn instant.

His opponent's right shoulder moved.

Izan saw it.

His brain did too.

But his body couldn't react.

—Shi—

CRACK!

The fist landed directly on his jaw.

Izan's head snapped violently to the side.

For a fraction of a second, everything disappeared.

The noise.

The pain.

The shouting.

Even the feeling of the floor beneath his feet.

Only a strange lightness remained.

And then...

darkness.

◆

—Follow me...

A voice.

Izan opened his eyes.

He couldn't see anything.

—What...?

—Run...

A figure was moving away from him.

That was all he could make out.

Every time he tried to focus on its face, its silhouette seemed to distort in the darkness.

—Wait.

He tried to walk.

His legs didn't respond.

—Wait!

The figure kept moving farther away.

—Find me.

A chill ran down Izan's spine.

That word.

Again.

—Ah...

He understood.

—It's this dream again...

How many times had he had it?

Ten.

Twenty.

Maybe a hundred.

Always the same.

A voice he didn't recognize.

A face he could never see.

And those three things.

Follow me.

Run.

Find me.

Izan let out a breath.

—How many more times am I going to dream about this...?

Then he heard something else.

A different voice.

Much farther away.

—...eight!

Izan frowned.

—Nine!

The darkness began to crack apart.

The pain returned first.

An unbearable jolt ran through his jaw.

Then he remembered.

—Wait...

—TEN!

Ah.

I lost...

—K.O.!

◆

When he opened his eyes again, one of the ceiling lamps blinded him.

Several blurry figures were leaning over him.

Beyond them, he could make out the metal framework of the ceiling and shadows peering down from the upper levels of the venue.

—Can you hear me?

Izan blinked.

—Unfortunately.

—How many fingers do you see?

—Get off me, I'm fine!

One of the men let out a small laugh.

Izan didn't.

He had lost.

Again.

◆

The locker room was only slightly better than the ring.

A row of metal lockers covered almost an entire wall. Some were rusted around the corners; others didn't close properly.

An old fluorescent lamp buzzed above his head.

Bzzzz...

Used towels hung from some of the doors.

Bottles.

Bandages.

A couple of backpacks.

From the corridor connecting to the arena, the muffled shouting of the crowd and the occasional clang of the bell could still be heard.

Izan remained seated on a metal bench.

A towel rested around his neck, and both of his knuckles were still wrapped in worn bandages.

He held an ice pack against his jaw.

—Tch...

It hurt.

A lot.

But he could handle it.

Physical pain had never been particularly difficult for him.

There were worse things.

He pulled his phone from his backpack.

The screen partially lit his face.

17 missed calls.

Izan stared at them.

—Great...

Three were from the owner of the tiny apartment he rented.

Several came from unknown numbers.

Probably lenders.

He didn't even need to check the rest.

Blocking one number only meant another appeared the next day.

—The landlord again... and the lenders won't stop looking for me.

He let his head fall back against the lockers.

Clang.

He closed his eyes.

—I need to do something soon.

That night's fight was supposed to help him pay off some of his problems.

Supposed to.

After losing, what he would receive would barely be enough to keep him going for a few days.

Maybe a little longer if he decided breakfast was an unnecessary habit.

Izan let out a small laugh.

—I guess some things never change...

He looked up at the fluorescent lamp that flickered occasionally above him.

And a memory returned.

From a time when he didn't even have a roof over his head.

◆

The rain fell so hard that the streetlights blurred behind a thin curtain of water.

Izan walked hunched over through a narrow alley.

Old buildings rose on both sides, packed so tightly together that they barely allowed a glimpse of the night sky. Fire escapes climbed their brick facades, old pipes ran down the walls, and electrical cables stretched from one building to another.

Water spilled from broken gutters.

Splash.

His sneakers stepped through another puddle.

—Disgusting...

His shirt was damp beneath his hoodie.

His pants clung to his legs.

Dark strands of hair hung over his face.

Even his backpack was starting to soak through.

At that point, it would have been easier to name which part of him was still dry.

None of it.

Thunder lit the alley for a moment.

Izan looked up.

An outdoor lamp cast a small circle of light over a metal door.

Farther ahead were dumpsters and a set of steps partly sheltered by a building's overhang.

He needed to find somewhere to spend the night.

He wasn't asking for much.

The back entrance of a restaurant.

An abandoned building.

Some stairs like those.

Anything that would keep him out of the rain.

Getting sick wasn't an option.

Not because he was especially worried about his health.

The reason was far more practical.

If I get sick, I can't work.

If I can't work, there's no money.

If there's no money, I don't eat.

Pretty simple logic.

Cruel.

But simple.

Back then, he found temporary work at construction sites.

Carrying sacks.

Moving materials.

Cleaning debris.

Anything someone was willing to pay him for.

He ate when he could.

Worked whenever he found somewhere willing to hire him.

Slept wherever the night allowed.

It wasn't a good life.

But it was his.

Izan finally found a small awning in front of a closed shop and took shelter beneath it.

The rain struck the pavement only a few inches in front of his shoes.

Thousands of tiny drops burst against the puddles.

—Why only me...?

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

He hated it.

Because it had no answer.

He had met abandoned kids.

Orphans.

People who had lost almost everything.

But nearly all of them still had something.

A story.

The memory of a mother.

A father.

A brother.

A photograph.

Izan had nothing.

He didn't even truly know where his last name had come from.

Elior.

A word.

That was all he had connecting him to a past that seemed not to exist.

He had searched.

Civil records.

Hospitals.

Authorities.

Nothing, except the memory of his own name.

For a while he had lived in shelters.

It hadn't lasted long.

He hated the pitying looks.

The overly gentle voices.

The condescension.

Adults looked at him as if he were a wounded animal waiting for someone to decide to take him home.

And the kids...

Well.

Kids could be even worse.

The older ones stole food from the younger ones.

Hit them.

Humiliated them.

Izan always ended up getting involved.

One fight.

Then another.

And another.

For a long time he convinced himself that he simply hated bullies.

As he got older, he realized it wasn't quite that noble.

Helping someone made him feel good.

That was all.

For a few minutes, he could pretend he was useful for something.

That his existence had some kind of purpose.

Even if it was small.

Even if it was selfish.

It was enough.

A gust of wind swept through the alley.

—Tch!

Something flew past his face.

The paper slapped against his leg.

Izan looked down.

A flyer.

He almost kicked it back into the street.

But the picture printed on it caught his attention.

He picked it up.

A massive city took up almost the entire page.

Glass towers.

Wide avenues.

Parks surrounded by buildings.

Advertising screens.

Architecture so clean and enormous that it seemed to belong to a completely different world from the alley where he stood.

Across the photo, it read:

STELLA METROPOLIS

DEVELOPMENT. ECONOMY. FUTURE.

LIVE HERE.

Izan stared at the words.

—Future...?

A mocking smile appeared on his face.

—What a joke.

He crumpled the paper slightly.

—How can you promise something that arrogant?

He looked back at the photograph.

Then his smile disappeared.

There was something strange about it.

Those towers.

The layout of the buildings.

The city's silhouette.

Something...

familiar.

Izan frowned.

No.

Impossible.

He had never been there.

...Had he?

—I'm tired.

He put the flyer away.

He found some steps partially sheltered by the overhang of one of the buildings.

He set his backpack against the wall.

Placed a piece of cardboard over the damp step and sat down.

The lights from the buildings reflected off the wet pavement.

Red.

White.

Yellow.

Everything distorted by the rain.

Izan used his backpack as a pillow.

—Better try to sleep.

He closed his eyes.

And then...

◆

—Get in the car! Hurry!

Izan opened his eyes.

It wasn't raining anymore.

He was inside a car.

—What...?

Colored lights swept across the windows.

The vehicle moved at an absurd speed between gigantic buildings.

Huge screens covered some of the facades.

Elevated bridges connected sections of the city above the avenues.

Glass towers vanished into the sky.

—Who are you?

Izan tried to look at the driver.

He couldn't see their face.

There was someone beside him.

Every time he tried to focus, their silhouettes seemed to distort.

—What's going on?

No one answered.

The car gradually left the main avenues behind.

The city began to recede.

Izan turned toward the rear window.

And saw it.

A gigantic metropolis stretching to the horizon.

Thousands of lights.

Towers.

An enormous structure rising among the buildings.

Beautiful.

But also...

familiar.

I know this place.

—Wait...

He blinked.

Only once.

And everything changed.

◆

Heat.

Unbearable heat.

Izan opened his eyes.

Fire.

The walls were covered in flames.

Smoke descended from the ceiling and burned his throat.

—Cough...! Cough!

He stumbled backward.

His foot hit something.

A body.

Izan froze.

There was another farther ahead.

And another.

He couldn't see their faces.

He didn't want to.

—Izan!

That voice.

—Run!

The ceiling groaned.

A burning beam crashed down behind him.

BOOM!

Izan covered himself instinctively.

—Hurry!

He started running.

—Who are you?!

The flames rose on both sides.

—What's happening?!

The only answer was that voice moving farther away.

—Follow me!

—Wait!

The ceiling began to collapse.

Through the smoke, a figure appeared in front of him.

Izan reached out a hand.

This time...

he could almost see it.

—WAIT!

The silhouette turned slightly.

And just before he could make out its face—

—Find me.

◆

Izan's eyes snapped open.

—AH!

He sat up.

The rain was still falling.

The alley.

The pipes.

The old metal door.

The yellowish light above the stairs.

Everything was still there.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Izan placed a hand over his chest.

His heart felt like it was trying to break through his ribs.

—Again...

He looked at his hands.

They were trembling.

Then he remembered.

The car.

The towers.

The city.

He slowly turned toward his backpack.

The flyer lay beside it.

He picked it up.

STELLA METROPOLIS.

Izan stared at the photograph.

Then remembered the dream.

The towers.

The avenues.

The enormous structure in the center.

His expression changed.

—No way...

It was the same.

Exactly the same city.

But there was one small problem.

Izan had never been to Stella Metropolis.

At least...

not that he remembered.

◆

Getting to Stella wasn't as easy as simply deciding to go.

After that night, Izan spent weeks saving practically every kiul he earned.

If before he barely ate once a day, now even that had become a luxury.

He learned which restaurants threw away food that was still edible.

Which charities served meals.

Which markets discarded fruit at the end of the day.

There were nights when he ate absolutely nothing.

But he never touched his savings.

Not once.

Until he had enough.

A ticket.

One way.

To Stella.

◆

The station opened directly onto one of the metropolis's main arteries.

Izan stepped out among dozens of travelers.

And stopped.

—Whoa...

The photograph hadn't done it justice.

The buildings seemed endless.

Glass towers rose on either side of the avenue, reflecting pieces of sky between enormous illuminated advertisements.

Pedestrian bridges connected some buildings several floors above the street.

Vehicles moved constantly through the roads.

People crossed in every direction.

Suits.

Uniforms.

Clothes Izan could never afford.

The noise of the city came from everywhere.

Engines.

Conversations.

Advertisements.

Footsteps.

Izan kept turning his head as though afraid he might miss something.

—So this is Stella...

A woman walked past him.

Izan followed her with his eyes.

Two pointed ears protruded through her hair.

—Huh?

Farther ahead he saw a man with a fur-covered tail.

Then another person with vertical pupils.

And then...

—Are those... horns?

Demi-humans.

He had heard about them.

He had never seen one.

Much less so many walking among humans as if it were completely normal.

The strange thing was...

They didn't seem that strange to him.

Izan frowned.

Then—

Grrrrrrrr.

Izan slowly lowered his gaze.

—...

His stomach growled again.

A few people looked over.

Izan shoved his hands into his pockets.

One coin.

Nothing else.

He checked the other pocket.

Empty.

Then checked the first one again.

As if looking a second time might somehow make money appear.

Nothing.

—What am I supposed to do now?

He looked up at the massive towers.

—I spent all my money just getting here!

Several people looked at him strangely after the shout.

—...You didn't have to look at me like that.

◆

The next few days were considerably less impressive.

Construction sites.

Warehouses.

Workshops.

Small shops.

Izan tried his luck at all of them.

But Stella didn't work like the places where he'd worked before.

Everything was regulated.

Identification.

Minimum age.

Citizen registration.

Permits.

Contracts.

Things Izan simply didn't have. After all, he came from a small town where, for better or worse, people already knew him.

—Documents?

—No.

—Work registration?

—Nope.

—Are you an adult?

Izan hesitated.

—Uh... I look older than I am, heh heh.

The answer was always the same.

—Sorry, kid.

One door closed.

Then another.

And another.

◆

One night he ended up sitting in another alley.

Stella was still glowing only a few streets away, but there the enormous towers were hidden behind old industrial buildings.

A lamp partially illuminated the wall.

Dumpsters.

Pipes.

A metal door.

Puddles of dirty water collected in the cracks of the pavement.

Izan sat against the wall with his arms resting on his knees.

He held a small coin between his fingers.

—Maybe coming all the way here was stupid...

—What am I supposed to do?

He closed his hand.

No.

He had come too far to think like that.

—What am I going to do tomorrow...?

Then he heard a roar.

This time, it wasn't coming from his stomach.

—STEP RIGHT UP! STEP RIGHT UP!

Izan raised his head.

The sound was coming from the building he was leaning against.

—What...?

—OPEN-WEIGHT FIGHTS!

Shouting.

The clink of glasses.

Fists pounding tables.

People cheering.

—TONIGHT'S CHALLENGER! KANTO KRUGER VERSUS MAXWELL NOCH!

Izan raised an eyebrow.

—Fights?

He had no money.

Nowhere to sleep.

And definitely nothing better to do.

Besides...

The emergency door he was leaning against wasn't locked.

Izan looked both ways.

—Well...

He shrugged.

—Technically, nobody said I couldn't go in.

◆

The inside looked nothing like the alley.

The building was huge.

An old industrial space had been transformed into an underground fighting arena.

Several floors surrounded a central open space, and on every level the railings were packed with spectators leaning over to see the ring below.

Metal structures crossed the ceiling.

Dozens of spotlights hung from them, flooding the canvas with brutal white light while the rest of the building remained buried in smoke and shadow.

The concrete walls were stained.

The columns were covered in dents, graffiti, and dampness.

The crowd occupied practically any place from which the ring could be seen.

Some stood right against the ropes.

Others watched from the upper floors.

Bills changed hands constantly.

—FIVE HUNDRED ON NOCH!

—A THOUSAND!

—KRUGER WON'T MAKE IT PAST THE FIRST ROUND!

Izan managed to push his way through the crowd.

Then he saw the fighters.

And immediately understood the bets.

—No way...

Maxwell Noch was gigantic.

More than two meters tall and around one hundred and fifty kilos of muscle.

He wore a black sleeveless shirt that barely managed to contain his torso. His right arm was almost completely covered by a massive dark tattoo, and several scars crossed his face.

Dirty blond hair and a short beard only reinforced the impression of a man who seemed to have spent half his life getting into fights.

Standing across from him was Kanto Kruger.

He wasn't small.

In fact, he was taller than most men in the building.

But next to Noch, he looked almost ordinary.

His black hair fell messily over his face, and one of his arms was covered from shoulder to wrist in an intricate tattoo of dark and reddish tones.

He wore a white sleeveless shirt and black pants.

And he was smiling.

Not nervously.

Not confidently.

Enjoying it.

His reddish eyes were locked on Noch as if the size difference meant absolutely nothing.

Izan crossed his arms.

—Well...

He looked at the giant.

Then at Kanto.

—This'll be over fast.

The bell rang.

CLANG!

Noch moved forward.

He had no reason to be afraid.

Kanto calmly raised his guard.

Noch threw a jab.

Maybe to measure his opponent's skill.

Looking for a reaction, an opening from which he could build a strategy for the rest of the fight.

Then—

Izan's eyes widened slightly.

Something changed.

He saw it.

That energy he always perceived around people shifted.

Kanto's aura flowed through his body.

It concentrated in his arm.

One instant.

One movement.

BOOM!

Noch fell.

One hundred and fifty kilos slammed into the canvas hard enough to make the ropes tremble.

Silence.

The whole building seemed to stop for half a second.

Then...

it exploded.

—WHAT?!

—NOCH IS DOWN!

—KANTO! KANTO! KANTO!

Spectators on the upper floors pounded the railings.

Those below screamed against the ropes.

Bills flew through the air.

Izan stood still.

—It was obvious.

The person beside him looked over.

—Obvious?

Izan didn't even answer.

To him, it had been.

Because he had seen something the others couldn't appreciate with their eyes.

The aura.

It had always been there.

Around everyone.

He had never thought much about it.

To Izan, it was as normal as noticing someone's height or hair color.

But this time...

it was different.

Kanto's was much more intense.

Denser.

He couldn't think of another way to describe it.

Kanto had gathered that energy into his fist.

And then knocked Noch down with a single punch.

Kanto raised both arms.

—IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?!

The crowd answered.

—COME ON!

He pounded his own chest.

—ANYONE WHO WANTS TO STEP UP, STEP UP!

One of the men in his corner tried to stop him.

—Kanto, that's enough.

—ANYONE WHO LANDS A SINGLE HIT ON ME...!

Kanto raised one finger.

—GETS TEN THOUSAND KIULS!

Izan stopped breathing.

—Ten thousand kiuls...?

His mind immediately started doing the math.

Food.

A room.

Months without sleeping in an alley.

He looked at the betting money.

Then at Kanto.

I only have to hit him.

His common sense intervened.

He's going to kill you.

Izan slowly nodded.

—Good point.

Grrrrrrrr.

—...

He looked at the prize again.

—Although...

◆

—Hey!

Several people turned.

Izan was already inside the ring.

Even he didn't know when he had made the decision.

Maybe desperation.

Maybe instinct.

Or maybe he was simply an idiot.

Probably all three.

—Uh... ha, ha...

He raised a hand.

—I just have to hit you once, right?

Kanto looked at him.

First at his face.

Then his eyes traveled over Izan's thin body, worn clothes, and old sneakers.

—You?

Izan pointed at himself.

—Me.

Some people laughed.

Kanto didn't.

—Listen to me, kid.

He stepped closer.

Even Izan had to lift his gaze slightly.

—I'm going to be nice to you because you clearly don't know what you're getting into. Get out of the ring and I'll let you walk away before you get hurt.

Izan scratched the back of his neck.

—Wow. You are pretty nice.

His eyes dropped to Kanto's fists.

Then to his aura.

—But if I only have to hit you once...

He looked back at him.

—I think I can do it.

Silence.

Ah.

Izan noticed the change in his expression.

He got mad.

Kanto smiled.

But his eyes didn't.

—DID YOU HEAR THAT?!

He spread his arms toward the entire venue.

—THIS KID ACTUALLY THINKS HE CAN TOUCH ME!

The crowd burst into laughter.

—Fine.

Kanto took a fighting stance.

—Let's see what you're made of.

◆

The staff took Izan to a corner.

They wrapped his hands and lent him a proper pair of fighting shorts.

—Kid.

—Hm?

—You don't have to do this.

Izan kept watching Kanto.

—Uh-huh.

—I'm serious. No one's beaten him.

—I don't have to beat him.

—That's not the point.

Another man finished tightening his wraps.

—He could send you to the hospital.

Izan closed his fist.

—There's a crowd, right?

He chose to ignore the comments and focus on the fight.

The man fell silent.

Izan took a deep breath.

He was afraid.

Of course he was afraid.

He wasn't stupid.

Well.

Not that stupid.

But he had already made his decision.

◆

—IN THIS CORNER... IZAN ELIOR!

A few scattered claps.

More laughter than applause.

—AND IN THE OTHER... KANTO KRUGER!

The place exploded.

CLANG!

The bell rang.

Izan immediately raised his guard.

But he didn't advance.

Kanto, on the other hand, immediately closed the distance, moving fiercely toward him.

One step forward.

And Izan stepped back.

Another step.

Izan stepped back again.

I can't take a direct hit.

He knew it perfectly well.

He had seen what Kanto did to Noch.

But he had also seen something else.

His aura.

Right before striking, that energy had concentrated in his fist.

If he does it again...

Maybe Izan could anticipate it.

He only needed one hit.

One.

Kanto smiled.

And disappeared.

From one moment to the next, Izan lost sight of the man who had been only inches away.

Izan's eyes widened.

—What...?

No.

He hadn't disappeared.

He had moved.

Too fast.

How can a human move like that?

Kanto was already in front of him.

Izan stepped back instinctively.

Throwing a pull without considering his position in the ring.

The ropes hit his back.

Nooo! This is bad.

He had no room.

Kanto was on top of him.

It's over.

Izan threw a desperate right uppercut.

Trying to take advantage of Kanto's sudden positioning and catch him off guard.

Kanto moved his head.

Nothing more.

The fist passed beside his face.

—Slow.

Kanto vanished from his field of vision again.

Left. He has to be on my left.

Izan had noticed Kanto was left-handed. If he wanted to attack, he would begin from that side.

Just like he had against Noch.

Izan tried to turn.

Too late.

He saw the fist coming toward his head.

He couldn't dodge it.

This is it.

And then—

Find me.

Izan's eyes widened.

That voice.

Again.

He didn't know why he thought of it at that moment.

But his body moved.

If he couldn't dodge...

Then he would reduce the distance.

Izan drove his forehead toward the punch.

BAM!

The world turned white.

His legs disappeared beneath him.

He dropped to his knees.

—AGH...!

The canvas rushed dangerously close.

But he planted both hands down.

He didn't fall.

Not completely.

It hurts.

It felt as if his head had been split open.

But he was conscious.

Because he had seen it.

Right before the impact.

The aura.

It had traveled through Kanto's body toward his fist.

That tiny warning had given him the instant he needed to react.

Kanto was already walking back toward his corner.

—THAT EASY?!

The crowd roared.

Until someone shouted.

—WAIT!

Kanto stopped.

The shouting gradually died down.

Izan was getting back up.

First one leg.

Then the other.

Staggering.

—Hey...

He spat blood onto the canvas.

And smiled.

—Wasn't I supposed to win with one hit?

Kanto looked at him.

Izan raised both fists.

And returned to his guard.

—I'M STILL STANDING!

His smile disappeared.

—AND I'M NOT GIVING UP YET!

CLANG!

The fight continued.

This time Izan attacked first.

He understood that under these conditions, the first person to attack had the advantage.

With such a disadvantage, Kanto couldn't afford to be careless.

Izan moved in as fast as he could, searching for any opening.

Just one hit. Just one!

—AH!

Right.

Left.

Sidestep.

Jab.

Kanto blocked.

Izan kept going.

He couldn't give him time.

Kanto was better.

Stronger.

More experienced.

And definitely more dangerous.

But Izan had something.

Desperation.

He attacked from strange angles, constantly changed his rhythm, and used his legs to move in and out of Kanto's range.

One.

Two.

Three punches.

None landed.

But Kanto wasn't smiling anymore.

What the hell is wrong with this kid?

He had taken one of Kanto's punches.

He should have been unconscious.

Yet he was still moving.

Kanto remained calm.

It didn't matter.

The kid would tire out.

And sure enough...

Izan started breathing faster.

His movements slowed.

His legs grew heavy.

I can't keep this up...

Kanto saw it.

Now.

He moved in.

Jab.

Izan dodged at the last second.

Cross.

—Gah!

The punch partially broke through his guard.

Another.

Another.

Another.

Izan stepped back.

Every impact made his arms vibrate.

Heavy.

He had fought many times.

He knew how to take punches.

But this was different.

It was like trying to block hammer blows.

It felt as though his arms might explode at any moment.

But dropping his guard would be even worse.

Even so...

He didn't take his eyes off Kanto.

Show me.

Another punch.

Come on.

Another.

Do it.

Kanto stepped back.

Izan saw it.

At that moment, the aura changed.

The energy began to flow through his body.

Now.

Kanto threw his left.

A loaded punch.

To the crowd, it happened in less than a second.

But Izan already knew it was coming.

He moved his head.

The fist passed beside him.

And he answered.

A simple jab.

Nothing flashy.

Nothing powerful.

Smack.

Izan's fist landed cleanly on Kanto's face.

Silence.

Kanto didn't even step back.

The punch had barely hurt him.

But his eyes were wide open.

So were Izan's.

—...

He looked at his own fist.

Then at Kanto.

Then at the crowd.

And raised both arms.

—I DID IT!

Silence.

—HA! TEN THOUSAND KIULS!

Nobody answered.

—What? Why's everyone so qui—?

Izan turned toward Kanto.

He saw a fist.

Large.

Wrapped.

Very close to his face.

—Oh.

BOOM!

Darkness.

◆

When Izan woke up, the place was almost empty.

—Ugh...

He tried to sit up.

Bad idea.

The world started spinning.

—Easy, kid.

An older man was sitting near him.

Izan touched his head.

—Am I dead?

—No.

—Disappointing.

The man burst out laughing.

—You did a good job.

He held out a small envelope.

—Here. You earned it.

Izan took it.

Opened it.

His eyes lit up.

—Seriously...?

Ten thousand kiuls.

They were there.

For real.

Izan pressed the envelope against his chest.

—Thanks...

—Don't thank me. You earned it.

The man began putting away some equipment.

—By the way, kid.

—Yeah?

—We've got another event next month.

Izan looked up.

—If you're interested, come back here and find me.

The man pointed toward the empty ring.

—I'll work your corner.

Izan remained silent.

—Though next time, the entry fee is on you.

—Entry fee?

The man smiled.

—Welcome to underground fighting, kid.

◆

Izan would soon learn how the place worked.

It wasn't complicated.

The two fighters agreed on a prize.

Each had to put up half.

They also paid for their respective corners and a small participation fee.

The winner took the prize.

The loser...

Well.

The loser took the punches.

It was a place where bored rich people, mercenaries, criminals, desperate poor people, and complete idiots gambled their money.

Izan probably belonged to the last two categories.

But there was something that made him different from many of them.

He needed the money.

And he had discovered he could earn it by fighting.

That night he made ten thousand kiuls.

Then came other fights.

Some wins.

Some losses.

More money.

More bruises.

Until, without realizing it, the alleys stopped being his only option.

He got a room.

He kept searching for answers about Stella.

But as time passed, the reason he had come began to fade into the background.

Because in Stella he found something he hadn't expected: comfort.

And he kept fighting so he could stay there.

For two years.

Until that night.

After his defeat, Izan was once again sitting in that locker room.

The fluorescent light continued to buzz.

The metal lockers reflected fragments of its sickly white glow.

Through the open door, part of the corridor leading to the arena could be seen.

People occasionally passed by.

Trainers.

Fighters.

Workers carrying boxes.

But no one paid any attention to Izan.

He was still sitting on the same bench, elbows on his knees and the ice pack against his jaw.

Thinking.

If I could win...

Just for accepting the glove condition...

Izan had agreed to use much heavier gloves, almost 20 oz, compared to his opponent's 8 oz.

If he won, they would pay him more.

Rent was due.

Debts were piling up.

And he had just lost the exact fight he had been counting on to ease some of those problems.

—Well...

Izan looked up at the ceiling.

—That went incredibly well.

At first it had been different.

He had made money quickly.

Not a fortune.

But compared with sleeping in alleys, it had seemed almost too good to be true.

And that had been exactly the problem.

He got used to it.

The wins brought better opponents.

Stronger ones.

More experienced ones.

Izan got overconfident.

He got comfortable.

He had lost that desperation that once forced him to find a solution no matter what stood in front of him.

And now he was paying the price for his laziness.

Literally.

—Tch...

He scratched his hair.

—What am I supposed to do now?

Then he noticed movement at the entrance to the locker room.

Tap.

Tap.

Dress shoes.

Izan raised his head.

A man was walking toward him.

The first thing that stood out was his height.

He was quite short.

The second thing...

Everything else.

A long black coat fell over an immaculate three-piece suit with subtle vertical stripes. As he walked, the inside of the coat revealed a dark lining decorated with fine patterns.

A tie in the same tone broke up the black monotony of his clothes.

Watch.

Rings.

A gold chain crossing his vest.

And over one eye, a thin gold-rimmed lens held by a chain.

His dark hair, streaked with gray, was carefully slicked back, though a couple of strands fell near his forehead.

A short, perfectly groomed beard framed his jaw.

He looked to be somewhere in his mid-fifties.

And absolutely nothing about him fit in that locker room.

Izan looked down at his own ripped pants.

Then at the man's suit.

Then back at him.

Who the hell is this guy?

The stranger stopped in front of the bench.

—Who are you? —Izan asked—. Who let you in here?

—Easy, young man. I only wish to speak with you.

Izan narrowed his eyes.

—Uh-huh... and?

The man smiled.

He placed one hand over his chest.

One of his rings caught the fluorescent light.

Then he gave a slight bow.

—My name is Arthur Stack.

His tone and movements were so refined that for a moment it looked as though he were greeting Izan in an elegant ballroom rather than a locker room that smelled of sweat and rusted metal.

—At your service.

Izan stared at him.

Arthur held the bow.

—...

—...

Izan slowly raised a hand.

—Uh... Izan.

Arthur straightened.

—I know.

Izan lowered his hand.

—That doesn't make this any less weird.

A small smile appeared on Arthur's face.

—I have a proposal for you. I'd like to invite you to a small event taking place next week.

—Another fight?

—Something like that.

—Pass.

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

—You haven't even heard the full proposal.

Izan pointed at his bruised face.

—I think my face has heard enough for one day.

Then he shrugged.

—Besides, I can't afford the entry fee right now.

—You needn't worry about that. This event has no participation fee.

Izan narrowed his eyes.

That had caught his attention.

—Free?

—Free.

—That sounds suspicious.

—You may think of it as more of a tournament.

Izan tilted his head slightly.

—A boxing tournament?

Arthur remained silent for a few seconds.

Then he burst out laughing.

—Ha, ha, ha!

Izan frowned.

—What?

—Boxing? No, no, young man. Nothing of the sort.

Arthur's smile remained, though his tone shifted slightly.

—I'm talking about real fights.

Izan stopped touching his jaw.

Arthur continued:

—Actual fights. Without the restrictions you're used to.

He held Izan's gaze.

—Anything goes.

Izan stayed silent for a few seconds.

—...

Arthur tilted his head slightly.

—Are you interested?

—Before that...

Izan pointed at him.

—Why me?

Arthur didn't answer immediately.

Izan rested his arms on his knees again.

—It's not like I'm exactly on a winning streak. You literally just watched me lose.

—I know.

—And you still came looking for me?

—Indeed.

Izan narrowed his eyes.

—This is starting to sound more and more like a kidnapping.

Arthur smiled.

—Let's just say that for this event, we're looking for people who are... special.

During the previous fight, Arthur had been watching from a distance.

It wasn't Izan's strength that had caught his attention.

Nor his technique.

Much less the result of the match.

It had been something much smaller.

Something probably no one else had noticed.

From one of the sections near the ring, Arthur had followed every movement closely.

During one of Izan's opponent's attacks, that energy had concentrated.

The aura had moved through his body.

Gathered before the impact.

And then...

Izan's eyes reacted.

Arthur had seen it clearly.

Izan had started moving before the punch had been fully thrown.

Once could be coincidence.

Twice...

luck.

But it had happened too many times.

Arthur calmly rested one hand on his cane while a small smile formed on his face.

So you can see it...

◆

Arthur slipped one hand inside his suit.

—Here.

He pulled out a small card and held it toward Izan.

Izan took it.

—If you're interested in my proposal, call me.

Izan looked at the card.

Then at Arthur.

Then back at the card.

—That's it?

—Were you expecting something else?

—I don't know. An explanation, maybe.

Arthur smiled.

—You'll receive one if you decide to participate.

He turned away.

The sound of his shoes once again echoed through the locker room.

Tap.

Tap.

Izan remained seated, watching him leave.

The elegant man looked even more out of place as he walked between dented lockers, used wraps, and metal benches.

—What a weird old man...

Arthur didn't answer.

He kept walking until he disappeared through the door.

Izan looked down at the card.

He held it between two fingers.

Turned it over.

Looked at it again.

A tournament with no entry fee, huh...

Fights where anything goes.

And he's specifically looking for people who are “special.”

Izan had spent too much time moving through unpleasant places to easily trust an offer like that.

He narrowed his eyes.

—...

Finally, he reached the most logical conclusion possible.

—That dirty old man wants to kidnap me.

Without thinking about it any further, he tossed the card into his backpack.

Although...

He didn't throw it in the trash.

Just in case...

◆

All illustrations included in this edition were created using artificial intelligence tools and are being used as provisional visual support for Miracles Seekers.

Our goal is to eventually collaborate with and hire professional artists who can bring their own interpretation, artistic sensitivity, and finishing touch to the world and characters of the series.

Thank you for supporting us at this early stage of the project and for giving this story a chance.

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