The morning sun was unforgiving.
It beat down on the cracked concrete courtyard of the Delinquent Base, turning the makeshift arena into something closer to a furnace. Heat shimmered off the ground, warping the air in waves. Sweat dripped down Hiro's back as he stood at the edge of the crowd, watching Yurei and Beatrice face each other across the open space.
The day before had been tense.
After Yurei's victory, the base had gone quiet—not peaceful, but watchful. Like animals waiting to see what the new predator would do. Soldiers had kept their distance. Conversations had been whispered. Even the usual sounds of sparring and gambling had been muted.
Now, with the sun high overhead, the entire unit had gathered.
Beatrice stood with her arms crossed, her leather jacket discarded, wearing only a tank top that revealed the scars crisscrossing her muscular arms. Old wounds. Knife fights. Broken bottles. A lifetime of violence etched into her skin.
Behind her, her unit formed a loose semicircle—soldiers and beast slaves alike, their expressions ranging from curious to hostile. Some leaned against walls. Others sat on crates. A few had their arms crossed, matching their captain's posture.
Yurei stood alone.
Longinus was planted in the ground beside her, its golden blade catching the light. Her uniform was immaculate. Her expression was calm. She looked like she belonged in a palace, not a prison yard.
"You wanted a duel yesterday," Yurei said, her voice carrying across the courtyard. "You got one. Now I want something from you."
Beatrice raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
"Your respect."
The crowd stirred. Someone laughed—a short, sharp sound that was quickly silenced when Marian shot them a look.
Beatrice's lips curled. "Respect isn't given, Princess. It's earned."
"Then let me earn it." Yurei's crimson eyes swept across the crowd. "I'm not here to break your unit. I'm here to make it stronger. But I can't do that if you're all waiting for me to fail."
"So what are you proposing?"
Yurei picked up Longinus. The spear hummed faintly, its blade catching the sunlight and scattering it across the crowd. "A challenge. Not a fight—a test. You and me. No illegal gear. No tricks. Just skill."
Beatrice's eyes flickered to the brass knuckles on her belt—the ones she'd retrieved after Yurei had left them on the ground the night before. A silent message. A second chance.
"You want me to fight you without my gear?"
"I want you to fight me as yourself." Yurei's voice was quiet but firm. "Not as a crime boss. Not as a former criminal. As a soldier."
The word hung in the air.
Soldier.
Beatrice's jaw tightened. For a moment, something flickered across her face—something that might have been pain, or longing, or both. Her soldiers watched her. Her beast slaves watched her. The woman who had led them through prison, through discrimination, through years of being told they weren't good enough.
"Fine." She rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck. "But if I win, you leave. No inspection. No report. You pretend this base doesn't exist."
Yurei nodded. "Agreed."
"And if you win?"
Yurei smiled—a rare, genuine expression that softened the hard lines of her face. "Then I make you into something worth respecting."
---
The crowd formed a circle—wider this time, giving the fighters room. Soldiers pressed against the edges, craning their necks for a better view. Some climbed onto crates. Others stood on tiptoes.
Hiro stood at the front, his heart pounding. Beside him, Marian cracked her knuckles, her usual grin replaced by something more serious.
"Think the Captain's got this?" she asked.
Hiro didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Confident."
"She's never lost a fight I've seen."
Marian grinned. "Fair point."
---
Beatrice charged first.
Without her brass knuckles, her punches lacked the explosive shockwaves from before, but they were still devastating. Each swing carried the weight of her Titan's Grip blessing—enough to punch through reinforced walls, enough to send normal soldiers flying.
The first punch whistled past Yurei's ear.
The second grazed her shoulder.
The third hit nothing but air.
Yurei didn't block. She dodged.
Weave. The first punch missed by a hair's breadth.
Step. The second punch glanced off her shoulder, but she'd already moved with the impact, bleeding off the force.
Turn. The third punch hit nothing but air.
Beatrice snarled, her breath coming in heavy gasps. "Stop running!"
"I'm not running." Yurei's voice was calm, almost conversational. "I'm watching."
"Watching what?"
"Your tells."
Yurei struck.
It wasn't a powerful blow—just a quick thrust of Longinus's shaft into Beatrice's midsection. But it was precise. Aimed at the exact moment Beatrice's weight shifted forward, leaving her off-balance.
Beatrice stumbled. Caught herself. Snarled again.
"Lucky hit."
"Was it?"
The fight continued.
Beatrice swung. Yurei dodged. Beatrice swung again. Yurei struck—another precise blow, this time to Beatrice's knee.
The larger woman grunted, her leg buckling slightly. She caught herself on one knee, then pushed back to her feet, her face flushed with exertion and frustration.
"Your left side is weaker," Yurei observed, circling slowly. "You compensate by overextending your right. It leaves you open."
"I don't need a lecture—"
"Then learn."
---
The fight went on for what felt like hours.Someone in the crowd hissed. "She's not even trying."
"That's the point," another voice answered.
Beatrice grew more frustrated, her attacks more wild. Her breathing became ragged. Sweat soaked through her tank top. Her scars stood out livid against her flushed skin.
Yurei remained calm. Methodical. She didn't attack often—only when Beatrice made a mistake. But each strike was precise. Each blow found its mark.
Thrust to the shoulder.
Sweep to the ankle.
Pommel to the ribs.
Beatrice's movements grew slower. Her punches lost their power. Her guard dropped.
Finally, she overextended one last time.
Yurei stepped inside her guard, Longinus sweeping low to knock Beatrice's legs out from under her.
*THUD. *
The larger woman crashed to the ground, hard. Dust exploded around her. The impact shook the courtyard.
Yurei stood over her, the tip of Longinus hovering an inch from Beatrice's throat.
"Do you yield?"
Beatrice stared up at her—eyes wide, chest heaving. Sweat dripped down her face. Blood trickled from a split lip.
The crowd was silent.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
"I yield."
Yurei lowered Longinus and extended her hand.
Beatrice stared at it for a long moment. Her hand trembled—not from exhaustion, but from something else. Something that looked like hope.
She took it.
Yurei pulled her to her feet.
"You have potential," she said quietly. "Raw strength. Natural aggression. But potential without discipline is just wasted energy."
She released Beatrice's hand.
"Let me teach you how to use it."
Beatrice looked at her unit—at the soldiers who had followed her through arrests, through prison, through the army's discrimination. At the beast slaves who had trusted her when no one else would.
"Fine," she said. "Teach us."