The boss moved first.
His fist came fast, straight, no wind-up. Arin raised his arm to block. The impact drove him back two steps. His forearm throbbed. He reset, lowered his center.
The boss didn't wait. He came forward again jab, cross, hook. Arin blocked the first two. The third slipped past his guard, caught his cheek. Pain flared. His head snapped sideways.
The crowd was silent.
Arin wiped blood from his lip. The boss circled, light on his feet, his weight shifting with each step. His hands were low. His eyes never left Arin's.
"You don't know how to fight," the boss said. Not a question.
Arin didn't answer.
The boss came again. A kick to the ribs. Arin blocked, but the follow-up punch found his stomach. He doubled over, gasped. A knee rose toward his face. He threw himself sideways, hit the ground, rolled.
The boss let him get up.
"You've got strength," he said. "You've got speed. But you're just swinging." He spread his hands. "No stance. No form. No training."
Arin's chest heaved. His ribs screamed. The hum was there, waiting, but he didn't reach for it.
The boss smiled. "Let me show you what training looks like."
He moved.
His feet slid across the floor, his hips turned, his arm extended. The strike came from an angle Arin hadn't seen before. He tried to block. The blow slipped past his guard and hit his shoulder. His arm went numb.
Another strike, low. His thigh buckled.
Another, higher. His jaw.
Arin fell to one knee.
The crowd was louder now, voices rising, calling for blood. The boss stood over him, breathing easy.
"You came into my territory. You embarrassed my men. You won my tournament." He tilted his head. "And you can't even throw a proper punch."
Arin pushed himself up.
His legs shook. His arms hung heavy at his sides. The boss watched him rise, not moving to stop him.
"You could have been something," the boss said. "If someone had trained you. If someone had cared enough to teach you." He shrugged. "But no one did."
Arin's hand moved to his jacket.
The blade was there, strapped across his back, hidden. His fingers found the hilt. The metal was warm.
He drew it.
The blade caught the light, sent it scattering across the pit. The crowd gasped. The boss's eyes narrowed.
He looked at the sword, then at Arin. A slow smile spread across his face.
"A sword," he said. "You bring a sword to a fist fight." He laughed. It was loud, genuine. "What are you going to do, boy? Cut me?"
Arin held the blade steady.
"Yeah you are right."
" If I have to, I will cut you down with this sword."
The boss's laughter stopped. His face hardened.
"You think I'm afraid of a blade?"
He raised his hand.
The air moved.
Something in the space between them thickened, pressed against Arin's chest, pushed him back a step. The lights above flickered. Dust rose from the floor.
The boss's palm faced Arin. His fingers curled. The air around his hand shimmered.
"Wind," he said. "Elemental power. Rare. Only One in ten thousand people's have it."
He flicked his wrist.
A blast of air slammed into Arin's chest. He flew backward, hit the barrier, slid to the ground. The sword clattered from his hand. His ears rang. His lungs burned.
The boss walked toward him slowly.
"You think you're special because you can take a hit? Because you've got a blade?" He stopped a few feet away. "I've been fighting since before you were born. I've killed people who could level buildings with their bare hands. And you—" He looked down at Arin. "You can't even stand."
Arin pushed himself up. His hands found the sword. He gripped it.
The boss's eyes flickered to the blade, then back to Arin.
"You want to know what real power looks like?"
He raised both hands.
The air around him began to move. Slowly at first, then faster. Dust spiraled upward. The lights flickered violently. The crowd pressed back against the walls, shielding their faces.
The wind rose.
It howled. It screamed. It tore at Arin's clothes, his hair, his skin. He planted his feet, leaned into it, held the blade in front of him.
The boss's voice came through the roar.
"I am M9. I have wind power. He stepped forward. The wind moved with him.
"And you—" He stopped in front of Arin, close enough to touch. "Now tell me, what do you have."
The wind died.
Silence.
Arin stood before him, the blade still raised, his arms shaking, his chest heaving. The boss looked at him for a long moment.
Then he raised his hand.
"Let's see how long you last."
The wind rose again.