An amazing play of laser lights spread over the fully packed tribune of Yokohama Cultural Gymnasium. I couldn’t stop smiling, so excited and grateful I was to witness it live. Even if only as a spectator. Even if, as K explained to me during our thirty-minute drive in her ugly car to Yokohama, tonight’s fighting event was just a minor one, merely a sideshow compared to the main Yamato Damashi events in Tokyo and their grandiose venues.

The lights gathered into a large beam above the ring and a pounding sound of the drum filled the hall. Each beat got my adrenaline pumping and by the time the drum stopped, I could barely stay in my seat. Back home I had seen only a handful of videos of Yamato Damashi events. They were not easily available and were expensive to purchase in Europe. Now that I was about to see the event in person it felt like a small dream coming true. The next big dream was me up there in the ring and the master of the ceremony announcing my name.

K proved her worth and got us seats in the third row below the ring, just behind the commentators. She yawned and stretched at MC’s opening speech, her chill, laid-back attitude enhanced by the clothes she wore -- a black Fila tracksuit with white and red lines on the sides and a matching baseball cap pulled deeply over her forehead.

“So who’s fighting first?” I stared at the fighting card as if I could somehow decipher the Japanese letters.

She pulled it out of my hand and skimmed over it, puckering her lips. “Sato against Ito.”

“Anyone from our gym?”

“No.”

“When is James’s turn?”

“James is after this fight.”

Besides James, another familiar name was on that list, but I felt too awkward to ask K about it.

The first fighter and his proxy appeared on the top of the aisle at the sounds of techno music and began their walk towards the ring. The proxy, dressed in an elegant suit, went first, followed by his fighter. Sitting just two seats away from the aisle I was able to see the pair closely as they walked past us on their way to the ring.

“Did I hear correctly, are they both from the Minamoto clan?

“Yup.”

“So fighters from the same clan can fight?

“Of course, but not from the same proxy.”

I chuckled “Not really a problem for me.” K shot me a sharp glance from beneath the brim of her cap.

A cute Japanese woman with nerdy pigtails, dressed in a white polo t-shirt, pleated mini-skirt, and white knee socks walked a circle around the ring, holding up a board displaying the number one. Both proxies gave their fighters last tips before they were called to the center of the ring. The referee explained the rules and gave a sign for the fight to begin.

The fighters belonged to one of the lighter categories, so I anticipated the whole three, 5-minute rounds and a win by decision. But the fighter in red shorts threw an incredible punch, added a quick foot sweep, and brought his opponent down at the very beginning of the first round. The two commentators in front of me raised their voices as a soccer kick connected with the face of the poor fellow on the floor, and in the midst of further stomping the referee stopped the fight.

“That was quick!” I clapped my hands and glanced to my right at K.

Sitting back into the seat with her legs slightly spread, she considered the fight with an air of a lazy soccer fan watching the match from an armchair at home, missing only a beer in her hand. Meanwhile, I was thrilled by the fast tempo of the fights. The rules were much looser within YD than at the European tournaments; kicking and stomping your opponent on the floor was allowed, elbowing too was used freely. It all affected the way of the fight; in other words, the fights were more dynamic, quicker, and much more dangerous.

“Jaamesu Ogureee!”

I chuckled and clapped my hands at the MC’s attempt to pronounce James Ogle. Without any difficulties and with an impressive loudness considering his small, dark-suited body he shouted into the microphone the next name: “Yamadaaaa Shojiii!”

James walked toward the ring behind Yamada with heavy metal music rocking through the hall. His lips were moving to the lyrics of the song, his left fist hitting into his right palm. The audience awkwardly followed the aggressive rhythms with clapping. Only a few spectators showed their appreciation for heavy metal music with proper headbanging. Yamada showed nothing at all.

“Go, James!” I stood up and shouted as they walked past our row. Yamada turned his head slightly, the lenses on his black-framed glasses reflecting the light show in the hall. James was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice me.

I sat back down and leaned toward K. “Who’s he against?”

“Hayashi Keita, from Minamoto clan.”

“Again from Minamoto clan?”

“Well, they are the biggest.”

“Any good?”

K shrugged. “I have no idea. Most of the fighters tonight are newbies.”

Like me, I thought.

Yamada directed James to the center of the ring with a pat on his back. Breathing from his mouth James entered an unbroken stare down with his opponent, whose white body contrasted with James’s dark and tattooed torso.

The fight began with reserve on both sides. They moved in a circle at a safe distance, James’s hands clenched in a fist while his opponent’s ready to grab. James was the first to step in with some punches, but the Japanese blocked them with ease. Similar attempts were repeated throughout the round, with the Japanese always retreating and blocking, now and then countering with a low kick, which didn’t seem to do any damage.

Five minutes of the first round passed without much happening. James looked frustrated while listening to Yamada in the corner. He started the second round with a few good jabs but then the Japanese took initiative and became more aggressive with his attacks. He pushed James on defense and in the last minute managed to bring him down. He dominated James on the ground until the bell rang.

James wasted a lot of stamina trying to resist his opponent in the ground game. The Japanese was tired too but looked in high spirits, nodding enthusiastically to his proxy’s encouragement, while James listened to Yamada’s instructions with his eyes cast downwards. Before the break ended, Yamada poured some water over James’s shoulders, wiped him dry with the towel, and let him go into his last round without much talk. The proxy in the other corner continued to give his fighter extensive instructions till the very last moment, gesturing techniques with his hands while speaking.

I tilted my head towards K. “What do you think?”

“He’s stiff. The third round will be decisive,” she replied.

Halftime into the last round James showed more initiative and scored with punches, a good low kick and a body shot that did some damage to his opponent. He also managed to avoid any attempt to bring the fight to the ground. K was right though, James was stiff and he was nothing like the James I saw on the training who was by all criteria a much better boxer. Even though he upped his game a little in the last minute and cornered the opponent with punches, it was too little too late.

“You think it’ll be an extra round?” I asked my proxy.

Blowing air from her mouth she pushed the brim of her baseball cap upward and looked at me with a bored expression. “You really want to see more of this crappy fight?”

In all sincerity--no.

With all respect to James, I had to admit it was a boring fight. If this was the Amsterdam Arena, we’d hear boos. But the Japanese audience was too polite and their displeasure was shown only in the lack of cheering and unenthusiastic clapping.

“James will take it, probably…but both sucked,” said K.

She was right again, James won by split decision. When pronounced a winner, I didn’t see much happiness on his face. Yamada received him with a weak pat on the back and a consistent, serious expression on his face, which I doubted would change even if James had KOed his opponent.

“What’s with Yamada anyway… he should be happy, I mean…it’s still a win,” I said, watching their gloomy return to the dressing area.

“You punk, it’s Yamada san to you,” K jumped at me and then continued in a more instructional tone: “In Japan, we value a good fight, it’s not all about the victory.”

I shrugged. “Well…pfff…I’d still prefer to win.”

Just before the next fight started, I saw Sunny making her way towards us from the other side of the row.

“Gomen nasai,” she kept apologizing and bowing, her face wearing an apologetic smile for all the members of the audience she disturbed until she finally reached the empty seat next to K.

“Sunny? Heey…What are you doing here?” I greeted, half expecting to see Shin materializing somewhere behind her back. “Did you come alone?”

After exchanging a few words with K, she waved her hand at me. “Hey, Nik san! Yes, I came alone. K invited me. How exciting is this! Did I miss a lot?”

“James, remember him? He had a fight and won.”

A disparaging tsk came from K.

“Sugoi! That’s fantastic!” Sunny clapped her hands with a big smile, her dimples showing.

“Yeah, it is,” I stated with conviction, directing my stare at K.

The next five fights ended with two submissions and three wins by unanimous decision. Compared to James’s fight, they were much more intense and interesting to watch. Sunny was kind enough to read for me the names from the fighting card, and, contrary to K, was more than willing to share any information she got on the fighters and their proxies, some of whom accompanied more than one fighter to the ring. During the breaks, she went as far as to bother the commentators in front of us to find out more details until K pulled her back into the seat and told her off in Japanese.

Most of the fighters fought without any reserve regardless of the risk. They were ferocious, hungry to prove themselves. I watched the fights with the awareness that this beastly scene was probably going to be one of the first steps on my way to the top.

After several fights featuring Japanese fighters, a gaijin fighter--the word gaijin certainly stuck with me—with a Spanish-sounding name was announced. Due to MC’s mispronunciation, I failed to perceive the name as female and was rather surprised to see a woman walking to the ring. It was the announcement of her opponent, though, that rattled me quite a bit.

“Miyuuuu The Arm Eater Akizawaaaa!” Louder than ever before the MC’s voice reverberated through the hall.