Miyu Akizawa… My pulse elevated as some of the moments we shared three days ago in the spa flashed through my brain.

“Nik san! It’s Miyu chan’s turn! Are you excited for this fight?” Sunny shouted from her seat and grabbed at my arm across K, giving the whole matter a much bigger significance than I wanted.

“I mean…” I shifted in my seat and shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It’s Miyu, she’s the best fighter among women…”

My uneasiness didn’t steam from any particular feelings for Miyu. I was satisfied with a one-timer and had no expectations whatsoever. Neither had I broken any Yamato Damashi rules or wronged anyone by having sex with her. But, despite being fine with it on a rational level, I was still occasionally pestered by a tiny feeling of guilt, which grew in the presence of K. It was frivolous and weak giving in to lust while so pompously asserting one’s complete devotion to the training and fighting ambitions, and I didn’t want K to think of me in that way. Not so early, not before I proved myself as a fighter. It was bad enough that Kentaro knew all about it.

Miyu’s walk down put the audience on their feet and discontinued our potentially unpleasant conversation. She and her proxy advanced toward the ring on a song that sounded like something out of a Japanese anime. The majority of the public knew the song very well and sang along. A huge red crown sparkled on the top of Miyu’s braided head, matching in colour her sports bra and shorts. Her proxy, a pale Japanese with eyes hidden under an emo haircut, wore an elegant black suit with a large, red jewel featuring prominently on his golden tie pin. Miyu was interacting with the public in a way a singer on a stage would rather than a fighter going into a ring. She paused a few times on her way, clapping and singing with the nearest spectators, sending out kisses, and performing some pretty amazing dancing moves. Her proxy was encouraging people to clap and sing louder and sometimes joined Miyu in dancing. They were in sync, a perfect example of showmanship.

“Miyu chan, gambatte!” shouted Sunny and stood up from her seat to get a better view of Miyu who just danced past our row.

“Sunny…Sunny! Could you please sit down…” K said annoyingly, being squashed by her friend’s body.

“Aww….kawai desu, ne!” Like a devoted fan, Sunny stood with her hands clasped together and gazed at Miyu with glittering eyes.

Kawai meaning cute was a word I got well acquainted with because of Sunny. Many things were kawai to her and I had to agree this time – Miyu in her sparkling red, minimal clothing was indeed cute. Cute and hot.

“They surely are an interesting couple,” I remarked referring also to Miyu’s proxy who looked to me like a quieter, darker version of Kentaro.

“Mhmm.” K nodded in agreement. “Hard to say who’s more of a showman, Miyu or Takahashi.”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Mhmm…Takahashi Daisuke.”

“He’s also cool, isn’t he? So mysterious…and Miyu chan…she’s so pretty. A real queen,” Sunny added, finally sitting back in her seat.

Once Miyu climbed into the ring, it became very obvious her opponent was much larger and could easily fit in the higher weight category. I frowned. “Isn’t that quite a mismatch in weight?”

“Yes, you’re right, Nik san. Hope Miyu chan will be fine. Oh, what am I saying - I’m sure she’ll be fine!” exclaimed Sunny.

“If both agree to fight there’s certain flexibility within the weight categories, in women more often than in men because they are fewer,” explained K, with Sunny nodding her head in earnest support of her words.

“Well, she’s certainly brave. If that beast gets her arms around her ---”

The sound of the bell cut off my sentence and the two women commenced the fight. Their hands up like claws they looked ready to jump at one another. I was impressed by Miyu’s sudden transformation from a flirting show-woman to a focused, quiet fighter. The Spaniard went for an immediate take-down but missed Miyu, who moved backward with great agility. She tried again, this time she came closer but was still unsuccessful. I flinched at her third attempt to grab Miyu who moved away at the very last moment, causing her big opponent to stumble forward awkwardly. Miyu followed with a powerful low kick to the thigh, which visibly affected her opponent.

Miyu was fit and agile, the Spaniard was slower but if she took the fight to the ground, Miyu would certainly have a hard time getting out of her grip. The weight difference could be decisive in such cases and considering Miyu wasn’t a good striker either the ground game seemed inevitable. Just as I pitied Miyu in my mind, she took a bold initiative, and instead of waiting for a counter-attack she closed the distance.

What the fuck are you doing, Miyu? I leaned forward, pressing my palms against my knees.

In the next instant, the bigger and heavier of the two landed hard on her back with a spectacular judo-like throw. The initially baffled stare of the Spaniard was quickly replaced by the painful contraction of her face as Miyu with an impressive speed locked her arm between the legs and stretched it in the unnatural angle that made me and the rest of the public wince.

“That’s it, Miyu chan! Break her arm! Break it!” shouted Sunny half out of her seat with both her fists and her teeth clenched. I could hardly believe my ears and my eyes when I saw her dimply cute face bearing such a zealous and wicked expression.

The tapping of the Spaniard was immediate and Miyu as a good sportsman released the arm of her opponent without any delay. She jumped up and pushing her arm high in a winning motion uttered a scream of joy.

“Wahoo!” I yelled out, smashing my hands together. That was fucking hot!

Amid my exhilaration, I became aware of K’s stare. “That was pretty awesome, don’t you think?” I asked, slowing down my clapping.

“That was amazing! She’s soooo cool!” Sunny, being again her normal kind and cheerful self, seconded me.

“Right,” K said, still watching me. “Same technique over and over.”

“What are you talking about? That was one of the sex--” I stopped myself in time; “…badass moves ever. Besides, to win in the ground game against a much heavier fighter--”

“Her opponent sucked too.”

“But, K, she really was huge compared to Miyu chan,” noted Sunny.

Countered from both sides, K shrugged and released me from her stare.

Miyu helped her defeated opponent on her feet and bowed to her several times expressing her gratitude. The Spaniard reciprocated the gesture with a single much less enthusiastic nod, rubbing at the arm Miyu had trapped between her legs. The bitter defeat showed on her face.

“The winner is….” announced the MC, pronouncing the English words with an accent; “Miyuuu The Arm Eater Akizawaaaa!”

As the referee raised her hand the public went crazy. Miyu justified her nick-name--The Arm Eater, and equally her crown, which Takahashi put back on her head, for the audience adored her as if she was their queen. Cheers and applause from the tribune wouldn’t stop. They loved her and her proxy who also received his share of admiration as he waved his arm from the corner of the ring. Adorned with the belt and the crown Miyu walked around the ring and saluted the public from all four corners, prompting most of the spectators on their feet.

Even after she and Takahashi climbed off the ring the excitement in the hall didn’t die down. Being an indiscernible detail in the sea of the audience, I was confident the Miyu show was going to end without any major repercussions for me. And it would so if two women who sat between me and the aisle hadn’t stood up and shouted their lungs out to get Miyu’s attention, pushing toward her a huge stuffed black bear with red cheeks. Their shouts and the damn bear brought Miyu close to our row and as she gracefully accepted the bear our stares met. Taking the bear in one hand she blew me a kiss with the other and winked.

I usually wouldn’t get thrown so easily by a woman’s attention, but this time her gesture did just that. I held up my hand in a weak wave and sank as deep into the seat as possible hoping nobody noticed Miyu’s gesture.

“Aww!! Did you see that, Nik san! Was that a kiss for you?”

Oh, fuck! Shut up, Sunny! I was hoping she’d notice my desperate stare.

“You two know each other?” K asked immediately, her eyebrows drawn slightly together. Sunny’s grinning face moved back and forth in the background trying, unsuccessfully, to make eye contact with me.

“I met --” I cleared my throat as my voice suddenly got higher; “I met her on the compound.”

“When she was training there…” I added, the dryness of my mouth increasing with each word.

K curved her mouth into a smug little grin and probed me with her silent, steady gaze. I was grateful the MC’s announced the next fighter, giving me an excuse to break away from the uncomfortable situation.

“Huh, him again?” I exclaimed, seeing Miyu’s proxy at the beginning of the aisle. Walking behind him was a male Japanese fighter.

K nodded. “It’s the last fight, should be a good one.”

“Really…Who’s the other fighter?”

Sunny opened her mouth to read out the name for me but the MC was quicker. He butchered a Slavic surname, which sounded something like Wyshnewski. The name of his proxy though was a name I knew very well--Fujiwara Kentaro.

“Kentaro’s guy is fighting too?”

“Yan…you’ve met him,” said K and strengthened up in her chair.

“I have?”

As the walk down began I recognized the Caucasian guy, who had kicked my face on my first night at Tenko.

His entrance song was quite unusual for a gaijin - a hip hop, funky Japanese song, with female vocals rapping. By the detached, thoughtful expression on his face, I suspected Yan Wyshnewski was as familiar with the song as I was with Dutch folk music. On the other hand, Kentaro seemed to enjoy it very much, along with the public, Sunny, and even K who was nodding her head in rhythm with the song and whispering parts of the lyrics.

“What?” she asked when noticing my stare. “It’s a cool song.”

Kentaro walked towards the ring in a bright blue suit looking very confident. His bleached hair was styled in the latest fashion, revealing his earring, which sparkled each time it caught the light. Halfway toward the ring he paused and signalled to the public to cheer louder. After the public happily obliged he continued his walk with Yan patiently tagging along. He had the public under his spell. Not that the emo proxy and his fighter didn’t get the applause, it was just that Kentaro got much more of it.

As they neared the ring the public began shouting: “K.O! K.O.! K.O.!”

“What’s that all about?” I asked K.

“They expect a knockout since it’s Kentaro’s fighter. Most of Kentaro’s fighters either win by K.O or they get knocked out.”

“Kentaro is such a popular proxy. All his fighters are really good and exciting,” Sunny added.

“What about his opponent?”

“Well, it’s the fight of the evening, so he’s a good fighter too. But…Yan can surprise.” She ended her sentence with a sly look at me.

I scoffed. If she was hinting at that kick in Tenko there was nothing surprising about it. It was just the execution of an order. Her order.

“Both, Kentaro and Daisuke san have strong fighters,” she continued.

“Are they the best proxies then?”

“Mmmm…” She tilted her head sideways.” Among the best, yes.”

In the middle of the ring, the fighters were given last instructions by the referee all the while staring each other down with the silent intensity of two mad dogs. The bell sounded and as soon as the referee stepped away the two immediately went at each other. Punches, a low kick, a step back, grappling, knee to the torso, another knee, one gets away, the other pursues, punches again, elbow strikes, most of them avoided or blocked on both sides. Another kick, the Japanese catches Yan’s leg and pushes him to the floor, but Yan is right back up…It felt like we were watching the fight on fast forward.

K looked as unimpressed as she had been with all the other fights so far, while Sunny got excited about each good strike or action regardless of the fighter and this time only in a normal, positive way without assuming her demonic form as previously with Miyu.

Both were aggressive fighters, good at reading opportunities, but they were not careful at all. It was a miracle that one of them didn’t get knocked out yet.

“Observe carefully, this is your category,” remarked K, as if I didn’t know it already.

“Yan seems to be doing pretty well, considering the Japanese is--”

She chortled. “Wang is not Japanese, he’s Thai.”

“Oh, right…” That explained the many elbow and knee strikes.

Less than a minute before the ending of the first round, Wang sprang forward at Yan and pushed him to the mat. He assumed the dominant position on top of him and pounded him with strikes. The public roared in excitement as Wang’s furious ground and pound continued. It would end badly for Yan if the bell didn’t sound the end of the round. The referee stepped in immediately and broke them up.

I should have been cheering for Yan, him being of the same clan and even a fellow European, but due to animosity I felt toward Kentaro and all his fighters I was quietly hoping Wang would win. Besides, Yan’s kick at me in Tenko was still a sore memory.

The ring girl in the provocative school-like uniform did her walk around the ring to signal the second round. As both fighters left their corners, Kentaro gazed across the ring toward his counterpart Takahashi. A confident smirk on both proxies forecasted the match was not going to go past this round.

“Who had more fights so far?” I asked.

“Wang…Wang san,” K and Sunny answered at the same time.

“So my bet is on him. In a fight like this, experience will be crucial.”

Sunny pouted her mouth. “Oh, I cannot say, they are both so strong.”

“K?” I wanted to test my proxy.

Her eyes narrowed on the ring. She took her time to answer. “Kentaro likes to get creative…”

“I’m talking about the fighters.”

“So am I,” she stated with a slow nod of her head.

The second round started in a similar way as the first, with Wang putting more pressure on Wyshnewski, forcing him on the defensive. Getting more confident Wang shortened the distance and once more tried to bring the fight to the ground.

He’s moving backwards…he’s tired…..you almost had him…I was right there, in the ring with Wang. That’s it, wait…wait till he goes back a little bit more… now go in…

They ended up in a clinch against the ropes and then the dirty game began. Wang struck at Wyshnewski’s stomach several times with his knees, finishing with a strike to his groin. While to an untrained eye it looked accidental I was fairly sure it wasn’t, and when Wyshnewski bent forward from the pain Wang sneaked in an illegal, downward elbow strike on the top of his head just before the referee intervened and stopped the fight.

Takahashi’s satisfying smirk was hard to miss as Wyshenwski, looking a little dazzled and pressing his hand on his groin, nodded to the questions of the referee. Wang got away with a warning and the fight resumed.

Wyshnewski was now moving at a slower pace while Wang chased him around the ring. He lost balance and almost tripped over his own feet while trying to retreat. Wang, confident his opponent got weakened by his earlier strikes, kept pressuring. But, as if by pure luck, Wyshnewski managed to escape again and again.

Lucky bastard! Come on, get him! I was growing impatient and so must have Wang, who channelled his frustration into a loud shout. In response, Wyshnewski made an oddly familiar, small jump from one leg to another, as if momentarily losing a balance.

Now! There’s the opening!

Wang, thinking the same, reacted promptly, and, same as me, in his eagerness to finish the fight mistook that little stumble for an opportunity to attack. As soon as he came in for a takedown, Yan spun around and smashed his heel into his face.

Wang fell down limp and remained there. The hall fell silent for a moment then burst in waves of cheers and applause. It was a spectacular knockout.

I froze in my seat, listening to the commentators in front of me rattling off their comments as if there was no tomorrow.

That motherfucker was faking it! Wang didn’t see it coming, I didn’t see it coming -- again. It was fate, grinning at me from the ring with unconscious Wang as a warning of what awaited me.

My lower mandible suddenly felt out of place. While absent for some time, the compelling need to adjust it returned, forcing me to grasp my chin and shifting my jaw a couple of times.

“Something the matter?”

With my hand still on my chin, I shook my head at K.

“Spinning heel kick is his signature strike ---“

“I guessed that,” I said annoyingly.

“---aaand he’s using it way too often. It provides a good opening for counter attack if you’re ready for it,” she continued.

“Sure, whatever…”

“You worry…”

Crossing my arms over my chest I turned to her and countered her gaze with a cool stare of my own. “I–will--kick—his--ass,” I pronounced each word firmly, trying to squash the growing doubts.

Her eyes searching into mine she pressed her lips together and uttered a cryptic mh-hmm, which wasn’t a negation of what I said, nor a confirmation.