Episode 9 — The Semifinal Trials.
The drums of Hoshinawa thundered again, a rolling cadence that spilled down the mountainsides and drew every soul toward the arena. Morning haze lifted from the city like a veil, and beneath it the great stone amphitheater swelled with life—voices piling atop voices until the sound became a living thing.
Vendors hoisted trays, calling out over the swell. Children waved paper flags that snapped in the breeze. Old men leaned on canes, arguing in hoarse whispers about stances and counters from tournaments decades past. Cloaked sect scouts lingered in the shadows, their eyes sharp, their expressions unreadable. Today, the last barrier before the final match would be broken. Today, two dojos would step into destiny.
At the waiting gates, Shin and Taro stood shoulder to shoulder. Above them, four banners rippled against the blue: Silver Dragon, Iron Fang, Storm Fang, Crimson Tiger. The cloth cracked softly in the mountain wind, like distant whips.
On the raised dais, Elder Kuroda lifted one hand. The roar folded into silence with surprising speed, as if the whole city had inhaled and held its breath.
"Today," Kuroda said, voice old yet unwavering, "we decide the two dojos who shall walk into the final battle." A long beat. "Let the semifinals… begin."
The crowd erupted—stamping, clapping, screaming names. The air tightened, hot and bright, as though every lung had drawn fire.
Match 1 — Silver Dragon Dojo vs. Crimson
Tiger DojoFrom the east gate, Crimson Tiger entered first. Jiro and Koji, brothers by blood, stepped onto the stone with crimson wraps fluttering around their fists. Their aura burned—hot, feral, barely leashed. Even the way they breathed suggested a snarl.
From the opposite gate, Shin and Taro emerged to a wave of sound.
"Show them the dragon's spirit!" someone howled, and a surge of "Sil-ver Dra-gon! Sil-ver Dra-gon!" rolled around the amphitheater, climbing the tiers and returning like thunder.
The gong rang.
Sub-Match 1 — Taro vs. Koji
Taro didn't wait. He launched forward like a wildfire breaking through brush, fists blazing, steps loud and sure. Koji met him headlong—no feints, no caution, just pure collision. Punch hammered punch.
Shinbones cracked against shins. The rhythm of their clash rang like steel in a forge.
Taro grinned through split lips, eyes bright with the joy of battle. "You hit hard! But so do I!"
He drew a breath that seemed to pull heat from the air itself, forcing ki into his fists until a rippling light sheathed them up to the forearms.
"Blazing Fang Rush!"
The form snapped into place—angles sharpened, footwork narrowed, tempo doubled. Strikes came from high, then low, then from a drifting sidestep that pulled
Koji's guard apart. Koji blocked, teeth bared, but Taro's pressure did not abate. One hook slammed the ribs, a knee clipped the thigh, an elbow scraped the jaw—and then the finishing cross hammered the sternum with the weight of thunder.
Koji's heels skidded. His eyes glazed. He collapsed in a heap, chest heaving once, twice… then still.
"Victory—Taro of Silver Dragon!
" Kuroda's voice carried cleanly to the far seats.
The arena erupted. A rain of paper flags fluttered down from the upper tiers. Taro lifted a fist and let the wave wash over him just once—then exhaled and stepped off the platform, rolling his shoulders loose, the grin never leaving his face.
Sub-Match 2 — Shin vs. Jiro.
Silence pooled as Shin stepped onto the stone. His ribs still ached faintly from earlier bouts, but something within him had settled in the night—his ki flowed clearer, steadier, like a river after stones have been cleared from its bed. His body felt lighter, sharper, alive.
Jiro cracked his knuckles, lips peeling back in a feral smile. "You beat one of ours before," he growled. "But you won't beat me. I'll break you here."
Shin's eyes narrowed. Calm, steady. "We'll see."
The gong struck.
Jiro came like a predator pouncing—fast, heavy, cruel. Fists carved the air like claws from every angle: raking high, stabbing low, whipsawing for joints. Shin met them with quiet economy. Parry. Redirect. Short step. Elbow shield. The impacts rattled along his bones, but his stance held; when he slid, he planted. And when Jiro circled for a flank, Shin drifted a hair's breadth to deny the angle.
A snarl cracked from Jiro's throat. Crimson ki flared around his arms, boiling off his skin in heat-shimmers.
"Twin Tiger Roar!"
Both fists scythed forward—and the air itself surged. The shockwave hit Shin square in the chest, a crimson hammer that made the arena floor tremble and sent dust fountaining across the tiles. Gasps rippled like a wind through wheat.
When the haze thinned, Shin was still there. Dust clung to his sleeves; his breath was heavy, measured—but his gaze had not wavered.
Jiro's jaw twitched. "You… took that head-on?"
Shin exhaled, sinking a fraction lower, feet rooted. "Is that all?"
Rage blew the lids off Jiro's aura. Crimson brightened to molten. "Then fall, Dragon—Twin Tiger Roar!"
The second wave tore forward stronger than the first, ripping cracks in the stone as it came. Shin's fist rose, and golden light gathered—at first a spark, then a coil, then a gleam that painted the dust with sunrise.
"Dragon Fist!"
The golden maw erupted to meet the twin crimson tigers. Impact. Light smashed light. A ring of force burst outward, rocking the arena, shuddering banners in their housings. Tiles fractured; sand hissed across the floor; a thousand people flinched as the shockwave licked the stands.
When the haze finally cleared, two figures resolved:
Shin—firm, steady, a faint golden shimmer still coiling off his forearm. Untouched.
Jiro was already sliding, skidding on his back, the crimson torn from his aura. He clawed at the stone, tried to rise—arms trembled, failed—fell flat, breath rasping.
Kuroda's count strode on, implacable. "…Nine. Ten."
"Out! Victory—Shin of Silver Dragon! Silver Dragon Dojo advances to the final!"
Sound avalanched. "Shin! Shin! Shin!" chanted the northern tiers; drums answered from the south; the middle belts hammered the stone with their feet until the whole arena seemed to throb.
Taro sprinted to him, laughing, clapping Shin on the back hard enough to sting. "You didn't just win—you crushed him! Unstoppable!"
Shin bowed once, quiet as ever. Inside, the golden river flowed, steady as breath. This time, it answered.
Match 2 — Iron Fang Dojo vs. Storm Fang Dojo.
The arena trembled again, not from drums but from the weight of presence. Iron Fang entered.
Raizen walked first. His eyes glowed faintly, the red of banked coals. There was no wasted movement in him—each step measured, each breath contained. Beside him strode Kenta, taller than most men by a head and broader by two, a walking wall whose footfalls set small quakes shivering the cracked tiles. Behind them, Master Gendo watched from the edge of the gate, arms folded like iron bars, a thin, proud smile slicing his face.
Opposite, Storm Fang took their positions. Takeshi, lean and lightning-quick, rolled his shoulders, eyes keen. Ren flexed his fingers; sparks of raw ki flickered along his palms, snapping like captive thunder.
The gong rang.
Sub-Match 1 — Kenta vs. Ren.
Ren burst forward, both palms hammering in a rolling cadence that echoed like thunder across the floor. Each strike landed with a clap; each clap sent chips leaping from the stone. He hammered Kenta's chest once, twice, thrice—again—again—
Kenta didn't move.
His chest rose. Fell. Calm.
Then those huge hands shot forward and closed around Ren's wrists.
"Too weak," he said, and his voice was almost bored.
He lifted Ren like a bundle of sticks and slammed him down. The tiles spiderwebbed. The air left Ren's lungs in a hard whuff; his eyes rolled, his limbs went slack. He tried to push up. His arms failed him.
"Victory—Kenta of Iron Fang!" Kuroda announced.
The crowd split—half cheering wildly, half wincing as the crack in the floor stretched like a dark smile.
Sub-Match 2 — Raizen vs. Takeshi.
All eyes turned to the prodigy.
Takeshi moved first, a blur circling Raizen with sharp-angled entries—jab, low kick, elbow, slide. For a breath, it looked as though Raizen might be swallowed by speed.
Then his aura brightened a shade, the crimson deepening. His eyes sharpened, pupils thinning to razors.
"Too slow."
The words were not loud, but they carried.
Parry. Punish. A pivot that erased Takeshi's angle. A forearm that smashed the incoming elbow and turned it into a lever against its owner. A heel that dug like a wedge into Takeshi's lead foot, stealing his base at the exact moment Raizen's shoulder checked him backward.
Takeshi's lightning faltered. Panic nipped at his breath. He reached again—wildly, now—and Raizen stepped in with a clean line, the crimson flooding his fist.
"Crimson Fang Strike."
The blow landed center-chest with a muffled boom. Takeshi's body folded around it, then snapped straight and went still on the stone, eyes rolling before his back even hit the ground.
"Victory—Raizen of Iron Fang! Iron Fang Dojo advances to the final!"
The amphitheater fractured into two storms. One howled for Silver Dragon; the other answered for Iron Fang. Flags whipped, drums battled, and somewhere, in the uppermost seats, coin purses changed hands with rueful laughter and low curses.
Closing SceneHigh in the stands, Master Ryuzen folded his arms, the corner of his mouth tilting, pride tempered by a warrior's caution. "So… it comes to this," he murmured.
Across the arena, Master Gendo smirked, his gaze like a blade honed for years to a perfect edge.
On the floor, Shin stood beside Taro, the ache from Jiro's technique still ghosting across his ribs. He barely felt it. His eyes were locked on Raizen's back as the Iron Fang prodigy turned toward the gate.
For a heartbeat, Raizen paused. He looked over his shoulder. Crimson light flickered faintly around him, the color of embers in a furnace.
Their eyes met.
The world thinned to a single, taut string.
Raizen's stare was merciless—no anger, no theatrics, only a promise carved in fire. Shin's heartbeat drummed once in his throat, hard and clean. He did not look away. Inside, the storm answered, coiling tight, daring the flame to come closer.
The path stood clean and straight now:
Silver Dragon Dojo vs. Iron Fang Dojo.
The final battle awaited.