The arena buzzed.
Low and steady, like a machine breathing. Overhead, the flickering glow of the holographic Kageshikis cast warped shadows on the steel floor. They weren't real—but that didn't make them less deadly. Their faces shifted constantly, half-formed and inhuman, blinking in and out of existence like broken projections.
Daigo stood at the center.Blood ran down his side, painting a dark trail across his ribs. He barely noticed. His breaths were rough, chest rising and falling in short bursts, but his eyes—those were sharp. Focused. Burning.
Not with pain. Not even hate.
Fire.That unshakable fire that refused to go out.
His fingers flexed on the hilt of his sword. His shoulders were low, loose, ready. He wasn't the strongest in the program. Not even close. But Daigo had something else—something they couldn't replicate in simulations.
Instinct.
Adaptation.
He wasn't here to play their game. This wasn't about getting top marks. This was about survival—on his terms.
"Tch." Daigo glanced down at the glowing badge on his chest. It pulsed with energy, and a heat spread through his veins. Nanite-accelerated regeneration kicked in. The gash on his side began to stitch itself closed.
He smirked.
"I'm not done yet."
A voice echoed, mechanical and flat. "In our data, you're listed as reckless. Unstable. Aggressive."
One of the Kageshikis stepped forward, blade in hand. Its movements were jerky, unnatural—but fast.
"You don't look like much," it said.
Daigo rolled his neck, the vertebrae cracking.
"Yeah?" He grinned. "That's the point."
It moved.
The blade shot toward his throat—fast, precise. Anyone else would've flinched.
Daigo didn't.
He leaned back half an inch—just enough—and the blade sliced air.
"Too slow."
He snapped forward. His own sword whistled through the space between them.
SLASH.
The Kageshiki froze, a red line glowing across its neck. Sparks burst. It collapsed into fragments of light.
Daigo didn't watch it fall. He was already turning.
Three more approached. Faster. Their forms flickered between solid and light, the simulation struggling to keep up with their speed.
"Okay," Daigo muttered, sliding his feet into position. "Guess they're learning."
The second Kageshiki struck. A vertical slice from above.
Daigo raised his sword—not to block, but to angle it. CLANG! The blade slid past him, metal shrieking as it missed by centimeters. He shifted his weight, ducked low, and spun, carving his own blade in a tight arc.
SHING.
The Kageshiki's leg detached. It dropped—Daigo's follow-up strike ended it before it could hit the ground.
Another one was already behind him.
He didn't turn. He felt the air shift and moved with it, leaning sideways as the attack tore through the space he'd been a heartbeat ago.
He twisted his wrist, stabbed backward—a blind strike.
Contact.
Red wires snapped.
Two down. One left.
It hesitated.
Daigo tilted his head, sweat rolling down his brow.
"You scared?" he asked the hologram, voice low, mocking. "Good. You should be."
The Kageshiki charged.
He let it come.
They clashed—blades flashing, sparks lighting up the dim arena like fireworks. Steel rang against steel. Daigo's muscles burned with each motion, but his mind stayed ahead.
The Kageshiki was trying new patterns. It wasn't predictable anymore.
Neither was Daigo.
He dropped to one knee mid-fight, sword low, catching an upward strike and rolling to the side in a single fluid motion. He kicked off the ground, flipping upward behind the Kageshiki.
One clean horizontal slash.
Decapitation.
The construct blinked once. Then disintegrated into static.
Daigo landed, panting, sweat sticking his shirt to his back.
The arena dimmed again.
Still not over.
Five more appeared.
These weren't like the last batch. They moved smoother, like they were barely simulations anymore. Their weapons varied—twin daggers, long-blades, even a halberd. Daigo clicked his tongue.
"Alright," he muttered. "Level two, huh?"
They came at once.
Daigo surged forward instead of waiting.
First strike—he stepped inside the reach of the halberd wielder, blade tracing a sharp X across its chest before the construct could even swing.
The daggers were next. Close-range monsters.
He ducked under one swipe, parried the other. They moved in sync, designed to overwhelm him. But Daigo didn't fight fair.
He shouldered into one, disrupting its rhythm, and stabbed upward through its chin. Its twin lunged at his side.
Pain.
A blade sliced across his ribs again, deeper this time. He grunted—eyes narrowing.
His elbow cracked into its face.
The construct reeled. Daigo spun his sword like a baton, then thrust the point straight through its core.
Two more.
He was bleeding hard now. The badge pulsed again, healing kicking in—but it wasn't fast enough.
He bit down on the pain, eyes locked on the next attacker.
A long-blade user. Elegant, fast. Too fast.
It slashed.
Daigo blocked—barely—the impact rattling his bones. It slashed again. Again.
He backed up. Step by step. Letting it overextend.
One beat.
Two.
There.
The third slash came.
He pivoted. Side-stepped.
Counter.
His blade slammed through its arm at the elbow. The construct staggered.
He stepped in close.
One clean thrust through the throat.
The final construct didn't move.
It just stared.
Daigo wiped blood from his lip. "What? You waiting for a formal invitation?"
It charged.
He exhaled, the world slowing around him.
Every muscle in his body ached. His vision blurred at the edges.
But he wasn't done.
They clashed in a blur of motion—faster than before, blades moving like lightning, feet sliding across the arena in a deadly dance.
One wrong move. One mistake. That's all it would take.
Daigo ducked under a strike, felt the air shift—too close—he twisted, used the momentum to bring his blade upward.
The construct blocked.
He broke the guard with a headbutt.
The construct reeled.
Final strike.
He raised his sword over his shoulder—
And brought it down.
CRACK.
The blade sliced through the glowing red wire.
The last Kageshiki dropped.
Silence fell.
The arena lights dimmed, then reset.
Daigo stood, knees shaking slightly.
His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts.
He stared at the empty space where the constructs had been.
Then, a voice echoed from the speakers.
"Candidate 002: Daigo."
"You have passed the simulation."
There was no applause. No celebration.
Just that sterile, lifeless tone.
"You are cleared for Phase Three."
Daigo stared into the dark. His hand clenched around his sword.
He wasn't smiling anymore.
"I was always cleared," he muttered.
He sheathed his blade, blood still dripping from his side.
He didn't care.
Because this wasn't the end.
Not even close.