Ichigo can't Fight

The moon hung low over Sakai Port Village, casting silver beams through the cracks in the wooden slats of the cell. The air was thick with the salty scent of the sea, mingled with the distant echo of drunken laughter from the night markets. Crickets hummed in harmony with the rustling waves, yet inside the dark, damp cell, the silence was suffocating.

Ichigo lay on his thin straw mat, his breath uneven, his mind tangled in the threads of a nightmare he couldn't escape. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, his muscles rigid with tension.

Mau, sitting cross-legged in the dim glow of a flickering oil lamp, watched him carefully. He had seen the kid wrestle against his demons before, but tonight was different.

"Can't sleep, can you? It's okay," Mau said, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "I felt like that my first night here. But the next day, I knew I had to return. To be away from my brother for a little while… and away from his cooking? That was everything. Now, we take turns enjoying the sweet and peaceful scenery these cells provide us."

Ichigo exhaled sharply. "It's not that. Something feels different tonight. I wonder if every back home is fine, they must be worried about me, My nightmare... It was—" he hesitated, his voice restless, his pulse drumming in his ears.

Mau didn't push for answers. Instead, he reached into himself, drawing an arc of his fighting spirit. A soft glow ignited in his palm—a swirling spectrum of firefly-like embers that pulsed gently, painting the walls in a mesmerizing dance of colors.

"Here… maybe this can help you sleep."

Ichigo's gaze softened, drawn to the flickering lights. It was enough, at least for now, to pull him from the depths of his mind.

.... Meanwhile in the Underworld's Arena....

Beneath the notorious Sakai Port Village, deep within the labyrinth of crime and vice, the real rulers gathered. In the heart of the underground, an arena of blood and steel pulsed with the roars of men who had long forgotten fear.

The Pit—a sunken coliseum lit by burning torches—was alive with chaos. The scent of sweat, blood, and cheap sake saturated the air as fighters clashed violently, their arcs of fighting spirit igniting in flashes of crimson, jade, and gold.

At the head of the arena, three crime bosses observed from their elevated seats:

Arashi Arinobu, leader of the Iron Gang, his hulking form draped in a haori adorned with the sigil of a roaring tiger.

Futoshi Akito, the Black Pirates' ruthless captain, his katana resting lazily on his shoulder, dark eyes scanning the fights with predatory amusement.

And Akitsugu Hidenori, the shadowy overlord of the Yakuza, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his straw hat, the scent of sandalwood and ink clinging to his robes.

The ground beneath them trembled with each clash, arcs colliding in violent symphonies. Laughter and cheers spilled over the coliseum as men bet fortunes on the outcome of the matches.

Then, he walked in.

The air seemed to shift, as if something foreign had tainted the primal energy of the Pit. The laughter dulled. The cheers wavered. A man, an outsider, descended into the arena with an easy stride—Payne.

A vicious smile curved his lips as he adjusted his sunglasses, dusting off his sleek, Western-style coat.

"Who the hell are you?" Akitsugu's voice cut through the momentary silence, his irritation barely veiled.

Payne tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "Me? I am many things. An artist, a poet, a lover of pleasure and leisure, a connoisseur of—"

"What do you want?" Akitsugu interrupted, unimpressed.

Payne scoffed, shaking his head. "To be honest, on second thought, it saddens me to stand before you all. The great crime lords of Sakai? Pfft. You're nothing but a bunch of pathetic, lowlife dirtbags."

A ripple of rage swept through the crowd. The insult was unthinkable. The Pit was a graveyard for men who dared speak such words.

And yet—Payne stood, utterly unfazed.

The first to charge him was a brute of a man, his fists alight with burning arcs of fighting spirit. In an instant, Payne moved—his footwork fluid as water, his strikes precise as lightning. He dismantled the fighter effortlessly. Then another came. And another.

Bodies fell like discarded dolls. Fighters lunged, arcs flaring—but they were nothing before him. Within minutes, the Pit was painted with broken men, Payne standing in the center, adjusting his shades once more.

Silence.

Akitsugu, watching intently, finally spoke. "That's enough. No one here will fight you. Now, what do you want?"

Payne exhaled dramatically. "My boss believes an agreement can be reached. Either you leave Sakai forever, or you work under him. Me? I think none of you are even worth dealing with. I could just take you all—"

"Enough!"

The ground trembled as Futoshi Akito, leader of the Iron Gang, stepped forward, his katana drawn. His dual fighting spirit burned in the air around him—a rare and formidable force.

"Your head will do fine in my collection."

Akitsugu remained still, observing. Futoshi was no ordinary fighter. If anyone could measure Payne's true abilities, it was him, he was a dual after all.

Payne's grin widened. "Oh? Are you ready to duel with that toothpick of yours?"

Payne stood lazily in the center of the ring, one hand in his pocket, the other adjusting his shades. Across from him, Futoshi Akito, the towering leader of the Black Pirates, cracked his knuckles, his expression fierce yet composed.

"You should've stayed on your ship, big guy," Futoshi taunted, rolling his shoulders. "You're about to become a cautionary tale."

"Oh save the big boss talk for your minions," Payne smirked.

Futoshi smirked, unphased. "You're nothing but a jester."

A single stomp echoed as Futoshi activated his first arc—Elephant. His entire body hardened into a near-indestructible fortress, his skin turning a metallic hue, thick plates of armor forming over his limbs. A second surge of energy followed, his Crab arc reinforcing the first, adding layers of defensive reinforcement. His presence alone seemed to shake the Pit.

Payne only laughed.

A crackling hum spread through the air. Sparks flared at his fingertips before a massive surge of electricity erupted around him. The very air grew charged with raw power. Shadows of flickering blue lightning coiled around his body, their wild tendrils licking the ground and scorching the stone beneath him.

Behind him, for a moment a colossal electric eel materialized—its body surging and twisting through the air, its glowing eyes locked onto Futoshi like a predator eyeing its prey before fading out.

The Pit fell silent.

Then—

Futoshi charged.

His katana gleamed under the dim light as he brought it down in a mighty swing—aimed straight for Payne's heart.

But—

He hit nothing.

In a blink, Payne had vanished. A static hum filled the air. A flash—then pain.

A blinding bolt of lightning erupted from behind. Before Futoshi could react, the shockwave hit.

BOOM!

A violent detonation of electricity blasted through the Pit. The sheer force sent Futoshi careening through the air like a ragdoll. His massive frame slammed into the stone wall, shattering the surface like glass. The entire arena trembled from the impact.

Dust and debris rained down.

Futoshi coughed, his arcs barely holding against the raw energy that had engulfed him. His armor sizzled, smoke rising from its cracks. He struggled to rise, his body still convulsing from the residual voltage.

Payne strolled forward, grinning. "Hah. That tickled, didn't it?"

Futoshi gritted his teeth. His katana lay a few feet away. He needed to grab it.

"How!?" he growled, rage in his voice. "I should have tanked that!"

Payne knelt beside him, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, don't tell me you just realized it now?"

Futoshi's eyes flickered to his sword. Then, understanding dawned on him.

His grip.

The moment his fingers curled around the hilt, his arc had momentarily weakened.

Payne's smirk widened. "Bingo. Your dual arc is tough, but it has a fatal flaw. Every time you grip your katana, you create tiny gaps in your defense, metal and electricity don't do so well together, do they? . And me? Well, let's just say I love playing with openings."

Futoshi's breath hitched. "Then… the first blast…"

"A decoy," Payne confirmed with a lazy shrug. "I never needed to hit you with an ace. I just let you think I did. While you braced for a frontal attack, I was already planting a charge in your hands."

Futoshi's fingers twitched. He was still within reach of his sword. One move. One chance.

Payne sighed. "Still want to fight?"

Futoshi didn't answer. Instead, in a flash of footwork, he slid forward, snatching his katana in one fluid motion.

KWA-KOOM!

The sword exploded.

A violent detonation of raw electricity erupted in his hands, the force far greater than before. Lightning consumed him whole, his screams drowned out by the deafening crackle of a thousand volts surging through his body.

The blast wave tore through the Pit—crumbling walls, sending onlookers staggering backward. When the dust settled, Futoshi was still standing—barely. His armor had shattered.

His body twitched. His muscles refused to obey him.

Payne stood before him, expression cold. "Shame. You had potential."

Futoshi collapsed.

The leader of the Black Pirates, one of the strongest crime bosses of Sakai Port Village, lay motionless, his body still crackling with residual sparks.

Payne chuckled darkly. He adjusted his shades and kicked Futoshi's katana aside.

"Well, that was fun."

The crowd?

Silent.

The other crime bosses watched in stunned horror. Even Akitsugu, the leader of the Yakuza, had to admit—this man was on another level.

Still, he smirked. "You should consider working for me. I have powerful people in high places—"

"Save it," Payne interrupted, already turning away. "If you have powerful people in high places, you wouldn't be playing here in a nameless village playing fetch."

As he walked out of the Pit, the faint hum of static lingered in the air. The message was clear.

No one. Not even the crime lords of Sakai Port Village—stood a chance against him.