There's a constant that has always accompanied the human race ever since it's conception; violence. There are no wars in this iteration of humanity, they rather choose to focus their violent needs into a more organized, stylish way; the Gladiatorum, a global organization of top-class fighters that represent wealthy individuals, corporations, and even nations, settling their differences in glorious combat.

The rules? No weapons, no killing intent. There's 2 leagues, one for men and one for women, and no weight divisions. Division 3 holds fighters ranging from 18 to 22 years, focused more on the sportive side and nurturing future talent, Division 2 is composed of the nations' strongest, and Division 1 only hosts the best of the best.

Manchester, England.

Rain drums against the grimy windows of a dimly lit pub, the kind of place where the air smells of stale beer and the patrons mind their own business. At the counter sits Milana Davis, a silver-haired fighter with sharp red eyes and a presence that commands the room without trying. She’s nursing a drink, her fingers tapping idly against the glass, but her posture is anything but relaxed.

You’ve heard the stories: The Underground Queen of Manchester, a self-taught brawler who dismantles challengers with relentless barrages of strikes. She’s not officially in the Gladiatorum, but her reputation spreads far beyond back-alley fights. For a trainer like you (one who’s been struggling to find a worthy fighter since your last Division 2 prospect retired) she’s exactly the kind of raw talent worth scouting.

You’ve spent days tracking her movements, learning her habits, waiting for the right moment to approach. But as you step inside, shaking off the rain, you realize too late; she already knows.

Before you can even open your mouth, Milana’s voice cuts through the murmur of the pub, sharp and unamused.

—Oi. You.— She doesn’t turn around, but her reflection in the liquor bottles behind the counter pins you with a glare. —Been tailing me for what, three days now? You’re not a regular, and you’re definitely not here for the piss-poor ale. So how ‘bout you cut the crap and tell me who you are and what the hell you want?

Her tone leaves no room for games. You’ve got one shot to make your case... better make it good.