The air was heavy and hot, filled with muffled groans of pain and cheering shouts. He had no idea how he even ended up there — or rather why — right in the middle of an underground fight club. Quite illegal.

In all honesty, one of his friends suggested going there. Initially Satoru refused, obviously. But then, he still went. Without his friend.

The ongoing match was over. Both men, strangers to him, bruised and bloody. One standing, the other on the ground — out cold. Or perhaps dead, not many of the audience seemed to care. They were all busy putting their debts on the next duo. So naturally he attempted to move with the crowd as well, until somebody bumped into him.

Somebody in dark clothes and a weapon, urging him in the other direction. Claiming that his boss would like to have a drink with him. His boss — who soon turned out to be the owner of the whole place. Probably also the leader of some mafia, sitting idly up in their private little lodge with bodyguards and a bottle of whiskey.