Realistic or Modern Great Ganbatte Round 1!!!!: Evolution of the Fight

[obscured_light]

The faint trace of power.

Even if she wasn't fully aware of what the monk was talking about, Rivera could feel he wasn't bullshitting her. A gentle wind would have been too convenient otherwise. The display of power was also necessary, seeing as Rivera's eyes immediately darted to anyone who even vaguely turned in their direction. At least three or four, meaning three or four who would not fall for their tricks so easily. Could it even be called a trick really?

Ten. Her count was off but Rivera bore no ill will towards the monk, stepping aside and gesturing to the gathering.

"Take the lead, guys," she said with a small smile.

 

[PiePillager]

Shangren nodded and led the others out towards the beach. "It's also possible that there are people among those gathered who can hide their chi among us. Those would make for dangerous opponents." The monk raised a hand as he approached others, a few of them looking apprehensive. "Salutations., I assume some of you know why we're here, do you not?" he offered a slight smile to those gathered, raising a bushy eyebrow to each of them.

***
Fat Chu walked through the bar, the front doors directly opposite where Min-Ji and Musashi sat, opposite of Taku. Looking over at the aftermath of Musashi's brief clash with Taku, Chu merely offered a grunt of "Hmph," the sunglasses covering his face doing nothing to conceal the unimpressed glare he was determined to maintain before he turned his attention to Min-Ji. "Shorty from my concert, right? Back in the city? Guess that crew that was after you gave up the chase, huh?"

 

[Nellancholy]

Nabi, for her part, had taken to blending in with the crowd after her early success of being one of the first participants to assemble a full team. That didn't mean that she could relax, however. Instead, she was taking some time to carefully observe the bunch that hadn't joined her side. For the evening, it was pretty safe to assume that everyone still milling around considered themselves a contender, and any percentage of them could be the Mafia's agents. That Mergo certainly wasn't off the hook either, though the fact that she was willing to join the team of Nabi (a known target of the Mafia), meant that she would at the very least be a useful asset, if not someone to trust outright. She hated having to think of people like this, but when facing an organization that worked in the shadows and spent human lives as easily as money, a certain amount of ruthlessness was necessary.

Presently an aged man emerged from a beachside tavern, addressing some of the participants just as Nabi passed. Well, here was a chance to gather more information. Who was this man, and what did he plan? "The purpose of our gathering is fairly clear, eorusin." She folded her arms, giving him a cautious nod but a small smile at the same time. "Planning on getting a head start on the competition?"

PiePillager

 

[egglover]

Seated among her newfound comrades, the ninja and the samurai, Min-Ji raised her glass in a toast. Though their recent scuffle had conveyed something between them, she didn't dwell on the details, content as long as both men stood by her side. This eclectic group felt right. Musashi inspired trust, and Taku displayed a level of skill akin to the samurai. While the duo excelled in weaponry, Min-Ji specialized in hand-to-hand combat, particularly in a Korean style of wrestling. Their diverse skill set made for a formidable team.

A voice interrupted her thoughts from behind. Min-Ji turned to find Fat Chu, the concertgoer from before, and offered him a glass of her soju. "Haha, yeah! Sorry 'bout that. Kind of a wild story. Luckily I got my pal Musa here!"

She put her arm around the shoulder of Musashi with a grin. "Man he really saved my neck out there. Hope ya concert wasn't too, uh, crazy after that, Chu!"

Min-Ji cocked her head, a mischievous glint in her eye, "Hey, you're a participant, yeah? Got a team? Wanna join us? If you do we'll be like, Team Japan or some shit! Haha, 'cept for me, but I can pretend I'm from good ol' Ilbon. Hey bartender, another round of soju for my friends here!"

 

[PiePillager]

Shangren shook his head. "A scope on the competition? In a sense. We were actually hoping to look for suitable candidates to join our team, provided you have not all finalized your decisions yet. He turned to Rivera and Trent. "Forgive me, I do not mean to speak for all of us, but we have to manage it one way or the other."

Kipsang trailed behind the rest of his team for a bit, stumbling and knocking into a trash can, littering its contents onto the beach. "But you need to have what it takes!" he hiccuped. "Perhapssss som demonstrations arrrrre in.....under. Under? No, no...Order!" he guffawed.

"There is truth in these words, I have to admit," Shangren sighed. "Sparring would be the best way to determine if any of you are truly ready for this tournament, whether we join forces or become as rivals. Your performance may give you something to think about improving in the days ahead."

***

"Tch..." Chu looked to the side at Min-Ji's two other 'teammates'. The delusional man who claimed to be Miyamoto Musashi. Such a thing was impossible, but there was no mistaking it. Even if he wasn't the legendary swordsman reincarnated, or whatever his story was, he certainly had the skills to match. And as a descendant of Sasaki Kojiro, he couldn't let such brazenness go unchallenged. Fake or real, Musashi, it was up to him to defeat him. And the best way to ensure that they faced each other without a shadow of a doubt...

"Join with y'all?" he asked, glancing down at the woman. Cool with me," he concluded, taking a seat and accepting Min-Ji's glass of soju.

 

[JuniperBoi]

“Fancy meeting you here, Lightweight.”

Yasuke turned to see his old sparring partner, Sanji. A wide grin spread across his face. He walked up and dapped him up. “Who’re you calling Lightweight? I remember carrying your ass around the dojo like a paperweight every time you got knocked out cold?” He said with a hearty laugh. “How ya been man?”

Darklord95

 

[Darklord95]

“Fancy meeting you here, Lightweight.”

Yasuke turned to see his old sparring partner, Sanji. A wide grin spread across his face. He walked up and dapped him up. “Who’re you calling Lightweight? I remember carrying your ass around the dojo like a paperweight every time you got knocked out cold?” He said with a hearty laugh. “How ya been man?”

Darklord95

Sanji takes the dapping with little reaction. “Same as usual. Apparently I missed the memo about this being a team tournament. You wouldn’t happen to be in need of members would you?”

 

[obscured_light]

"We've already been sparring," Rivera said a little crossly, not seeing the point of Kipsang and Shangren's suggestion. "We do have two days though..."

She crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn't like Rivera hadn't realized it would be non stop fighting but somehow, she had thought they would all remain neutral until the round started. They had two days and most people would already be in teams before the night was over.

"What would we even be doing to demonstrate? Best out of three?"

 

[Safety Hammer]

GUNNAR HART​

The paparazzi lined up eagerly to watch the jet-black learjet slowly angle itself down towards the runway, its wheels momentarily skipping across the blacktop as the plane rolled to a stop in front of the crowd amassing on the tarmac. Almost prematurely, the barrage of popping flashbulbs and camera apertures clapping shut gave the appearance of a non-lethal firing squad lighting up the side of the luxury aircraft. With a mechanical pop and a hiss of decompression, a panel along the side began to descend vertically, turning from a door into a small, multi-step staircase. Suddenly, a large, brawny hand gripped the doorframe from the inside, multi-ringed fingers squeezing for support, as it pulled all six feet and ten inches of Gunnar Hart from the inside of the plane, and onto the first step. The crowd burst into a consistent, incoherent ramble of shouts and questions, all trying to individually get the wrestler, the entertainer’s attention.

“Mister Hart, Mister Hart!” A meek woman dressed in baby blue shouted, holding a hand-mic and pointing it up towards Gunnar's direction. “Yesterday you were in Osaka, Japan, defending your heavyweight title against Shinsuke Hakushi! Surely you're not here for the Great Granbatte!? The preliminaries are over!”

Smiling, Gunnar reached into his breast pocket for his signature pair of shield sunglasses and slid them onto the bridge of his strong, Roman nose. “It's true, it's DAMN true! The judges and the producers of this here fighting tournament, they saw every single slack-jawed jabroni that entered those damn preliminaries, and man, they were bored, brother. They were looking for something different, something absolutely electrifying. So they picked up that big red phone, dude, dialed up that magical ten digit combination, and called up simply the most stunning man in sports entertainment to bring this tournament to the next level.You see, the big general manager in the sky broke the damn mold when he made me, brother. You ask me how my stamina could endure, how my spirit remains unwavering, and I've only got one answer, lady. I'm a genetic freak, I'm not normal.” He barked in a self-assured, cocky manner. “I'm so cool, I spit ice cubes. I'm so hip, I can barely see past my belt buckle. I'm the greatest wrestler on God's green earth, and I've got this to prove it.” He raised his right hand, lifting a large, golden belt up above his head. The paparazzi took their cue, and resumed the flashing of cameras. Looking right down the barrel of the closest camera, ignoring the rest of the clamoring reporters and photographers with a professional grace only gained from years of working live.

“I'm puttin’ out a message to all you candy-asses kicking up your feet thinking you made it to the top. Millions watching at home and around the globe, and it's your cup'a coffee in the big time- your CUP OF COFFEE cuz you ain't gettin’ any higher than you are right now, yeeah. I am the reigning heavyweight champion of the world, I am the tower of power, brother. Number one with a bullet, yeah!” he threw up both arms in a triumphant “V” one hand clutching the strap of his title belt, while the other was clenched into a righteous fist.

“History beckons The Stunner!! Dig it!!!”

 

[Nellancholy]

On average, it seemed like Shangren's team was made up of a fairly experienced bunch, those who understood the idea of not competing solely as sportsmen or entertainers, but as warriors. Of course, experience was necessary to truly hone one's skills, but if you had thirty years of experience being mediocre, that was worth far less than two years of excellence. Or that's how Nabi saw it, anyway.

Case in point, the ethanol-scented heap that was sprawled not too far from Shangren. She'd seen some footage of him from old martial arts tournaments, particularly from the footage of prior Ganbattes she had studied. Nabi shrugged and offered Kipsang her hand, allowing him to help himself up with her slim, densely-muscled arm as leverage.

"Try to stay upright."

A spectacle far bigger than that which Nabi usually made ensued as yet another late arrival made his presence known, as surely as a storm would announce himself. If she could get him on her side, all the better. And if not, at least they'd have acknowledged each other. Even if he didn't know of her, she did know of him.

Was he the type to have watched women's boxing? Hell, some of this type of guy probably thought they were above it. A mistaken notion that lasted until she put them up against the cage with a solid punch.

Still, she approached.

"Hey Stunner!" Nabi waved her own floating camera drone over to capture her and the mountainous wrestler. "Fashionably late as always? Well, I'm not too worried about having a guy show up on time, long as he pulls his weight when he does. And I know you've got weight. Come on, why not join up with me? History beckons the Stunner, and so do I!" She decided to add a little provocation. "I defy you to find a better tag team partner on this beach!"

PiePillager Safety Hammer

 

[Safety Hammer]

Gunnar was about to abscond into a white stretch limousine with his coach, two trainers, and one of those bold ringrats that hung around these hordes of photographers and dirt-sheet writers, when a voice rose above the rest. The wrestler didn't turn his head- no, that might break kayfabe. Instead, he focused his eyes on the reflection of the black-out windows. Curiously, he saw the paparazzi, his paparazzi, began to focus their flashbulbs on her. Who was she? He quickly wracked his brain for any sense of familiarity with this woman. Clearly she held herself like a fighter, a legitimate one at that. It wasn't that Gunnar was a misogynist, he just knew nothing about the rest of the sports world, other than its various ties to pro wrestling. Then he saw it: boxing boots. Flat soled, lace-up. Just like wrestling boots. ’A boxer… I~I think I've got something for that.’ He thought, suppressing a smile.

"Hey Stunner!" Nabi waved her own floating camera drone over to capture her and the mountainous wrestler. "Fashionably late as always? Well, I'm not too worried about having a guy show up on time, long as he pulls his weight when he does. And I know you've got weight. Come on, why not join up with me? History beckons the Stunner, and so do I!" She decided to add a little provocation. "I defy you to find a better tag team partner on this beach!"

He lifted his hand to his chin and used it to turn his head, lower it to eye-level, and then to swipe his sun-staches off of his face, before raising up the people's eyebrow, cocked towards the heavens in honor of the great one.
“The jobbers always precede the workers. And The Stunner doesn't do the J.O.B., sister. That's the bottom line.” He said stepping away from the limo, leaving the blonde inside giggling, knowing he was watching a star work his magic. “You're asking me, if the Stunner, the cash-spending, bone-bending, kiss-stealin’, wheelin-dealin’ death-defying, e-lect-tri-fy-ing man in professional sports today, would team up with a boxer?” He paused for dramatic effect. “Let me answer your question with another question. Has this boxer ever seen Inoki/Ali fight from ‘76? Imagine, the greatest your sport has ever produced, being fought to a standstill by our very own pillar of heaven. Before I got my first championship, I was blessed with a Toukon Slap by Inoki-San himself, a passing of his torch to me. And I'd be damned if I tarnished his legacy-.. my legacy be tarnished by a rudy-poo, rope-a-dopin’, butterfly-floatin’ jabroni! Until then, run the ropes, learn how to do an ankle lock, and breath it in while you can. Cuz this is the closest you're ever coming to greatness.”
With that, Gunnar slid into the limo and slammed the door, cueind the driver to peel off of the tarmac and towards the closest nightclub.

Nellancholy

 

[Nellancholy]

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that." As often happened, the showman thought that a few good throws and a wall of muscle meant he was a cut above the real athletes. On the topic of Inoki vs. Ali, pro wrestlers and their fans could quibble about how all the restrictions placed on Inoki made him unable to exercise the capabilities of his style, while no reminder was needed that even in a stand-up fight, there was slim odds of him being able to get into grappling reach without eating more than a few punches from "The Greatest". And Nabi Bergkvist was close to his equal, if not when she became champion, certainly after she reached the pinnacle of her journey to challenge, learn, and conquer other styles.

Gunnar or anyone else expecting to face just a boxer when they stepped into the cage with Nabi would be in for an unpleasant surprise. And she could say all that, but some things were far better settled after the bell rang, with a good shock to the jaw. There was a time for showmanship and posturing, and there was time to shut up and let the fists talk.

"Go ahead and enjoy your evening." She smiled wryly. "Just don't miss your first match for all the partying. Wouldn't want to disappoint your fans and mine, Mr. Main Event."

She sighed, stretching her arms over her head as she addressed her viewers in the wake of his departure. "Hey, it was worth a shot. Now some of you think Mr. Stunner has more muscles than sense, but it's no mistake wanting to face ME in the ring. Real mistake is doing that and expecting to win."

Safety Hammer

 

[Wing06]

Taku was enjoying his drink as the team he found himself on grew. The Samurai would be a great ally, and the other two could hold their own. He'd seen some of their bouts the night before and was eager to get started on the next round. As Chu sat down, accepting his place on the team, they all raised their glasses of Soju, "Kanpai!" He shouted happily before draining the glass.

 

[PiePillager]

"I...uh, er...." was all Shangren could manage. While he was used to displays of bravado among fighters, he was quite unfamiliar with the sheer braggadociousness of a professional wrestler. "A unique fighter, I'll say that much." He turned to Nabi. "He won't be a pushover. Morevoer, his late arrival doesn't sit well with me. Such things are exceptions and with the tournament shaking things up already...this will be quite a unique entry in the storied history of the Ganbatte."

Kipsang, seemed to have either been blissfully ignorant of the entire situation as he was too busy nodding his head to Nabi in thanks for giving him a hand. "I cannot thank you enough, young lady. Now you say you're a boxer? I do a little boxing myself. Drunken boxing you see? Ehehehe!" he laughed, briefly mimicking a boxer's motions before his own fist collided with his face, causing him to nearly double over again if not for Shangren offering a swift blink-and-you-miss-it, kick to his back that sent Kipsang back upright and looking around so that he wondered what happened.

"Anyway," Shangren sighed. "As I had previously stated, according to the rules of the tournament, we'll need a total number of ten on our teams. This area seems to have many a capable person, so if you would like to join forces, it would be most wise."

***
"Kanpai," Chu nodded, downing his glass with the others. "So that's four. We'll need six more," he stated, grabbing a handful of wasabi peas in a bowl on the bar counter and munching on them. "Just gotta make sure whoever else we grab is worth a damn. You see anyone else like that in this bar?"

***

Elsewhere, at another bar... Daoud lurked around the counter, quietly ordering water as he kept tabs on two fighters who seemed capable enough, Sanji and Yasuke.

***

And even further along the beach, there was a pile on the sands. A heap of bodies lying unconscious as the saltwater lapped their faces and stung their wounds, every time it reached shore. They would live to fight another day, of course, but all had felt humbled. And it was all because of the ten individuals, disappearing into the alleyways, the angle of the moonlight upon the beach, cloaking them in a sinister silhouette.

Nellancholy

Darklord95

JuniperBoi

 

[Wing06]

Taku eyed the other patrons in the bar, thanking the bartender as she handed him a full glass. "I don't know, Chu, doesn't seem like too many other fighters came in after us. Six more fighters worth their salt might be hard to come by, but if we're having this much trouble rounding up a balanced team, hopefully, everyone else is, too." He took a long draught from his cold beer and smiled at a young woman staring in his direction. She blushed and returned to her friends, who had started to laugh.

Taku stood and considered walking over to the women's table, but his phone had other plans; "Call me - Now." He gave the young woman a sad smile, quickly paid for his drinks, and ordered the woman another before stepping outside.


"You should know better than to text me." He started as the line connected.
"I apologize, Saito-Sensai, but there's been a development..." The young man on the other end of the line began. "We think those who murdered the Saito Clan have discovered your identity. You must be on your guard!"
"Do you know who they are?"
"No, but there have been whispers among the clans and Yakuza that a Saito has entered the tournament."
"I appreciate the concern, find out what you can. I'll investigate the opponents I've already defeated and see if there are any leads."
"Yessir!"

Taku sighed and pulled up the tournament app on his phone. He scrolled through the defeated list, narrowing down the list to those he'd personally knocked out.

"See what you can find on these fighters." He typed, sending the text along with a screen capture.
"Understood, Saito-Dono"

 

[obscured_light]

Rivera crossed her arms over her chest, pensive as she thought over their options. This competition brought all sorts of people and the streamer and the wrestler were some of the most notable types. The high profile competitors didn't intimidate Rivera but she did wonder what advantages it brought, if there were any.

Her present situation however didn't really leave her much option.

"I wouldn't mind joining forces," Rivera said, holding a hand out to Shangren. "As long as one of us is standing in the end."

 

[PiePillager]

The night came and went. But not so quietly. One could say the streets were busier than ever. Between fighters scoping out the competition and forging tenuous alliances...and the darker deeds conducted in the shadows. There was a tension in the air. Blood had been spilled and everyone could sense it...it permeated the stones, bled through the foundation. But to the naked eye, it was all but invisible.

The festivities had just begun to up the ante to the viewers at home and the tourists and civilians hanging about in the city. The following day following this violent night was the calm before the storm. The combatants rested. They waited and they watched. And the next nightfall was much quieter, though no less tense.

Don't mistake this feeling for a negative one...for the fighters....for most of them...this was the kind of feeling they reveled in.

And so that brings us to the following day. The big one. 9:30 Am at the very beach where the next stage of the tournament had been announced, the newly formed teams were to gather, meet and present themselves to find where they would next be seeded.

 

[PiePillager]

"Attention, participants!" an announcement suddenly cut through the tension. On the radios, interrupting the television broadcasts, and blaring out upon intercoms on the streets. "Time is up! Come back down to the beach, to register your teams! You're expected to have the full ten participants by now, any competitors left out will be assigned teams! Choose one member as team captain and have your captain draw a lot from the podium we've set up in front of the beach.

***

Not even ten minutes later a massive crowd had gathered on the beach, each team appointing their captain as well as giving their team a name. Kipsang looked upon his gathered teammates, Rivera, Shangren, Trent, and the others they had gathered, beaming proudly. "Might I say, I am proud and will gladly accept your nominations as team captain!" he grinned.

No such nominations had been made. Shangren sighed as he raised his hand and pressed his fingers on Kipsang's forehead lightly, tipping the drunk old man over. "I have no inclinations towards leadership," the monk sighed. "As the two other 'senior members' of this team, would either of you like the position?" he asked Rivera or Trent, referring to both fighters' status as the initial three members of their team.

 

[Wing06]

Taku stood with his team as the announcement was made. "Well, if it's all the same to you all, I'll take the lead," He flashed a smile and headed for the podium to draw his team's lot. "Looks like we are number six!" He held the ball with the number 6 in the air as onlookers cheered.

 

[obscured_light]

"I would," Rivera spoke up, stepping forward but looking back at Trent. "Unless you have objections, old friend?"

 

[Kameron Esters-]

Mohamed stepped onto the beach, the morning sun warming the sands beneath his bare feet as he surveyed the gathering crowd of fighters. The tension in the air was like a drumbeat in his ears, an endless rhythm that signaled the impending storm of combat. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the sensation wash over him and recalling his master's teachings: to steady himself in the midst of chaos, to breathe in the noise and find peace within the turbulence. It wasn’t peace he felt now, though—it was excitement.

The team round had caught him off guard, and Mohamed had spent the past two days studying the other fighters. He’d watched the boasts, the power displays, and the quiet alliances forming beneath the surface of all the noise. The key was to not only find strong fighters but also those he could trust—at least for now. Mohamed wasn't here to win a team tournament; he was here to win the whole thing for Jakatra. And so, he needed fighters who wouldn’t drag him down but who also wouldn't betray him at the first sight of an opportunity.

His eyes swept across the sands, catching sight of several clusters forming their teams. He recognized a few notable faces: the monk who spoke of chi and potential, the drunkard who seemed to dance on the edge of coherence, and the loudmouthed pro wrestler who could summon the attention of a crowd with nothing more than a boastful word. They were strong, and they had their own following, but would they be reliable?

Mohamed's gaze fell upon a group of fighters that seemed to have a certain balance—a mix of confidence and caution, with members who seemed strategic about their choices. He recognized one of them, Rivera, whose demeanor was calm and calculating; she didn’t just fight for show, but to win. There was also the monk, Shangren, whose energy seemed almost serene amidst the chaos. And then there was Kipsang, the drunken brawler who, despite his odd antics, displayed an awareness that hinted at deeper skill.

Mohamed’s instincts told him that this team had promise. Their varied skills and personalities could cover many weaknesses, and they were clearly ready to stand their ground against anyone. But were they willing to accept another fighter at this late stage?

He steeled himself and walked toward them, moving with purpose. He had nothing to lose by approaching, and everything to gain if they accepted him. As he closed the distance, he gave a nod to each of them, his expression respectful but determined.

“Salam, fighters,” Mohamed said, his voice steady and clear. “My name is Mohamed from Jakatra. I’ve been watching this tournament unfold, and I believe we all share the same goal—to advance to the next round, and to win. I can see you’re already forming a team, and it looks like you all have a solid lineup. I’m here to propose that I join you.”

 

[DarKnight36]

"No, be my guest," Trent shrugged. "You always had an eye for that sort of thing."

On the other side of the room, Musashi sat aloof from the crowd, the rest of the fighters giving him a natural wide berth. His eyes swept the crowd with purpose, looking for those chosen few he had marked earlier as being worthy opponents.

 

[PiePillager]

Mohamed stepped onto the beach, the morning sun warming the sands beneath his bare feet as he surveyed the gathering crowd of fighters. The tension in the air was like a drumbeat in his ears, an endless rhythm that signaled the impending storm of combat. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the sensation wash over him and recalling his master's teachings: to steady himself in the midst of chaos, to breathe in the noise and find peace within the turbulence. It wasn’t peace he felt now, though—it was excitement.

The team round had caught him off guard, and Mohamed had spent the past two days studying the other fighters. He’d watched the boasts, the power displays, and the quiet alliances forming beneath the surface of all the noise. The key was to not only find strong fighters but also those he could trust—at least for now. Mohamed wasn't here to win a team tournament; he was here to win the whole thing for Jakatra. And so, he needed fighters who wouldn’t drag him down but who also wouldn't betray him at the first sight of an opportunity.

His eyes swept across the sands, catching sight of several clusters forming their teams. He recognized a few notable faces: the monk who spoke of chi and potential, the drunkard who seemed to dance on the edge of coherence, and the loudmouthed pro wrestler who could summon the attention of a crowd with nothing more than a boastful word. They were strong, and they had their own following, but would they be reliable?

Mohamed's gaze fell upon a group of fighters that seemed to have a certain balance—a mix of confidence and caution, with members who seemed strategic about their choices. He recognized one of them, Rivera, whose demeanor was calm and calculating; she didn’t just fight for show, but to win. There was also the monk, Shangren, whose energy seemed almost serene amidst the chaos. And then there was Kipsang, the drunken brawler who, despite his odd antics, displayed an awareness that hinted at deeper skill.

Mohamed’s instincts told him that this team had promise. Their varied skills and personalities could cover many weaknesses, and they were clearly ready to stand their ground against anyone. But were they willing to accept another fighter at this late stage?

He steeled himself and walked toward them, moving with purpose. He had nothing to lose by approaching, and everything to gain if they accepted him. As he closed the distance, he gave a nod to each of them, his expression respectful but determined.

“Salam, fighters,” Mohamed said, his voice steady and clear. “My name is Mohamed from Jakatra. I’ve been watching this tournament unfold, and I believe we all share the same goal—to advance to the next round, and to win. I can see you’re already forming a team, and it looks like you all have a solid lineup. I’m here to propose that I join you.”

Kipsang looked up from the ground and turned his head towards the imposing figure. "You've got that right, son. We've got a pretty good team...except for Bill there," he stated, pointing towards a heretofore unmentioned member of the team the group had recruited offscreen. He looked fairly offended at the accusation. "But we're still missing some spots...Or at least that's what everyone else says. I'm always seeing spots! Ehehehe!"

"The old fool is correct in that regard," Shangren responded. "We are in need of strong fighters and I can sense that you will be a useful asset among us," he stated raising a hand. "If you will lend us your power, we will gladly accept you aboard? What say you Rivera?" he asked the newly appointed team captain. As he spoke, the call was made. All captains were to draw lots for their teams.

 

[obscured_light]

"That sounds perfectly fine to me," Rivera said as she gave a nod of approval. "Let me go take care of that then."

She walked off to go draw the lot for hers.

 

[Kameron Esters-]

Mohamed dipped his head in acknowledgment, a faint smile forming as Rivera accepted his offer. “I appreciate the chance. I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

As Rivera walked off to draw the lot, Mohamed stayed with the others, taking a moment to settle into the group. His eyes scanned the beach, noting the other teams that were gathering, some already giving off palpable tension, others huddled in strategic discussions. The tournament had shifted into a new phase, one where alliances were just as important as individual strength.

But Mohamed knew that trust, at least for now, would be a fleeting thing. In the end, there could only be one winner. And while he’d play his part, his eyes were always on the final prize.

For Jakatra. For his people. He’d fight, adapt, and rise through the ranks—no matter what it took.