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Realistic or Modern Great Ganbatte!!!

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Connor Davis
Male - Young adult - long hair - fighter.jpg

Connor must have died in that airport and went straight to heaven. It was the only possible explanation that made any sense as he stepped out of his room sized master bathroom. It was literally bigger than his dorm room back home, and he didn't have to share it with anyone else. Not to mention the actual hotel room itself. It was as big, if not bigger, than his families entire living room. The bed was a full king and looked immaculate. There was an entire sofa in the middle of the room with two comfortable looking leather chairs surrounding a large coffee table flanking it. The television was embedded in the wall and had to be at least a hundred inches wide, with a stereo system that just oozed possibilities. And the view was incredible, the large outside balcony giving him a beautiful view of the city itself.

After getting through customs without being ambushed, he practically threw himself into the first taxi he found and started repeating the limited Spanish he had drilled into his head at the driver. It was all for nothing however as the driver was fluent in English, leaving Connor more than a little embarrassed as he was asked where he wanted to go. Just wanting to get out of the area for the time being he had told the driver to take him to a hotel, any would do. As it turned out, the hotel that he was taken to was not just any hotel, but what looked like an entire resort wrapped into a hotel. He wasn't even sure how he would try and afford it, only to be informed by the front desk that his room was already prepared and paid for. Now, draped in a comfortable bath robe and sat on the foot of his bed, he couldn't even to begin to believe his luck.

Flicking on the television, Connor lazily browsed through the channels to see what was on. Eventually, he had found himself on a channel dedicated to the tournament itself, with a table full of well dressed and experienced looking men and women spoke excitedly about the participants. Fights were broken down, names were thrown around and fight records, both public and not, were paraded around as each host argued for their perceived favorite to win the tournament. Apparently this Bek guy was the favored contestant, boasting the most eliminations yet out of all of the participants. Soon after the hosts took a break, and a list of the remaining participants was slowly scrolled across the screen. Besides each participant was a number, a number that he soon realized showed their overall ranking in the tournament.

He watched the names scroll on by, his eyes glued to the screen as he scanned for his name. Finally, his name scrolled up from the bottom of the screen and he could not help but let out an angry yell when he noticed his ranking. One hundred and nineteenth, he wasn't even in the top one hundred! Grumbling, Connor reached for his phone to look up some of the names that were ahead of him, eager to try and get some information on them, only to remember that he had shut if off during the flight to save power. Powering it on, he was immediately blasted with over fifteen missed calls from his parents, seven voice-mails, and dozens of text messages as well. He cringed, remembering that he didn't exactly clear any of this with his parents beforehand. Falling back into the comforting embrace of his king sized bed, the softness of the pillows slowly sapped away his annoyance and dread as he closed his eyes and sighed. He could deal with that basket of grenades in the morning. For now, all he wanted to do was get some sleep and be ready for the next day.

A knock at the door had him groaning, not willing to leave his quilted comfort to answer the door. Thankfully, the person didn't continue to knocking stopped after a short while leaving him to close his eyes and lie in bliss. Unfortunately, his body was still wired from both his flight and the massive brawl at the airport. No matter how much he tossed and turned, he eventually gave up on sleep for now and got dressed. He changed into his spare set of clothes, A pair of jeans and a burgundy t-shirt covered by a blue and grey half-zip jacket. Instead of his usual shoes he decided to take the extra time and lace up his boxing shoes. If fights could break out at any moment, it was probably a good idea to be ready whenever. Slipping a roll of tape into his jacket pocket Connor was about to open his hotel door when he spied a piece of paper on the ground in front of it.

Leaning down to pick it up, he turned it over and inspected it. It was a pamphlet, detailing all of the features and perks being an active card holder in the tournament would grant him. In addition to his fully paid for hotel, he would be able to grab a meal at practically any location within the city. Seemingly no expense was spared, which only served to hammer in exactly how important and influential the people putting the tournament on were. Restaurants, clubs, bars, any and every activity he could think of was detailed in the pages of the pamphlet.

Also included, much to his shock, was a detailed breakdown of the more.... adult oriented festivities that were available for the competitors to enjoy. Connor quickly shut the pamphlet, face turning red as he looked around as if to confirm that he was alone. After confirming that yes, he was in fact still alone in his hotel room, he slowly peeled open the pamphlet and scanned every inch of it.

"W-well it would be rude to pass them up on such a generous offer. Besides, I am almost twenty one, so I'm basically already a full fledged adult. What's the worst that could happen?"


------------------------------------------

Everything was a blur.

Another drink burned its way down his throat, the heavy shot glass slamming against the wooden counter with more force than necessary as a cheer erupted from those around him. Someone slapped his back as he turned and raised his arms for a cheer. Or tried to, in any case as it seemed like fine motor control had left him somewhere between the fifth or sixth shot of liquor. Instead his arms splayed out wildly in the air as the unimpressed bartender collected the glass with weathered patience.

"¡Este niño puede sostener su licor!" His new best friend slapped his back eliciting a mild groan of complaint from the slumped over man. Connor didn't quite understand what he was saying, but he sounded happy so it was probably something good.

"Y-yesh. I'm da greatust. Best 'round." The words slurred from his mouth while his right arm slowly snaked itself towards the now empty space of the bar counter in search of the next shot. "Wuzzuh?"

"Ya no más." The bartender glared at the assorted group, arms crossed as he continued. "Estás cortado, lo último que necesito son los organizadores en mi por darle envenenamiento por licor."

His best friend, god he really didn't deserve someone like him, took offense to what was obviously an insult against Connor. "Oye, vamos, es un competidor. Tienes que darle lo que quiera. ¡Y lo que quiere es otra ronda para todos nosotros!"

"No." The bartenders left arm slid beneath the counter before returning with a worn looking baseball bat. "Ahora sal de aquí antes de que me suba a la barra y te dé una patada en el trasero!"

Why was he getting so mad? They were just having a good time, or at least Connor thought they were.
"S'fine s'fine, we- we'll go. B-becuz the party ish jush gettun started!" The floor quickly rushed to catch him, and suddenly the whole world shifted. No longer was he inside of a dingy bar surrounded by his new friends. His face filled with cushioned comfortableness, he rolled over only to yelp as his body fell off of the very comfortable bench. Now with a face full of significantly less comfortable floor, Connor slowly drug himself onto his knees and blearily looked around the room.

It looked like some sort of waiting room, although his new friends were nowhere to be found. The only other person in the room was an older looking woman lazily watching the television, some sort of sport was playing although he couldn't make heads or tails of what it was.


"E-excuse me." A wave of nausea slammed into him, as well as a piercing headache as he cradled his head in his hands. "W-where am I? Did my friends drop me off here?"

Mentions: druidquest druidquest
 
Now comfortably situated in the hotel lounge, Dan scoffed and leaned into the guy sitting next to him. "That Bek guy doesn't look so tough."

The other man did not respond, instead silently grabbing the underside of his own chair and scooting away a few inches. Dan only smirked and cocked an eyebrow behind his shades, turning his attention back toward his table and holding up one of the fliers under a hanging ceiling light. Bars? Strip clubs? LOVE hotels? Please. Now, don't get it twisted; Dan was a man who knew how to have good time, but he didn't fly all the way to Ecuador just to screw around. Once he's secured all of his belongings, he'd spend every waking moment studying up on the strongest opponents the Great Ganbatte had to offer and meticulously developing strategies to take them down. In a competition this fierce, he would have to spin every advantage he could manage just to keep his head above the water.

***

"NAH, NAH, I'm serious!" Dan chuckled like a piece of shit, putting his arm awkwardly around one of the club girls sitting next to him. "Low calorie sweetener, Vantac, some Nylenol -- you take all three at once and you'll get a better high than meth and weightlifting COMBINED. And, just between me and you girls?" He grinned and continued in a hushed tone, cupping his mouth with one hand. "It's kinda my secret weapon. Like, my own personal drunken fist. It's so fucking epic, I've got videos of me doing Ip-man shit to a bunch of assholes on YouTube. Here, let me pull it up."

Dan brandished his phone and navigated with seemingly practiced inhuman speed to a video titled "Epic slav prescribes ass-kicking to 3 guys" with thirty thousand views. Standing with imposing stature near the bar, two members of the club's security detail occasionally exchanged glances and pointed with annoyance at Dan's table.

"Fucker's not even paying attention," one of them said, fidgeting with the gun holstered on his belt. "His hand goes below the waist one more time, and I'm throwing him onto the curb teeth first." The other one nodded solemnly in agreement, narrowing his eyes.
 
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Kipsang wandered through the streets of Manta, stumbling along the way. The crowds were massive. Almost couldn't tell the fighters from the locals and the tourists....almost. Kipsang had a keen eye....when sober. And even when he wasn't he had other things. Despite being a drunkard he had an odd knack for ending up just where he wanted to be. Especially if it was where others wouldn't want him around...

"We got a fresh shipment of new hires comin' in today. Best dancers you've ever seen! Things are lookin' up for us. Business is boomin'!" a voice whispered ecstatically in an alleyway, unaware that amidst the rush of people passing by, he had been overheard by Edmund. "No offense boss, but...I just don't get why yer all tense 'n shit!"

"Don't play dumb with me, you know why! Soon as the tournament got underway, we knew we'd be raking in the cash! That's a damn given! I'm more interested in other ventures..." a raspier voice growled. "Forget the hires, where's the real fresh meat? The ones you 'picked up'?" he inquired. "' Cause if you didn't I'd be very angry. You know I wanna be the first to sample every taste. Savor every flavor..."

"Yeah...yeah, okay..." the younger man spoke, a bit of disgust evident in his voice. "But listen...you know the boss don't like that kinda talk?"

"Boss....I'm the fuckin' boss in case you forgot!" the raspy-voiced man spat, flicking a cigarette out of the alleyway and near the feet of unaware passerby

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, Yokubo-san but...you know who I mean..." the other man stammered. Kipsang peeked slightly around the alleyway to see the man, pointing up. Which in this world only meant one thing. A Heavenly King?

"Heh...I ain't afraid 'o him. He's too chickenshit to show his face around here anyway..." the older man, Yokubo grunted. " 'Sides, with the shit I've got cookin' up. He's gonna have to watch his back before long. Like you said, business is boomin'! And once everyone else wants a slice of what we're offering, he ain't gonna be in such a cushy position no more."

"Speakin' of which, I'm heading to the office," Yokubo nodded, heading out the alleyway.

"Which one?" the younger man asked.

"Whichever one you think, kid" Yokubo sneered, straightening his shirt as he stepped out and noticed the old drunkard lying against the wall of the alley, downing a bottle of rum. "Well, well...fuckin' Kipsang! Surprised to see you crawlin' back after last year, but...guess yer just here for the tail at this point?"

"You damn right, my brother!" Kipsang rose the bottle of rum in cheer. "Now tell me...where those girls from the hotel went?"

"The...probably mean the Nido girls, right? Right down to the right there. Big club with the neon bat. Can't fuckin' miss it! Heh heh!" Yokubo chuckled, heading out. As Kipsang stumbled toward the club, the gangster turned around to glare at him with a disgruntled look. He was sure the old fool was a harmless washup, but all the same...something didn't smell quite right about how their brief meeting just went. And it weren't the booze...
 
Then
"Too boss." Thd four of them said as they clang their glasses together. They were in the rundown bar were they spent most of their days when they weren't causing havoc . Cullen Embers twenty five at the time looked at his closest friends as they celebrated the life of the only farther figure he ever knew. Gary was a proud man who helped the town he loved. Being found gutted in a gutter wasn't how any of them thought he'd go down. No one knew who killed him.

Needing to clear his head he grabbed his jacket. "I'll be back." He said not five steps later he crashed into the new waitress as all of the drinks ended up on his shirt. "OH gosh I'm so sorry." She said as she grabbed a paper towel. Cullen looked up at her and his breath caught. She had long honey blonde hair with her bangs near her eyes and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She was slender. Her voice was like that of a siren.

"No... I'm sorry my shirt drank the beer." He said before Inwardly cringing at that. His friends laughed at that. "I'm Cullen." "Joanna" She said smiling brightly



Now

Cullen winced as he looked at the locket a picture of him and Joanna taken only two months ago. It was all he had left of her. "Love you Jo." he muttered before wincing at the pain of his bruised ribs.

Walking out of the hospital he started wondereding around the streets staying out of sight so that he could heal. Finding a quiet out of the way restaurant he took out his phone and checked out the competition. some man by the name of Bek seemed to be the one to beat. There was a cluster fuck of a video of people on board a plane that started fighting. There were other competitors he found interesting.

Shaking his head Cullen started to go through the current fights and write down ideas of how to beat some of the more interesting fighters. He wasn't going to go into another battle unprepared. He had to make it to the main tournament. And once there he'll put his revenge into action.
 
"...Damn." Donavan let out a long breath after reading his handler's lengthy text. He had basically nothing to work with: an age that definitely didn't match, no record of transit, no record of him even existing until this first Great Ganbatte. This 'Bek' guy was a ghost. That, or an idiot who paid to get in. Both seemed possible.

Hired Heavenly King muscle??
-Sent, 10:45 PM

Maybe. I'm telling you that's all I could find.
-Read, 10:46 PM

You still didn't answer my other question: tf is a margarita?
-Sent, 10:46 PM

Google it, dipshit. You really need to get a new phone.

-Read, 10:47 PM

Fuck you! Skippy works just fine!
-Sent, 10:47 PM

You've had that slidey piece of junk for ten years, D. Seriously, it's time.
-Read, 10:48 PM


Maybe she was right. Skippy was definitely getting old. But hey, the older they are, the harder they are to break. Ten years old and still going strong - ain't no way he was replacing it now. He had more pressing matters to deal with.

"Excuse me, señor?" A man, maybe mid-thirties, tapped him on the shoulder. Donavan looked over and was startled to find not just a man, but also what looked like a kindergartener gripping that man's pant leg, almost hiding himself behind it. "My son wants a uh... photograph of fighters. Collection? Other man said nada." He gestured to someone that Donavan didn't recognize. It took him a minute to realize what exactly was being asked.

"Oh. OH! Yeah yeah yeah, go ahead." He hastily straightened out his hair and got out of his chair, kneeling to meet the height of the kid. Making a quick gesture with his other hand, he wrapped his free arm around the kid and gave a hearty smile. Within an instant, a brilliant flash occupied his retinas, and it was gone. The man was clearly happy. The boy thanked him - or at least, that's what it sounded like - a few times before bolting off to join the rest of what Donavan presumed to be his family, with the father waving a goodbye, a broad smile adorning his face. Nice people. Nicer than the airport, anyway.

***

"Is this enough, Donnie?" An older man spoke in a hushed voice as Donavan wailed onto the sandbag, beating it backwards with each strike. "How many more kids do you need to send to a hospital? How many more will it take for you to stop?"

"As many as it damn well takes."

"Jesus, Donnie, he can't even see his own hands. You could've killed him."

"But I didn't. So it's fine."

"One of these days, Donnie, you'll send a kid home in a body bag, and I..." The man stopped. "Just... please, call her, Donnie. For me."

"I'm not calling the shrink."

***

He couldn't sleep. Still abuzz with energy, Donavan couldn't even force himself to close his eyes. For the past 15 minutes, he had been laying on his bed, physically unable to get any rest. Nothing was working. Guess it was gonna be one of those nights. He zipped himself up into a windbreaker and sweats, before making his way out into the cold evening air. He had set his sights on the red light district.

It didn't take him long to get there, and shortly after he was unfortunately greeted with another fighter, his steps in an odd rhythm as his whole body swayed - a telltale sign of intoxication. "Aww don worry bout it, i can taaek this fffffucker." The man cleared his throat. "You, put 'em up, right here and *urp* n-now." His companion, visibly frustrated, finally conceded, with an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Fuck it. It's your card."

"You really wanna fight me, buddy? You're as drunk as a fish." Donavan sidestepped to avoid a lackluster punch. The man retaliated with another uncertain swing, missing Donnie's chin. "Last chance, my man."

"Shut the... shut the fuggup and fight me." The man slurred. Donavan obliged, landing two quick blows to the drunkard's forehead, who stumbled back, landing squarely on his rear, now clearly asleep. "Surely that doesn't count, right?" He looked over to the man's escort, who shrugged. Apparently, the cards begged to differ, flashing to red for just a moment before returning to normalcy. "Huh... I guess it counts." Deciding not to ponder it, Donavan picked up the drunkard's card and moved on. One more down, he supposed. Weird.

Man, going to a nightclub was a bad idea.

On top of the total sensory overload of music, bright lights, and screams of delight, the DJ just wasn't very good. None of the music had any obvious rhythm, or maybe he was just a cranky old geezer in the fighting world. At 25? No, clearly the DJ's at fault. At least there was a bar. Hey, they even had margaritas. Maybe it was time to try it out. After making his way over to the bar, a short battle of communication broke out.

"¿Que beber?"

"A Margarita, please." Donavan slid his Ganbatte card forward. The man, now horrified, slid it back and berated him.

"¡Irse!" He was clearly irritated. "¡Ya hemos tenido suficiente de ustedes borrachos hoy!"

"Uh... what? Look, just one marga- uhh, Uno, Uno Margarita, ple- por favor? Damn, how does it go again?"

It must've worked, because the bartender gave a defeated sigh before going to fetch his drink. He returned with an absolutely massive glass filled to the brim with liquid and dusted with a sort of crystalline structure. Sugar? Salt? Meth? What was this? With no other way to find out, Donavan braced his taste buds for awfulness, and was... pleasantly surprised. It went down fine, wasn't very strong, and even tasted pretty good. Kinda fruity.

"Huh." He looked down at the drink. "Margaritas. Neat."

It's a shame the music still wasn't any good. Oh well, one drink would be fine. Just one though - Bella would have his ass on a pike if he broke the regimen. Still, everybody else seemed to be having a good time. Laughing, dancing, waving around green cards - wait a minute, there were fighters here? Maybe that's what that guy was scolding him about.

Briefly insinuates: Shotgunpenguin Shotgunpenguin
 
The woman inclined her head toward the boy as he spoke, sizing him up only briefly. "So they are your friends?" She looked back at the television. "That's a shame. I thought they were just partying on your dime."

"You're in Bathhouse Ch'aska," She stated after a moment. You came in with your buddies, but threw up on my counter and passed out before you could pick a girl." She waved her free hand loosely through the air. "Or, well, I'm assuming that's what you were trying to do. You weren't very coherent, kept saying 'ano' a lot. I assumed that's what you were after. Regardless, your friends left you lying there and went on ahead." Her eyes flickered over to him again. "We charge for the clean up, by the way."
 
Two drinks in had Min-Ji feeling tipsy and frustrated. She kept her eyes on the club across the road where Jose and his friend stood with crossed arms- a large neon bat sign illuminating their faces as the two burly guards spoke to each other and let people in and out of the venue - but almost an hour and a half had passed and the fucker hadn't made a single move to go take a leak or anything! Shit. She'd have to speed things up or she'd be plastered by the time she could sneak in.

The bar she sat at was open to the elements, a cool tropical breeze passing through the club as the street outside filled with more and more partygoers. There was a dirty old man beside her shooting her suspicious glances every now and then. At first she had tensed up at his presence, thinking he was one of his lackeys who had recognized her face, but eventually Min-Ji relaxed. He was probably just some perv looking to get some. Still, perhaps she could use him to her advantage...

"Hey!" Min-Ji's voice called to him over the loud music, "Is sake all ya gonna drink tonight? Ever tried soju -- actually you seem like a weeb, maybe you'd know it as shochu?"

DarKnight36 DarKnight36
 
Rivera swept a hand through her short hair, tussling it slightly, as two women excitedly chatted with her over their predictions for the tournament.

They were sitting at a table within one of the numerous nightclubs after Rivera had left the smooth entertainment of Oro Verde Manta. She enjoyed jazz, she had enjoyed the food, but the atmosphere of it all had left her feeling tense. The splendor, the drunken antics, the absolute ease people settled into like they weren't going to be fighting for their lives the next day... All of it made her feel like a turkey being fattened for Thanksgiving.

Not that the fight at the airport hadn't been proof of it already. The tournament itself was a spectacle and she was one of its acts. A poor one at that if the rankings had anything to say about it but she hadn't been at the top of her game either. Her fighting style could be flashy, entertaining, if she wanted it to be. But her opponents at the airport had been dull so she had done the bare minimum to dispatch them. The true challenges would be higher on the ladder and Rivera knew she would step on every single one to get to the top.

So when Rivera had seen enough, including the disruption on stage and observations of a few fellow fighters, she had bounced. The Red Light District seemed interesting and she figured maybe a sleazebag or two could scratch that itch she had been left with from the airport.

Entering a random nightclub, she did come across one such douchebag who had somehow acquired a glass of milk. He was chatting with two young women who looked extremely uncomfortable at the amount of sweating this man was doing as he promised not to harm them in a southern drawl. Rivera made a face as she noticed his shirt was practically drenched in sweat. A few choice words, an exchange of money for time, and Rivera took the two girls to a table where they had been wary at first until she flashed them her card. They eased up after and began talking.

They didn't have much information. Not that Rivera expected it since the tournament had just begun and the girls were going off hearsay from other potential clients they had spoken to. The music wasn't that great either and Rivera had enough.

"Voy a ordenar un trago. Ustedes quieren algo?" she asked to which both of them nodded. She invited them to accompany her to the bar where she overheard the bartender gripe at a guy just trying to order a drink. It seemed that the guy had calmed down seeing as the patron had a big margarita.

"Hey, is that any good?" she asked, pointing at his drink, as she flashed her own card at the bartender.

BakaTheIdiot BakaTheIdiot
 
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Mohamed looks across the expanse of the beach, letting the cool ocean breeze wash over his face. It was certainly a far cry from what he's seen back home. The water was bluer than brown, and the beach was a lot cleaner rather than littered with junk. Mohamed made his way down to the shore and observed all the people enjoying their time along the beach. From kids playing in the sand, surfers catching waves, parents sunbathing, photographers capturing the sight of it all. Mohmed walked to the far side of the beach where there was no one there but himself. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nostrils as he lets the voice of his master fill his mind.
------------------
"If you're going to participate in this tournament, you must use every and all opportunity to train your body, your mind, and your souls if you intend to be victorious. You are not going to make friends or see new sights. You are officially on a mission. Our people depend on you to succeed, so you best act accordingly. The moment you get caught up, you risk faltering and that cannot be allowed."
--------------------
With that, Mohamed begins to train. He begins using the basic techniques of Black Lotus kung fu. First, the two fingers, then the thumb, then the three fingers, then the thumb, all of them moving in quick succession. After doing this several times, he moves on to the arms, using his grip strength to push down on his palms to bend them up, all in rapid succession, then moving on to the legs, bending them from knee-level up to his mid-section. It was the skill of balance that was most vital for him to learn. He had to learn to balance on his leg's five angles while maintaining a firm grip on his fists, without letting his arms go limp for a split second to let the hands drop to his sides. Mohamed drags his feet back and forth in place, before doing a series of high and low kicks. He then works on his air control by sitting on his hands and closing his eyes and pushing his face into the ground. He then slowly lets his arms relax, releasing his grip as he exhales. While he relaxes, he will extend the hand in the form of a fist, then let it fall back, then bring it forward again, repeating this process.

After a while, Mohamed looks around, ensuring that he is alone in his practice. Sweat drips from his face as he pushes himself to exhaustion for the past hour. In order to become the next Champion, he knows it is essential to keep his body conditioned and ready for battle.
 
After seeing Yasuke shifting into a fighting stance the scruffy man did the same. Both fighters stared at each other. Analyzing carefully at their opponents. Yasuke noticed that the man was quite burlier than him. His anger turned into focus. “This’ll be a nice challenge. Hopefully I’m not too sloppy ‘cause I haven’t eaten yet.” He thought.

“If you’re not going to make a move, then allow me!” The Man quickly lunged at Yasuke, throwing a haymaker at him. But Yasuke swiftly dodged it and countered with a punch to the gut. The man was taken aback by such a forceful counter. He tried to maintain his balance while keeping his eyes on the dark skinned male.

Yasuke only sighed as he began cracking his knuckles.
“Maybe you shouldn’t announce your attack beforehand. But I should thank you for getting my head out of the gutter.” He did a “come on!” hand gesture, which only angered the scruffy man even more. The man charged at Yasuke and unleashed a flurry of attacks. Yasuke easily dodged a few of the punches before getting hit by a surprise attack in a form of a mean right hook. Yasuke barely managed to block it, but it sent him back a few feet from the man. The arm th “This guy is strong, but he’s lacking technique. If I can just out maneuver him, it will be quick and painless.” Yasuke approached the burly man once more. This time with a slightly more serious expression on his face.

The man only laughed as he readied his stance yet again. Yasuke quickly dashed at his opponent, the man responded with another punch. Yasuke quickly dodged it and kicked him right in his abdomen, which stunned the man for a second and then unleashed another flurry of attacks, finishing him with a knee strike to the face.

The disoriented man was struggling to stay on his knees. Yasuke sighed. “People like you are a dime a dozen. All of the strength, none of the technique.” The man wobbled to Yasuke, trying to get one last punch in. Yasuke dodged and got behind him, grabbing an arm with one hand and grabbing the back of his head with the other and slammed his face into the wall. The force of the slam slightly cracking it

“I deal with people like you all the time.” He then grabbed his bag and began heading out. His stomach began to growl. “Shit I forgot i needed to eat.” The dark skinned male quickly made a beeline to the exit of the airport to find somewhere to eat. He didn’t care where. He just needed to eat or drink something.

His travels came to an end as he happened upon a nearby bar that was a part of the red light district in this country. As he entered, some of the staff looked towards his direction, whispering to each other as he walked pass them. Yasuke was genuinely confused. Was it because he was a competitor? His smell? (He is pretty sweaty.) Or was it his skin? Nonetheless he approached the bar. “Hola, camarero. Dame un poco de agua.”

The bartender turned around. “Lo siento señor, pero-“ He looked up to see Yasuke and was shocked. “It’s you! The legend of the red light district!” Yasuke was suddenly taken aback by the guy speaking English as well as calling him a legend. “I thought you were an urban legend, man!”

“Whoa whoa, slow down. I’m a legend? I knew I was recognized for my doing my job, but I’d never realized that I was that recognized.”

“Only a few circles know about you. But no one from it expected you to participate in the tournament!” The bartender said as he served Yasuke his water.

“I see, guess I’m quite famous.” Yasuke looked around at the bar. “I’m guessing that most of the fighters here are treating themselves quite nicely with these cards.” He said as he took a sip of his water.
 
"Hey!" Min-Ji's voice called to him over the loud music, "Is sake all ya gonna drink tonight? Ever tried soju -- actually you seem like a weeb, maybe you'd know it as shochu?"
"Sake, soju, shochu, they are all different!" Musashi declared, eyeing the woman with interest. "They each have had an opportunity to be placed before me, but tonight is sake. You are one of the competitors, yes? Interesting that you would choose to spend a night of battle in such attire and in such a place!"
 
Min-Ji shrugged, "Tonight, my friend, is a night of business. See that guy over there --"

Musashi would follow her pointed finger toward the bar across the road. A large, bald man with arms covered in tattoos stood next to much smaller, thinner man who laughed at something the other had said.

"I need to get into that bar without him seeing me. It's important!" She shot him a sly grin and lifted her drink as a cheers, "I'm kind of a big deal, ya see. At least in the Great Ganbatte."

DarKnight36 DarKnight36
 
"I need to get into that bar without him seeing me. It's important!" She shot him a sly grin and lifted her drink as a cheers, "I'm kind of a big deal, ya see. At least in the Great Ganbatte."

"Are you suggesting I create a distraction?" Musashi asked, intrigued. "Hmm, I will require payment for such, and this amount will be accompanying you into the bar. Is this acceptable?"
 
With each second, Donavan was slipping more and more into relaxation. Nobody else was going to be stupid enough to fight him here, lest they incur the wrath of the already pissed-off barkeep. Besides, he wasn't even looking for trouble, just something to help bring on the sleep. Did hangovers do that? Better not to find out. Still, it seemed like tonight was finally turning into a nice, peaceful moment.

"Hey, is that any good?"

Perhaps he spoke too soon. Snapping out of his daze, he looked over at the toned woman, and took a few further seconds to process her question, who was by now ordering... something. Shit, he probably should respond. "Uh, yeah, It's pretty good, I think. I dunno. It's my first time having one."

And then he saw the card. Ah shit, she was in the Ganbatte. Was he about to get into another fight? Nah, if she was gonna pick a fight, wouldn't she have just announced it? Was he overthinking things? Probably. Donavan instinctively curled his right hand into a fist, before forcing it to come undone - man, he really needed a new hobby if he was already rearing to brawl at a moment's notice.

"So, you're Ganbatte, right? What's your placement?"

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Small payment, she thought. But why would this unassuming guy want to get into that bar? Eh. Who cares. If she could make an ally in this competition it would only help her further.

"Sounds like a deal. Names Min-Ji," the woman downed the rest of her drink, "Cheers!"

DarKnight36 DarKnight36
 
"Place number thirty nine," Rivera said casually before ordering a margarita for her and the girls in fluent Spanish. There wasn't as much flack from the bartneder this time, especially when he noticed the women behind her. Tucking her Ganbatte card into her belt pouch, she turned to look at the guy again. There was no aggression or tension in Rivera's body but there was a wariness in her gaze as she studied him.

"Not the best I'll admit but I wasn't expecting a fight right out of the gate, pun not intended," she said with a small chuckle. "What about you?"

BakaTheIdiot BakaTheIdiot
 
Taku made his way down the sidestreets to his hotel. The night was much more festive than the afternoon when the tournament started. People were partying and enjoying one another's company, a stark contrast to the intensity Taku had witnessed at the airport. A few people still had their fighting spirit, and those that stood in Taku's way were quickly eliminated from the tournament rankings. Although Taku was sober when most of his opponents were not, meant the fights required minimal effort. A few well-timed sidesteps and the men would trip over themselves, and once they hit the pavement, they slept like babies.

Taku checked into his hotel and made his way to the modest room. Sure, his accommodations were fully paid for, but he saw no reason to book a room in the same hotel as those he would be fighting over the coming weeks. He rather liked the idea of being able to distance himself when necessary. He wasn't against having a good time and gathering some intel, so he went to the touted red light district after a quick shower to wash away the day.

"Kirin, please, tall," Taku ordered, pulling up a seat at the bar of a small electronic dance club. Lights flashed around him as the bass filled the room. Beautiful women danced with overly muscled men, happy to use the men's cards for free drinks. A few toned women sat at the bar, their ID cards wrapped around their thighs or arms, not looking for a fight but not afraid to tell an unwanted suitor off.

Taku sipped his beer, perhaps more quickly than he should, but he felt he could let his guard down a little to appreciate the evening. With so many cultures mingling together, it was a sight to behold. "Funny the things that unite the world," he said to no one in particular before downing the rest of his beer and ordering a second. If he kept this up, he might find himself on the dancefloor shortly.
 
And where was Johnny the tiger shark? That's easy, enjoying the sights and trying to go tap some ass in the red-light district of course! And so far he was not having any luck in picking where he wanted to go first, there were so many options in this part of town that he didn't even know what to choose! Besides Lenny was right about one thing:one wrong move and he was probably gonna have to go to the doctor's to get himself checked out, not to mention accidentally siring a potential heir to his territory on accident!

"Man, i'm gonna need a fucking drink." Johnny said to himself.

(Open for interaction with anyone really!)
 
"Well," He took another sip. "I was 39th. Maybe I got bumped up since I whooped a guy outside a little bit ago. Or down. I'll be honest, numbers aren't my strong suit."

She looked familiar. Had Donavan seen her in the rating board? No, no this was something different. She definitely seemed strong, stronger than most people anyway. Definitely not somebody he wanted to pick a fight with. "I think I remember you from the gates, yeah. Weren't you immediately roped into some multi-man brawl? I mean, I peace'd out immediately to get some breakfast, and, granted, ended up in my own fights anyway. Still." He shrugged. "You must be pretty good. You'd be surprised how many people don't know how to tag multiple attackers."

All of this before even he even introduced himself. If his Mom had seen him now she definitely would've scolded him. Not that it really mattered since she wasn't really around anymore, but the point stood. "I'm Donavan. And before you worry about it, no, I don't wanna fight you. My knuckles still hurt from this morning." Donnie laughed and stretched out a hand. "I don't bite. Most of the time."

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A bathhouse? Why would they bring him to a bathhouse? Connor couldn't remember anything after his binge at the bar, and even before that it was all just a blurry mess.

"Of c-course they're my friends. They kept calling me b-boleto do- what was it?" Head in his hands and eyes clenched tight in an attempt to ward off the massive headache assaulting him, he finished "boleto dorado. That's Spanish for best friend right?" Reaching into his pocket, he went to pull out his card to pay the woman for cleaning up his mess.

And felt nothing. Pausing, his hand rooted around in his pants pocket trying to find his competitor card. "What? No, no no no no! Where is it, where is my card!" Connor panicked, turning every one of his pockets inside out as he searched for his competitor card. When he didn't find it in his pockets he threw himself on the floor, searching underneath the bench in case it had fallen underneath when he fell. But there was nothing, nothing but some dust bunnies and crumbs.

His friends. They must have had his card. He needed to find them, and fast. Pulling out his wallet he didn't even bother to count how much cash he had, instead grabbing every bill he could. "This is all I have, I swear if it's not enough I will come back after I find my card." He slammed the money on the counter and made a mad dash out the door into the night.

Connor sprinted down the street, he couldn't tell whether his head or his heart was pounding more as he tried to work through what happened after he blacked out. He wracked his already taxed brain, desperately searching for even a single thing that would jog his memory. Unfortunately it seemed like nothing would do the trick, not even a sense of familiarity as he ran through the night's streets. Lost in thought he was suddenly knocked back as he collided with someone.

"Hey, watch it jack a- wait, it's you!" The person suddenly lurched forward and grabbed him by the collar, almost pressing their face against his. They were an older looking man with light skin, greying hair and an absolute over abundance of cologne wearing a wrinkled and dirtied leather jacket. "Do you have any idea how long it took for me to get this shit cleaned?! You and your fucking friends ar-"

"Wait, you saw them?! Where were they? Where were they heading!" The man was unprepared for Connor to grasp his arms and squeeze, his eyes practically beaming into the man's shades as he recoiled.

"What the hell are you talking about? They said they were going back to some club to keep the party going or some shit." The man tried to pull away from his grip as he spoke.

"The club? Fuck, which way were they heading? Tell me!"

"F-fuck, let me go you jackass! They just went down the road to that club past that shitty bathhouse!"

Connor let the man go with a shove, before taking off in a full sprint down the road in the direction the man had said. Everything felt heavy, his legs burned as he forced them to keep pushing him forward. His mind racing, it quickly began to run through everything that could go wrong. What if he didn't find them? He didn't have any more money on him, and without his card he wouldn't even have a place to stay. Worse than that, what if they got into a fight with another contestant? He had no idea what the rules were, would it be considered a fight and eliminate him?! These thoughts pushed him on, eventually coming across a building that he recognized as the place where he blacked out.

His breath came out in pinched bursts as he entered the building, the bouncer seemingly recognizing him if the sustained glare was anything to go by. Everything about this place caused his headache to only intensify, from the loud pounding beat of the music to the rapidly pulsing dance lights. Desperately scanning the room his eyes locked onto the the bartender across the room who was currently serving a multitude of other people.

"Fuck, excuse me. Sorry. Sorry." Connor pushed his way through the dance floor, muttering apologies the whole way through as he undoubtedly pissed even more people off for the night. Finally emerging from the crowded floor, he practically collapsed against the countertop. Heaving for air and covered in sweat, the anger and disdain on the bartenders face was clear for all to see.

"Joder no, te vas de aquí ahora mismo o de lo contrario yo-" The bartender spoke, but was quickly interrupted.

"N-no, please. Please. I don't want any trouble. The people I was with, were they here after I left? Did they have my card?! Please!" Desperation dripped from his voice as he pleaded with the man.

The mans face seemed to shift back and forth between anger, disgust, and what looked like the smallest inkling of pity for the mess before him. "Por Dios. Yes. They were here. And yes, they had your card. Had." The bartender stressed the last part, and Connor could feel his heart sink into his stomach.

Before he could speak however, the bartender reached beneath the counter and tossed something in front of him. With hitched breath, Connor's hands shakily reached out and took the card into his hands.

"They were being assholes and disturbing the other guests. Tried to get grabby and acted like they were hot shit. I had the bouncer toss them out back and kept the card." The bartender put his hands on the counter and leaned forward "Not sure I should even be giving this to you, with how little you seem to treasure it. This card is more valuable than you know, kid. " With his piece said, the bartender left to serve his other customers.


"Thank you." His head fell to the counter, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he gripped the card in his hands so tight his knuckles turned white. "Thank you."
 
He was 39th?

Rivera raised an eyebrow, impressed that their rankings were so close. It was probably why he wasn't like some of the contestants who were picking fights with anything that moved for a chance to be higher in the rankings. At least, until the tournament began tomorrow. She, herself, was content to slip lower if it meant getting to bed on time.

"Rivera," she said as she shook his hand. "Nice to meet you Donavan."

The wariness was still clear in her eyes. They were still strangers as far as she was concerned, even if this had apparently been their second encounter.

"I don't think I remember seeing you at the airport but I did see some guys bolting out of there," she said with an apologetic smile. "But yeah, I kind of had my hands full from the get go. You learn how to handle that when you got a bunch of gangster wannabes who think attacking in a group means they're invincible."

She paused and thanked the bartender as he handed her a drink. It was a margarita as well but her was pink, strawberry flavored. The girl behind her got their drinks too and quietly excused themselves so the two could keep talking.

"Oh man, that actually is good," she said after a sip. "You'd be surprised how many times I've asked for one and it was mostly just alcohol with a little bit of flavoring,"

Rivera sighed and took another sip.

"Hmm but for someone who doesn't seem keen to fight just yet, you're also pretty high up there," Rivera said, putting a hand on her hip. "You must be pretty good too unless you were just super hungry and decided to use that bite of yours."

BakaTheIdiot BakaTheIdiot
 
"Kanpai," Musashi grinned, downing his own sake and immediately rising from his seat. He grasped his bag and placed it back on his shoulders, before marching to the guards.

"Gentlemen," Musashi said as one of them, the one Min-Ji had pointed to, reached out a hand to stop the competitor. "No hard feelings, understand."

Musashi's gait did not slow, but his hands blurred, both men being struck before they could react. The two slumped to the ground, unconscious as Musashi slipped past them into the bar's interior.

egglover egglover
 
BANG!

Gunfire cut through all the growing clamor and racket in the streets of Manta's red light district. Those in the club had suitable enough distraction, the intrigue, the aromas, and the music too heavy and intoxicating. But those outside, couldn't mistake that sounds for anything else. There was a stark difference between those here for the tournament. Those who appeared startled, muttering among themselves and wondering if they should get involved and those who acted as if it were business as usual, aware of just what kind of people ran this tournament behind the scenes. Though there was perhaps, an air of mystery over just how blatant this act of criminality was.

The Magna Mafia was a tightly oiled machine. For gunfire to have clearly gone off now, in the opening night of the Tournament...someone must have gotten sloppy. Had to be the case, right? It wasn't long before the familiar sirens of police cars blared throughout the streets. Officers would quickly pour into an alleyway, sectioning off the scene of the crime from onlookers, though that did little to stop those curious from taking a peek.

Edmund Kipsang was making his way out of Nido de Murciélagos, sweat pouring beading down his head. "They weren't lyin', this place is top-notch!" he chuckled to himself. "Top notch, I say!" he stumbled out the front door. "Now where is my room key..." he fumbled through his pockets. "Need my room key to..." he looked over towards the flashing red and blue lights. "Oh..." he scratched his head before he shrugged to himself and approached the crime scene.
 
Cullens phone drop to the table as he moved to the ground for protection. "What the hell."

Getting up he saw police
heading towards the red light district . He put what he owed on the table before exiting. He stuck his notes in his pocket as he made his way slowly to the sirens.
 
"It's a pleasure, Rivera." Clearly she didn't trust him, but that hardly bothered the scrappy Canadian. Donavan offered a simple grin. Perhaps he had overestimated the violence he would be encountering: aside from two - no, four - bad apples in a single night, she seemed sane, at the very least. Maybe her not trusting him made her one of the most sane people here. "You're still here, eh? You'll be fine. Most of these amateurs rely on sucker punches and some weak knees. I guarantee that if they stepped into an Ontario ring, they wouldn't last a minute. These kiddos barely even know left from right and think they can be mob material. What a joke." With a scoff he took a lengthy sip of his margarita - was that lime? That was definitely lime - before getting hit with a sharp twinge of jealousy once he saw Rivera's drink. Aw, man, they had pink? He missed out - pink stood superior to green in every way.

Glancing over at the TV near the corner, he quickly retreated his gaze back to his company - clearly the fights were popular among the crowds, and a crowd of people was the last thing Donavan wanted right now. The highlight real had just swapped over to his little brutalizing session with the three assailants back at the airport, and with a bit of luck, it seemed people hadn't noticed he was here yet. Maybe they never would. Hopefully she wouldn't either, having his face speckled in blood tended to be a vibe killer when it came to making friends. "Yeah... I don't start fights. Never have, never had, never will. I can behave myself in a setting, sure." He took another quick sip as someone passed by. "I never start the business. But I always - always - finish it."

Fortunately, it didn't look like he had to keep worrying about it: gunfire rattled out from the outside, seeming distant enough but still a certain danger. "I thought these Magna whatevers were supposed to be professionals." Not even bothering to set down his drink, he took another hefty swig before setting out for the door. Already people were clamoring to the exit, either out of fear or simple curiosity. Admittedly, this wasn't Donnie's first rodeo with crime scenes, especially gun scenes, but still he couldn't help but take a peek. What's the worst that could happen?

"You coming?" He turned back to Rivera. "It's probably dangerous. Might even be interesting."

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