Raiba's elimination came and went like a breeze.
His number got called, a quick reaction echoed from the stands, and then silence. Just another body off the field. Mono saw the scoreboard shift in the corner of his eye, but he didn't give it more than half a second. In this kind of match, stopping to care was just asking to get laid out.
Mono pivoted on his heel, eyes sweeping across the arena like a radar. Fights were breaking out everywhere, and the ground itself looked half-pulverized from all the collisions. He slipped around a wild hook, shoved someone off with a firm elbow to the gut, and that's when he saw the kid walking toward him.
Not running. Not bouncing with hype or boiling with rage.
Just walking.
Orange hair. Lean frame. Calm steps, like he didn't think anything could stop him. He wasn't trying to intimidate. He didn't need to. He just walked forward, fists down, chin slightly tilted, looking like he already knew where this was going.
'Why does he look familiar?'
Mono narrowed his eyes but came up empty. The feeling tugged at him, but the moment didn't give him room to figure it out. And besides, it didn't matter. Familiar or not, the kid had made his choice.
The boy stopped a few feet away, tilted his head once, and then raised his fists—not in some fancy stance, just solid, clean form. Mono mirrored him without speaking. Talking was pointless right now. They both knew what came next.
The boy opened with a jab—tight, fast, aimed right for Mono's nose. Mono slapped it aside with the back of his wrist and caught the second one with his forearm. Then came a low kick to the shin. Mono hopped back a half-step, letting it scrape air.
Mono came in quick with a jab of his own, aiming for the boy's ribs. It connected, but lightly—the kid had already shifted to deaden the impact. He retaliated with a swinging hook, which Mono ducked under before stepping in for an elbow.
The boy saw it coming. He twisted his torso and shoulder-checked Mono with surprising force, sending both of them skidding a step apart. They locked eyes again.
Still no emotion. Just calculation.
'He's not testing me. He's testing himself.'
The kid twitched—then launched a fresh combo. High punch to draw the eyes, low jab aimed at the gut, then a spinning back kick that came out of nowhere. Mono blocked the first punch, caught the jab with his elbow, then twisted away just in time to feel the wind of the kick graze his ribs.
Mono swept low in retaliation. The boy jumped—just enough to avoid it—landing with a soft skid backward. He didn't look surprised. He didn't smirk. He just stared, breathing through his nose like they'd barely started.
Mono didn't give anything away either.
'Okay. You're fast. But not fast enough.'
The boy came again, faster this time. Four punches—left, right, left, right—like drumbeats. Mono blocked the first two, dipped to the side of the third, and caught the fourth dead in the palm. He twisted the kid's wrist slightly, just enough to apply pressure without dislocating anything.
The boy jerked back before it escalated, and Mono immediately felt a knee coming up. He caught that too, arms clamped like a trap. With a grunt, he shoved the boy away with force—not aggression, just a reset.
The boy wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. A bit of spit dangled off his lip, but he didn't look fazed. He raised his fists again with the same relaxed stance.
"You done holding back?" he asked. His voice was low, flat—more curiosity than challenge.
Mono didn't say a word. He let his answer be the punch that followed.
A clean shot to the shoulder, driving the boy sideways a full step. The kid rolled with it, came spinning back with a kick aimed at Mono's ribs. Mono blocked with both arms, feeling the vibration rattle through his bones.
Then it really started.
They moved like blades now—blows flying, blocking, dodging, resetting. Each strike barely missed or landed with glancing force. The fight had no rhythm, no dramatic crescendos—just raw reaction and footwork.
Mono ducked under another elbow, spun low, and tried to catch the kid's legs again. The boy leapt over it, twisted midair, and landed in a staggered stance, immediately throwing two quick punches that Mono sidestepped by inches.
'He's trained. Definitely trained. Not just athletic—he knows what he's doing.'
Mono didn't get time to think further. The next attack came even faster—fist, elbow, knee, all within seconds. Mono matched him step for step. He wasn't winning. He wasn't losing. They were just going.
A few meters away, Renji was in his own battle—parrying a blade-like strike, sending someone sprawling with a brutal heel kick. For a second, he glanced over, catching sight of Mono and the orange-haired boy locked in their blur of motion.
Renji squinted, lips parting slightly.
'Wait a minute... That guy looks—'
He didn't get to finish the thought. Another opponent rushed at him, and he had to drop it. There was no time for questions.
Mono's fight continued. The boy's next hit clipped Mono's jaw—barely. Mono answered with a low sweep that almost caught him. The kid stumbled but regained his footing quickly and struck again.
They broke apart, breathing heavier now but still composed. No blood. No theatrics. Just a growing respect in the silence.
Mono rotated his shoulder once, eyes sharp.
'I don't care who he is. I'm not losing to someone who walks like the fight is already over.'
The kid cracked his knuckles and nodded once, like he understood.
They rushed each other again.