Chapter Text
The cloth in your hands had already turned red. Not completely, just at the edges. It would come out if you washed it soon enough.
The room was quiet again. It hadn’t been earlier.
A chair lay on its side near the wall. One of the metal legs had been bent inward at the base. You paused for a moment, glancing at it, before setting the cloth down and righting it carefully. It wobbled. You left it anyway.
There's a faint indentation in the floor—something heavy had been forced into it—likely from the man’s stomping. You traced the edge of it with your eyes.
Behind you, voices carried faintly through the hallway. Low, casual, like nothing unusual had happened.
“He lasted longer than I expected.”
“Barely.”
You dipped the cloth back into the basin. The water clouded almost instantly.
Footsteps passed by the open doorway. They didn’t stop. They never did.
You wrung the cloth out slowly, watching the water drip back into the basin set beside you on the floor. Steady, unhurried.
“It’ll start again soon.” someone said distantly.
You glanced toward the door. Not curious, just acknowledging. Then you went back to cleaning.
The stain near the corner took longer than the rest. It had settled into the grain of the wood—darker than the others. You pressed the cloth into it, holding it there for a moment before wiping again, slower this time.
It lightened. Not gone. Just… less. That was enough. The man that was in here had left without another word.
Not immediately. He’d stood there for a moment after you told him—jaw tight, shoulders still drawn with the last of it; the last of his irritation after losing.
“Go to the infirmary.” Simple. No edge or insistence. For a second, it looked like he might laugh. Or snap, or ignore you entirely. But he didn’t.
He clicked his tongue, wiped his nose with the back of his hand—still dripping with blood from the fight—and walked out the door.
He didn’t think to shove you out of the way. He had enough of a mind to know better than that. Heavy steps, uneven. He was almost certainly limping. Whether that was a result of his opponent or the mess he had made in his anger, you didn’t care.
'It’s none of my business anyways.'
That was half an hour ago, he’s likely left the underground arena by now. Off to vent his frustrations elsewhere no doubt. You pity anyone who may encounter him right now.
You rinse the cloth again, the water had gone murky a while ago. You didn’t bother getting up to change it.
A soft sound came from the doorway.
Not footsteps. Too light. More like the shifting of fabric.
“You’re thorough as always.”
You didn’t turn right away. Too focused on the swirls of ugly colors in the basin water.
After a couple more seconds, you set the cloth on the side, then you looked up.
Mitsunari Tokugawa stood just inside the room, hands tucked into his sleeves, gaze drifting lazily over the damage.
The deformed chair. The scuffed floor. The faint, metallic smell still lingering in the air.
“He broke less than usual,” you said. Tokugawa hummed, amused.
“Growth, perhaps.”
You reach for the chair, testing its leg again. It wobbled the same way it had before.
“Or he was too tired to keep going.”
“A shame,” Tokugawa replied lightly. “There’s something honest about a man who destroys a room after losing.”
You adjust the chair so it leaned more securely against the wall. “Honest doesn’t make it useful.”
That earned a small laugh.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet settled easily—familiar. Then, almost idly, Tokugawa continued, “Baki Hanma has returned.”
You stilled, just slightly.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“He was released?”
“Mmm. Quite quickly. I heard a chopper escorted him all the way to the airport.”
“Might be the fastest prison sentence in history.” no doubt aided by Biscuit Oliva's instruction.
Tokugawa's smile sharpened, just a touch.
“He won.” Casual, certain.
You nod once. That, too, wasn't surprising.
“He’s getting closer,” Tokugawa went on, stepping further into the room now, his gaze drifting not to the damage—but to you.
“Closer to the point where there’s nothing left for him to do… except the obvious.”
You remain seated on the floor, legs folded under your thighs. You turn back to the basin. The ripples had settled. A pool of copper brown.
“He’ll have to face his father.” It wasn’t a question.
Tokugawa’s smile didn’t fade.
“No one else left worth his time.”
A quiet pause followed. Not heavy, just… there. Still staring at the water, you spoke softly. “He looks more tired lately.”
Tokugawa tilted his head slightly. “Does he?” you didn’t elaborate.
Then, as if remembering something only half-important, Tokugawa exhaled softly. “Ah… there was something else,”
You reach for the basin,
“A rather unusual report.” you glanced toward him.
“From Colorado.”
That made you stop. Not fully. Just enough.
“They found a man,” he said. “Preserved in a salt deposit. Not bones. Not fragments.” His voice remained light, conversational.
“Intact.”
You dropped your hands back into your lap, “Alive?” you asked.
A small smile. “They believe so.”
You looked down at the basin again. At the cloudy water. The pool of copper brown. There’s only one reason why Tokugawa would have a sudden interest in the scientific world. The man that was found is no ordinary man—he had to be strong.
“This will be difficult,”
Tokugawa’s eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, but in curiosity.
“Difficult?”
“For everyone.”
Tokugawa studied you for a second longer than usual. Considering your words. Difficult.
He knew what you meant when you said everyone. You always had enough of a conscious mind to consider the larger, long lasting affects things had on people. This discovery of a preserved human from a time much before their own, he supposes it will cause quite the uproar—along with whatever inevitable issues will arise if they can ‘revive’ the man.
“Yes.” he chuckled, soft and pleased. “I thought you might think so.”
He turned towards the doorway, the conversation had run its course. He took a few steps forward, leaving the room, before calling over his shoulder,
“The others will be thrilled, of course.”
You knew what he meant when he said others.
You stared at the water still, “They always are.”
He took a few steps forward, slowly leaving the room, before calling over his shoulder, “It seems we’ll be welcoming something… very old into our little arena.”
A puff of a laugh escaped you, “...I don’t think he’ll see it that way.”
Tokugawa’s laughter echoed in the corridor as he walked off.