Chapter Text
“It’s the mentality that people often miss. If you focus on a single point - strategy or physicality - suddenly one half of the image becomes a massive blind spot that secures your defeat. Knowing every aspect of the sport and your opponent is the difference between going home with a win or loss.”
The Queen of The Ring, I.S.H
The wind howled, seeking the period of eternity in weathering down obnoxiously brazen illustrations painted across the neon-lit alleyway. Snapping temperatures, sharper than the silver tongue carried by the man himself, wrapped around the chilling shivers of a single, still figure standing on the road.
Russet locks waved across porcelain cheeks, interrupting the honeyed gaze directed towards a bustling nightclub entrance sitting snug in the paint-coated walls. Flashing advertisements bore magenta hues on the scenery. A moment of peace rang out, despite the blaring music and distinct cries of energetic glee and frustration alike steaming from the ajar iron doors. Above the heads of two critically unaware security guards stood a gently flickering sign, old but no less intimidating than its history announced.
Suribachi City.
“This…isn’t what I was expecting. Suribachi City- is this a nightclub? Dude, come on.”
The brunette rolled his eyes, black coat hanging seamlessly over his shoulders, impressively aiding his actions without a single slip of position. “Trust me. This is exactly where I promised we’d be.” He eyed the redhead in front of him, admiring how the somewhat exclusively annoyed look was almost immediately replaced with enthusiasm, all with a simple collection of meaningless promises. Well, not quite meaningless. He had been honest when he described the destination in mind. Perhaps he had simply rendered the imagery to his companion's imagination.
“Dazai, Tachihara.” Both men turned, a greying driver sat comfortably in the sleek car behind them, engine still purring dangerously, caught their gaze with a worn-out tone. “At what time should I expect your retrieval to be required?” His fingers grazed the wheel, muscles thrumming with the indifferent energy to leave. As if he actually had anywhere else to be, trapped in the bustling nightlife of Tokyo with no other purpose than to deliver and collect his associates.
Dazai, incapable of wiping the distinct murk of chilling excitement behind his gaze, gave a flamboyant wave of his hand, back turned. “I shall call for you. Don’t expect to be waiting long.”
His words, while perfectly acceptable to the situation, confused the thrumming boxer standing beside him. Tachihara hauled his bag to sit higher, more comfortably on his shoulder; the black leather packed with hand guards, specially designed training boots and well cared for boxing gloves - still stained with his last sparring partner’s blood. “You usually spend hours making up some stupid plan, you really expect to be done with this so soon?”
The older simply hummed, not bothering to entertain his question with a single reasonable answer. With a huff, he was followed to the doors, the smaller of the pair bouncing on his heels. And really, he should have been in tune with Dazai’s expressions by now. If the choked-up stares of the guards when the brunette produced a sickeningly sweet grin were anything to go by, then the night was absolutely heading towards anything but quick.
Despite being covered by extremely unnecessary glasses, Tachihara could make out the distinct drive of both guards’ eyes washing over them. A small moment, Dazai took the time to tilt his head when he decided they were making their decision rather slowly, and the doors to the club were shoved open to allow them through. He didn’t have time to collect his rather muddled thoughts as the brunette in front pulled him through the door and into the brightly lit room. As they passed the threshold of Tokyo’s streets to the club, the dangerous yet playful atmosphere nearly choked them.
Leaving the iron doors, a barrier that caved the streets beyond in, lights and music hit them all at once. Tachihara almost pulled himself to Dazai’s back, eyes darting through the crowd and wondering how easy it would be to get himself lost. Especially when Dazai seemed to know exactly what he was doing and where he was going.
Considering every second man donned a suit similar to the brunette’s - although lacking a distinct aura of high-class presence he carried - it probably wasn’t worth taking that risk.
People moved around them, uncaring as the two made their way across a crowded floor towards a brightly lit set of stairs highlighted by a guarded doorway. What was perhaps more interesting than the even livelier atmosphere that radiated from below the stairs was that no one had even bothered to glance in Tachihara’s direction.
“Dazai?” The brunette in front of him hummed, lazily tilting his head. Tachihara swallowed, gulping down whatever insult he had played on the tip of his rather blunt tongue. “Why does no one care that we’re here?”
He watched his friend pause, moving to allow a group of women to pass, poorly hiding the flirtatious looks they gave him in return. “You expect everyone to know who you are? You aren’t an A-list boxer, Tachihara.” He gave a frustrated groan, slightly embarrassed at the quick jab.
“No, I mean, I’m carrying a bag full of boxing gear through a nightclub, and I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion. Why are they acting like that’s something normal?”
Dazai grinned, quickly grabbing his sleeve to continue moving forward. The guards didn’t seem interested this time around, not bothering to glance down as everyone and anyone walked past. While Tachihara felt like he was being shoved down the stairs and would stumble at any second, Dazai seemed to hold a certain set of graceful movements he probably didn’t even mean to own.
“Usually, when people act like a certain something is the case, or if what you perceive a strange event is normal, then it is.”
He couldn’t process the words any further than he wanted to, not when he had come face to face with the exact environment his partner was staring so intently at.
To say the room they entered was large was an understatement. It was an entire arena. Four tunnels on either side channelled people to and from, with two - on opposing sides and painted in separate coloured rings - remained empty with the occasional suit-clad man entering. Spotlights beamed down from a high carved roof, scaling stands and balconies above packed with cheering, drunk people waving cigarettes or half-finished beers.
And in the centre, a boxing ring. Supporting two fighters heavily slugging out a match that had a timer double the average standard. A limitless round fight.
“What the fuck.”
Dazai grinned, his hand coming to squeeze Tachihara’s shoulder. “I told you we were using tonight to test your skills. Think of it as a learning opportunity.” The redhead practically snarled at the words, baring his teeth in sheer annoyance. “I thought you lined up some pro fighter to spar at another gym. Not an illegal fucking ring Dazai! I’ll lose my card over this!”
The smug smile barely washed from his face, simply replaced with a sly smirk as they pushed their way through the crowd. “Don’t doubt me. Do you think I’d be here if my licence was on the line as well? Everything’s been sorted out, all you have to do is fight.”
And really, he definitely should have questioned the situation a lot more than he did. But despite being thrown into an underground ring as a pro boxer, he still held the utmost respect and trust in his strategist. Really, Tachihara couldn’t fathom expressing how much the brunette actually meant to him. Every burst of confidence came from the fact he knew Dazai was an absolute genius, and knew exactly how to pit Tachihara’s skills against everyone else. If Dazai asked him to jump, he’d simply question how high.
“None of these are pro fighters? Where are they even from?” Dazai shrugged, leading him through the now thinning crowd towards the edge of the stadium, quickly pulling out a neatly folding card from inside his coat pocket.
“Tsusushima Shuji?” Dazai nodded, not bothering to entertain the confused glance Tachihara threw at him. “Waiting room 3A. Good fucking luck.” The guard beside snickered, making the redhead's ears perk up in confusion. If Dazai was concerned by the almost amused looks they were receiving, he didn’t show it. Tachihara shrugged off the odd feeling crawling across his skin.
“Most are from here, the streets of Tokyo, people who know how to fight dirty but aren’t willing to throw away their passion for a vengeful fistfight to enter a legal ring. You’ve heard of Suribachi city before, no?”
The boxer nodded, admiring how whatever card Dazai had shown the two guards standing in front of a vacant tunnel allowed them access inside, the brunette leading him to a room with a golden plaque sitting high on the door. He ran his fingers on the metal, hauling his bag up onto his shoulder while the latter seemed preoccupied scanning inside. The writing; Fighter A.
“Everyone who knows a thing or two about boxing has heard of it. The most famous illegal boxing ring there is. They say it’s run by a guarded crime group, but the face of fighting is some guy no one can seem to beat.” The redhead moved inside, sitting down on the changing room bench and pulling out a pair of neatly tied hand wraps. “I saw the plaque out the front of the club, guess it just didn’t resonate with me until I saw the ring.”
Dazai looked up, leaning against the doorway and humming lightly. “If you learn to fight someone who doesn’t care for rules, who only cares about your face on the canvas by the end of the night, then fighting in a sanctioned ring with seven cameras on you will sound a lot easier than it does now. You have a good record, but it can be even better. This is how you get into the big leagues.”
Tachihara smiled, tightening the velcro around his wrist. “You mean the Japanese title?” He laughed, leaning back. “That events gonna bring in a lot of people, from everywhere. You gotta be in the top 100 on the leaderboard to even think about entering, you know?”
He sighed, leaning back on the wall. “I would give anything to be the King of the Ring. But I don’t have a chance at that, it’ll take months. Registration is in five weeks.”
With a strange nonchalance, Dazai shrugged. “I don’t expect you to improve at that rate. I don’t expect you to even bother entering. If you do, I won’t sign off on it anyway. You’re not ready for something like that.” The redhead nodded, sighing gently. As much as the words made him angry at himself, upset about his lack of technique and the fact that for the last month he just seemed stuck, he respected the truth behind them. “But the next one’s in 12 months. That’s more than enough time.”
Tachihara laughed, smiling at Dazai’s knowing grin. “You have a lot of faith. We’ll see. Let’s just worry about getting me that Yokahoma title next March. Who knows, you might find some A-side boxer to enter in the championship and get our gym on the map, someone who can actually put up with your shady bullshit.”
The brunette huffed, mock hurt painted across his fleeting expression. “Now now, no need to be so harsh! Not when I’m-”
He was cut off by a small knock on the door, a young man with a clipboard tucked tightly under his arm leaning his head into the room. “Um, fighter- Tachihara?” “That’s me.” He nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and inspecting the schedule printed on the board.
“You fight in 15. Be at the ring in 10, there’ll be guards to escort you down. And sir,” he turned to the strategist, practically gulping at the dagger-like hum he received, “you can’t be with the fighter. If you’re his ringside support, you’ll be escorted down separately. Please make your way out soon.” Dazai gave him a sharpened look, one that practically evicted his presence from the room, and stared down at his partner.
“Remember, these guys don’t fight like the ones you’re used to. They don’t bother to sit back and see how you fight, try and counter your punches without getting hit. They’ll gladly take one to the face if it means dropping you. We don’t know who you’re fighting, but it’ll be someone tough, and really pissed off. Licensed fighters like you are like canon fodder to this place.”
Tachihara nodded, noticing the guards that had begun pouring in behind Dazai, one tapping the brunette on the shoulder and nodding behind him, ready to go. “Just like you taught me. I’ll see you down there, Dazai.”
He didn’t receive anything back, no good luck, but he didn’t expect one. If Dazai gave you a small piece of his luck, even if he didn’t mean it which was often the case, it was usually because he lacked the confidence in his own predictive ability for the fighter to win. As frustrating as it was, his cold demeanour and even colder congratulations were signs of confidence.
Barely escaping with a gentle nod, Dazai forced himself out of the room, four burly guards taking up his flank down the hallway. One brushed his shoulder against him, keeping his eyes trained on the tunnel ahead as they exited the rooms and back into the stadium. “Do you always get this close?” Dazai turned a careful eye, snickering when he was ignored. He shrugged his shoulders. “Tough crowd.”
A smaller female in front turned, stopping the group. “You can head down to the ring now. We’ll escort your fighter.” He flashed a smile, not skipping the second glance she delivered him, and felt the three behind him move back into the walkway.
He was quickly left alone, slipping in amongst the crowd to get further away from the centre. He’d make it to the stadium in time, for now, he had something to do. He couldn’t help the thrumming burn of excitement rummaging his body. Tachihara, while at the top of his list of things to worry about, wasn’t his first priority of the night.
No, that was reserved for something much bigger.
“Looking for a ticket, sir? We got a good card lined up.” He swivelled around, finding himself facing the betting desk slammed in the middle of the underground stadium’s entryway. Dazai waved him off flippantly, looking around. “I don’t know any of your fighters. I won’t be betting tonight.”
“Then maybe I can interest you in taking up our prized fighter? We have a visitor here from up top, not every day you see something like that.” The brunette sighed, about to decline his advances yet again, before stopping himself. He caught a glimpse of the betting board behind the man, eyes scanning the names until he came across two scribbled-out pallets. There weren’t any names on the two lines, just colours. Red and Orange. Dazai assumed they represented high-profile fighters, considering people could recognise them without even needing so much as an initial. What interested him more, however, was the status of the bet. 100% had been placed on orange. Not a single person looked to even consider the red fighter.
Dazai had never seen odds like that in his life, even in underground and illegal boxing rings.
“A prized fighter?” The booker grinned, seemingly proud he had roped someone in. “One of the best. He’s come here from some outside city, fought in Tokyo rings before. A lisenced fighter. We get them more often than you think, nine times out of ten their legalities go out the window when they're beaten by some half-raised street fighter. This guy’s good, apparently, just a shame his first fight here had to be against the King.”
Dazai frowned, fingers tapping on the table. He needed more information on this so-called ‘King’. No matter how many times he had heard that name thrown around, he could never grasp who they were referring to.
“You don’t seem like the type to watch. You have a card?” The brunette nodded, leaning his elbows on the table. “I do. This licenced fighter, sounds similar to mine.” The man grinned, showing off a golden tooth. “Be grateful he ain't fighting this one then,” his finger tapped on the schedule in front of him, landing on the ‘orange’ fighter.
“You’ve come at a good night, my friend.” Dazai, all for feigning innocence in favour of keeping his reputation and identity on the low, titled his head with mock confusion. “Oh? And why would tonight be a good night?”
“The sheep, they run this mess, Suribachi city. No one can beat em’, underestimated as a bunch of rowdy street kids but by god are they tough. Their leader’s fightin’ tonight. That licenced fighter? He’s his opponent.”
The strategist nodded. The fly was caught in the trap, he just needed to reel him forward. “I see. And who is this leader?”
“They call him the King of Sheep. Undefeated, tough little fucker. Watch your back around him, and your mouth. His attitude ain't reserved for the ring.” Undefeated? A small flicker of interest bore into Dazai’s irises, a carving flame of intrigue. Something in his gut told him this was the beginning of his rodeo with this ‘glory fighter’.
His fingers twitched, pulling out a wad of cash stuffed inside his coat pocket. He noticed the older male practically drooling at the sight, and realised he could have perhaps gotten away with offering a little less. It didn’t matter to him either way. He wouldn’t be back to collect his winnings.
“In that case, I’d like to bet on him.”
“A wise choice, but won’t win much back for it.” The money was plucked from his fingers and drawn underneath the counter, replaced with a small ticket and an orange band. ‘What happened to this other boxer you were interested in?” He pointed to the red marking on the schedule. “Said he was similar to your guy fightin' tonight?”
Dazai shrugged, a coy grin gracing his lips. “You seem to have swayed me.” He didn’t bother waiting for the reply, he’d got what he needed. Whether he’d just given away more than he needed to or not, barely interested in keeping tabs on whether he should collect it at the end of the night or not, it didn’t matter. The information he’d grasped - while little in comparison to what he truly needed - was much more valuable.
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“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you taking our best fighter to an underground ring? If you get caught we lose everything. He could get hurt.”
Dazai snickered, swirling the golden liquid inside the whiskey glass. His eyes gleamed under the gentle glow of the bar, the keen gaze flickering to the redhead beside him.
“You call him your best fighter, then assume he’d get injured in some run-down place? You humour me, Odasaku.” The older sighed gently, eyes trained on the wooden table below.
“You never answered my question?” Dazai grinned, leaning back in his chair. “He thinks I’m taking him to get experience, learn a new side of boxing.” “I take it that’s not the real reason, right?”
The brunette hummed. He dipped his finger in the glass, poking the spherical ball of ice bobbing up and down in the honeyed liquid. “The King of Sheep, have you heard of him?” Oda nodded, tilting his head. “I have. He’s the undefeated illegal fighter in Suribachi City. He’s at the top of the illegal chain.”
“And yet that’s all we know. Besides a few things; he’s undefeated, untouchable talent, aggressive and full of personality. Rumours fly, but not as fast as they did for this one. And the icing on the cake? He’s not even grazing his prime yet.”
“What are you trying to get at?”
“We’re trying to break the big leagues here. Think strategically. We’re never going to get in like we are, Tachihara isn’t ready to move on from Level 2 fights, he barely won his last bout. And we don’t have a single fighter with enough talent and charisma to get us there. Odasaku, think about it.”
The brunette swivelled to face him, smiling widely. “You said it’s always been your dream to change how boxing’s viewed. It should be a real sport, not the media grab it is now. If we had someone like him on our side, we might just have a chance.”
A gentle silence engulfed the bar, aching the organ in Dazai’s chest until Oda’s words sent it pulsing to beat again.
“You really think he’s the one?”
“I do.”
—------------------------------------
Dazai’s eyes narrowed, his feet carrying him down the concrete steps and back into the main stadium; making his way to the ring Takihara was already heading towards. Hands clenching and unclenching in unified excitement, he struggled to keep away the amused gleam in his amber eyes.
Just who are you, King of Sheep?