"Arlo, don't do it… This time isn't like the others. He's never lost before!"
Her green eyes darted between the young man whose hands she was desperately clutching and the thin, black-haired boy with the ugly scar on his face.
The young man she held onto was Arlo— His torso was covered in bruises, colored red and purple like her own dress. His blond hair was damp with sweat, and his gaunt face bore many wounds and streaks of dried blood. He studied her thin, fragile face, taking in her tear-filled green eyes, her wet blond lashes, and her blue-tinted lips that struggled to form words.
What was she doing here, in the midst of these scumbags? That was why Arlo wanted to fight.
In pain, Arlo said, "Inini, don't worry. I'll win this match too. This will be the last fight. Then I'll get you out of here before that bastard Azar lays a hand on you."
She cried, resting her head on Arlo's hands. "But… I saw him." She cast a trembling gaze toward Elir, who had stepped into the makeshift arena amid the cheers and shouts of grimy men clutching their money, eager to place bets.
With terror, she tightened her grip on Arlo's hand. "It's okay… Let Azar do what he wants, right?" She cupped Arlo's face with her hands. "Isn't what matters that I go to the army with you? Right? I'll go. Your efforts won't have been for nothing. It's fine—I can endure…"
She pleaded through tears, "I've endured so much already… What's a little more? Ha, What do you say?"
Arlo didn't answer. He couldn't. If he spoke, he would yell at her. Did she really want him to back down from the fight and let Azar do whatever he planned?
Seeing how desperate she was only fueled his anger. Inini realized that and added, "I can't… I can't bear losing you."
Arlo squeezed her hands and gently patted them, feeling their coldness and trembling as the vile Azar approached.
Azar placed a heavy hand on Arlo's shoulder. "Well now, are you going to chat with my girl forever?" Azar drew closer to Inini and kissed her cheek, making her shudder in disgust.
Arlo thought, I'll kill him. I'll kill him. Why bother with these trivial matches that entertain his clients? I'll kill him.
Azar laughed, as though reading Arlo's thoughts. "What, you want to hit me? Surrounded by my men?"
Arlo shouted, "Inini! Get out of here!"
Inini screamed, "No! Arlo!"
Azar said, "But Inini, you should go. What if your boyfriend loses today? Think of all those angry men who bet on him. And you'll be here while he's sprawled on the ground, unable to save you…"
Arlo's eyes flared with rage. How could he say something like that? Azar truly enjoyed breaking him.
Azar walked to the center of the ring, which was shaking from the roar of the crowd. Arlo begged Inini, "Inini, please, get out of here! If I lose—"
Inini sobbed like a child. "I'll run. I'll run fast if you lose and go to my room. But I can't stand waiting outside while you fight! I'll lose my mind, Arlo!"
That was always Inini—she always wore him down.
Azar shouted, "Come on! Let's see which champion will win today!" He pointed to Arlo. "The champion who hasn't lost a match in the past six months!"
The crowd cheered wildly, some even spitting at Arlo. Their saliva dripped in anticipation of the money they might earn. They shouted his name, chanting, while others cursed him. He had never before been jeered and cheered by so many at once.
Then Azar pointed at Elir, who stood in the center, eyes fixed on Arlo. "Or will it be the champion who hasn't lost since he was nine years old?!"
The filthy basement shook with the thunder of the men's applause. Elir was their hero, their lucky charm. He fought for them, and they had watched him grow for eight years. They knew his strength. One man swore he'd seen Elir punch someone so hard that the victim's tongue flew out and hit his own forehead. The man had allegedly kept that tongue until it rotted. This bizarre familiarity, this bond they had with him, was worth the 350 kirto ticket price.
They roared, "Go, Elir! I bet all my money on you!" Another, gulping his drink, yelled, "I'll kill you if you lose!"
Arlo hesitated, hearing how they cheered for Elir.
Azar smirked. "What's wrong? Chickening out? Don't you want to buy your girl's freedom?"
Arlo looked at the skinny Elir, who seemed as if a puff of air could knock him down. He furrowed his brow and cracked his knuckles, muttering, "Why did I get scared…? That boy is weak. They're all weak here. No one's beaten me yet, and he won't either."
He stepped to the center of the ring, locking eyes with Elir. That scar, those empty eyes… why did a chill run down his spine?
The bell rang, its sound drowned by the crowd's cries. No time to think. Arlo lunged, landing a punch on Elir's face. Blood dripped from Elir's nose, but he didn't move. He just stood there, blood trickling.
Arlo thought, He's really weak.
He landed another punch on Elir's face, causing Elir's eye to swell. I'll win this.
Another punch! Followed by a scream from Inini, "Arlo, watch out!"
Watch out for what? He was looking straight at Elir, right?
What? Where did he go?
Elir appeared right behind Arlo. His murmur cut sharply through the cheering. "You've already lost." Then he slammed a punch into Arlo's head. The crowd screamed!! This is one of Elir special moves, punch straight to the head.
Arlo nearly blacked out. The pain was overwhelming, stealing his ability to fight back. He heard the crack of his own bones. Even though Elir hadn't struck his body directly, everything hurt.
How did this happen? How could he move so fast?
Amid the screams, he heard a familiar voice—a sweet voice. Inini's voice, crying. I can't give up, he thought.
Arlo opened his eyes to find Elir standing over him. Elir looked at Inini and said, "Maybe if she wasn't here, you'd win."
Inini… He's talking about Inini?!
Arlo struggled to stand, blood streaming down his face, words slurring. "Who are you to talk about Inini?! Don't you dare speak about her or even look at her!"
His legs would carry him, his fists would punch—all for Inini. They have too! He growled as he tried to stand up but but his legs wouldn't move. His arms wouldn't rise. Before he could act, Elir slammed another blow into his stomach, knocking him to the ground. Arlo writhed in agony.
The smells of sweat and iron-like blood in the basement faded, as did the men's voices. It was as if he wasn't there anymore, as if he had never come to this place, had never lost Inini when she was eleven, had never watched Azar take her away… everything felt distant, except the searing pain coursing through his body and his struggle to breathe.
Moments later, the stench returned, and he heard the crowd again. Azar finished counting. Arlo hadn't risen. Elir had won.
Laughter and cheers erupted. Someone shouted, "What? That wasn't even a fight! He fell in under a minute! Has that boy Arlo really never lost?!"
Arlo pounded the ground with his fists, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Damn it… damn it… why… why didn't you lose?! Why didn't you lose?!"
Elir regarded him briefly, then said, "I won because you desperately wanted to win. That's always how it goes."
Then Elir walked away, leaving Arlo behind. Arlo looked at Inini and saw fear etched on her face. She stared at him with her usual eyes, but that look… Don't look at me like that.
"Run, Inini… you promised."
Arlo's ragged breathing grew quieter, Inini's cries and screams faded, The men's cheers diminished. Each step Elir took away from the cellar made those noises fade further.
He hated that cellar.
He glanced around, looking for Nier.
Nier was always waiting for him in front of Azar's house— For eight long years.
He found Nier now standing in front of a girl whose face was bleeding. Elir started walking as Nier ran after him.
He always enjoyed these moments after every fight—the fresh air after the cellar's suffocating smoke and sweat smell. Nier would be there, waiting for him.
Nier finally reached him and saw Elir's face. Tears welled in Nier's eyes as he said, "I can't wait for you to leave this wretched place."
Elir kept walking and said, "You're still crying."
Nier wiped his tears angrily. "I'm not crying!"
It had always been like that, for eight years— The refreshing air, Nier waiting for him, And his failed attempts to hold back tears.
They walked through the streets of Bial as they did every day. Nier turned at the sound of a lighter to see Elir lighting a cigarette.
Nier asked, "Where'd you get that?"
Elir, exhaling smoke, said, "From that man's pocket this morning."
Anger flickered over Nier's face at the memory of what had happened. Elirraised the pack. "Do you want one?"
Nier's eyes gleamed, and he nodded. Elir took out a cigarette and lit it for him. As soon as Nier took a drag, he started coughing violently, blowing the smoke from his mouth.
He looked at Elir with teary eyes. "It burns!"
Elir rolled his eyes mockingly. Nier shouted, "It's my first time, you bastard!"
They walked in selience for a while in the dark streets before Nier asked, "Can I have another one?"
Elir looked at him for a little before he took out two cigarettes, handed one to Nier, and said, "You're puffing the entire thing at once. That's not how you smoke."
Nier took the cigarette and retorted, "What's it to you?! And I'm the one who hit that guy first, so the whole pack is technically mine!"
Elir, lighting both cigarettes, said, "Be careful not to get addicted. You don't have 50 kirto for a pack at Azar's."
Nier laughed, walking ahead and said. "It's fine. I have a man inside—I can convince him to steal cigarettes for me!"
A faint smile appeared on Elir's face as they continued walking. Eventually they approached Bial's center, the liveliest area in town. Night had only just fallen, so a few shops were still open, their lights illuminating the dark streets. Children still played outside. Azar's first-floor girls roamed the roads, attracting customers.
In the heart of Bial's center stood a statue—a gray statue of a brave human soldier. He held one hand clenched in a fist, reaching toward the sky, and in his other hand, he grasped a bleeding wing. His face was proud, yet sadness marked its creases.
Nier loved this statue. It wasn't because of the brave soldier or the broken wing symbolizing the light's downfall, but because of those behind the soldier—the gray statues of women and children clinging to his clothes. Their faces were streaked with tears, yet behind their weeping, they looked grateful. They appeared genuinely happy.
Nier paused to contemplate the statue, as he did every night. Elir watched him, noticing the burning excitement in Nier's eyes.
Elir sat down against a nearby wall. "Why do you want to go to Frata? We could stay here. I'll work and earn money for us."
Nier kept his eyes on the statue, exhaling cigarette smoke. "Stay here doing what?"
Elir said, "Live."
Nier turned to him, eyes alight with passion. "I don't just want to live, Elir… I want to do something!"
Elir pointed at the statue of the human soldier. "Like him?"
Nier said immediately, "Yes! I want to help them!" He clenched his fist. "If there are more lights out there, I want to protect humans—"
Elir interrupted, "Humans will never see you as a good person, Nier. They'll never see you as a human in the first place!
Nier shouted, "That's not what I meant!" His anger turned to worry as he went on. "Elir, you're joining the army, right?"
Elir smirked. "It's not optional."
Nier stepped closer. "You know what I mean! Are you planning to pass the training or not?"
Elir exhaled smoke, and before he could answer, Nier spoke again. "Elir, did you talk to your father? You'll join the army with me, right?"
Elir replied, "I don't think he wants me to join."
Nier shouted, "No!"
Elir glanced at him. "Don't worry… I'll come with you if that's what you're going to do."
Nier smiled, relieved. Before he could say another word, droplets of water touched their faces.
Nier looked around in surprise, "Is this…. rain?"