Story Objective:
I decided to create an original story inspired by Baki's brutal and philosophical universe. The
plot takes place in the year 2021, a time when underground fights have once again taken
over the alleys of big cities and illegal rings have become arenas of war between the most
dangerous men on the planet.
The name of the story is CAGE:2021 — a title that carries the weight of violence, honor, and
savagery contained within a cage. In a world where physical strength still dictates the rules
in certain hidden circles of society, CAGE:2021 delves into the underworld of extreme martial
arts, where there are no judges, rules, or mercy. Only one instinct: win or die.
The focus will be on insane characters, with intense pasts and unique fighting styles. A new
generation of warriors emerges, while forgotten legends resurface. And amidst the chaos, a
new tournament emerges—brutal, illegal, and global—that promises to crown the closest
human being to a living weapon.
CAGE:2021 – Introduction
Japan, Port of Osaka. Year 2021.
The crane gears squeaked as the sun rose over the horizon, reflecting on the murky waters
of the port. The smell of rust, salt and sweat was part of the routine. Among the adult
workers was a 14-year-old boy with calloused hands and a hard, silent gaze: True Lookiu
Hagai, or simply True Hagai.
Born and raised in the forgotten part of Osaka, True had known poverty since he was a child.
His mother, who worked cleaning ships, had died three years earlier — a victim of an illness
that no one bothered to diagnose until it was too late. He never knew his father. The only
legacy he received was his own name and a body that seemed to have been born for war.
True was not like other boys his age. His muscles were hard as ropes, shaped by manual
labor and constant hunger. There was no school, no games, no promises of a future—just
boxes to carry, the shouts of drunken bosses, and the sound of bones cracking when an
adult tried to assert himself.
And whenever someone dared to confront him... they left the place different. Or broken.
"True has eyes that don't match his age," the veterans of the port said. Deep-set eyes that
seemed to observe the world as if in constant judgment.
But what no one knew was that in 2021, a secret event was about to spread like a silent
epidemic among the shadows of the world: the return of a legendary, illegal, and brutal
tournament. A battlefield where strength was not only measured by punches, but by
ideology, suffering, and survival.
And in this chaos, a boy with no name, no family, and no future...
was about to make his mark.
His name was True Hagai. And he was born to fight.
True's Life at the Port
The port of Osaka never sleeps. Trucks come and go, cranes move containers like toys, and
the screams of the foremen cut through the air like blades. It is there, among grown men,
ex-convicts and hard-as-nails workers, that True Hagai survives.
He arrives before sunrise, wearing an old T-shirt, always stained with grease and sweat,
jeans torn at the knees and boots that no longer hold even the rainwater. He does not
complain. He has never complained. His body, even at a young age, is frighteningly defined
— broad shoulders, a back marked by thin scars, dry arms as strong as the steel cables he
carries. His muscles are not from the gym. They are from carrying cargo, from survival. From
pain.
True's face is closed, with dark skin marked by sun and dust. Black hair is messy, falling over
his forehead. His eyes, however, are what scares him the most: dark, sharp and
expressionless. Anyone who looks at him feels as if they are being measured inside. He
doesn't talk much. The other workers even tried to make fun of him when he first arrived, still
11 years old, trying to carry boxes that weighed more than his own body. But no one laughs
anymore. One of them tried to push him once… True broke two of the guy's fingers with a
simple blow. And then he went back to work as if nothing had happened. He lives in a
makeshift cubicle near the warehouses, where he uses a thin mat as a bed. He trains alone
at night, punching hanging tires, doing push-ups on the cold concrete, diving into the dark
sea when he needs to clear his mind. His body is his only temple. His only weapon. The city
revolves around technology, media and modern hustle and bustle, but True lives like a ghost
from the past — as if he doesn't belong in this era. He doesn't have a cell phone, he doesn't
know anything about social media. He only knows one thing: being strong is the only way to
exist in the world where he was born. Even though he doesn't say it out loud, there is a
storm inside him. An emptiness. A name he has never heard: his father's. And an
uncontrollable impulse that grows every day:
the will to fight.
CAGE:2021 — Chapter 1: Ghosts of Steel
The port was not just a place of work. It was a silent battlefield. For True Hagai, this world of
iron, smoke, and sea had become all he knew—and in it, only one man could speak to him
without being ignored.
His name was Boris Soure.
A colossus from Eastern Europe, 6'4" tall and weighing over 260 pounds of raw muscle and
forgotten scars. A former professional boxer, expelled for involvement in underground fights.
His gray beard and sunken eyes told stories that no one dared ask. His skin, pale as ash,
always seemed covered in a thin layer of industrial dust. When he walked, the ground
seemed to listen.
Boris was the man who took True in when the boy's mother died. Not out of kindness. But
because he recognized something in the boy's eyes that he knew well: the restrained anger,
shaped by abandonment.
True, at 14, was already a physical phenomenon. 5'6" tall, 130 pounds of dense, heavy,
natural muscle. He had never trained in a gym. His training was the real world—pushing
barrels, hoisting boxes, punching metal to keep from crying. His body was small compared
to the men on the docks, but when he struck, it sounded like a war drum. That night, after
work, Boris waited for him in the dark corner of Shed 3, where the two shared a small space
with a makeshift sandbag and stacked tires. Boris, lighting a cigarette, watched the boy in
silence. "You grew up faster than you should have," he said, his voice deep, almost slurred.
True didn't answer. He was busy doing push-ups, his torn fists hitting the hard floor. "You
know what they say about boys like you, kid?" "I don't care what they say," he replied,
without stopping. Boris let out a dry laugh. — "Good. Because most die before they're
twenty."
True stopped. He stood up. Sweaty, his body shaking not from fatigue but from restraint.
— "Do you think I'm like the others?"
— "No." Boris stared at the boy as if looking into a mirror. — "You're worse. And that's a
good thing."
He stepped forward, thrusting an old tablet into True's hands. On the screen: a low-quality
broadcast of an illegal fight. Two men in a ring surrounded by bars, like a cage. One of them
was drawing blood from the other with his bare fists, while the crowd screamed like wild
animals.
Above, in red letters:
CAGE:2021 — The Cage Has Opened
— "This is the real world, kid. Not the one out there with school uniforms and fake smiles."
— "And where is that?" True asked, her eyes fixed on the screen, sparkling.
— "If you really want to get in… the way opens itself. But once you're in, there's no going
back."
Boris turned away, throwing away his cigarette.
— "You're stronger than you think, True Hagai. But strength without purpose… is only
destruction."
True clenched her fist. For the first time in a long time, she felt something beyond survival. A
calling.
The Eye of the Hunter
The fog hung thick over the harbor that morning. The smell of salt mixed with oil was strong,
as if the sea itself were sweating. Among trucks and cranes, a black luxury car with dark
windows moved slowly forward, clashing with everything around it.
A man stepped out with firm steps and a penetrating gaze.
Yuchagashi Rando.
1.85m, 93kg, impeccable dark gray suit under a long black overcoat. His hair was short,
well-trimmed, with a few silver strands indicating years of experience—not age, but survival.
His eyes, slanted and extremely calm, passed over everything around him as if he were
seeing beyond matter. The aura around him was so precise that even the most aggressive
workers took a step aside without thinking.
Yuchagashi was the Executive Director of the CAGE Tournament Selection Board—the man
responsible for finding warriors who did not belong to the surface of society… but to its
bowels.
He had heard whispers. Stories muffled by sweat and fear. A young man from the port. A
boy who seemed born only for combat.
Boris was sitting on a pile of planks, chewing dry bread and drinking thin coffee. When he
saw Yuchagashi approaching, he didn't seem surprised.
— "You're far from Tokyo, hunter."
— "I'm where true violence breathes." — Yuchagashi replied, his voice calm, almost too
polite.
— **"And I heard you're hiding a monster."
Boris didn't answer. He just stood up, leaving the mug on the wood.
— "He's not a monster," he murmured. — "He's a boy who forgot how to be human.
They walked to one of the abandoned warehouses. The sound of dry blows echoed in the
metallic air. As they entered, Yuchagashi saw: True Hagai. Alone. With his fists bleeding, he
was hitting a concrete pillar as if he were trying to break the world.
The ground around them was cracked. Fragments of cement fell. Each punch had
murderous intent. But it wasn't anger. It was… focus. Pure control.
Yuchagashi watched in silence for long seconds.
— "How old is he?"
— "Fourteen."
— "…Fourteen?" — for the first time, a rare flash of surprise passed over Yuchagashi's
expressionless face.
True stopped, noticing the presence.
— "Who is he?"
— "Someone who hunts animals like you." — Boris replied with a dry laugh.
Yuchagashi took two steps forward. He looked True in the eyes.
— "Hagai True. Your name circulates among the shadows, although you have never left
here."
— "And yours?"
— "Yuchagashi. And I decide who lives or dies in the cage."
True didn't look away.
— "Then take me to her."
A small smile appeared on the corner of Yuchagashi's mouth.
— "Not yet." — He took a small tablet from his coat pocket and showed a video of a giant
man breaking another man's jaw with a brutal knee. — "The CAGE is not a place for
amateurs. Nor for prodigies. It's for freaks."
He closed the tablet.
— "You'll have your chance. Tomorrow. Right here. An opponent will be sent to test you."
— "If you win, you're in.
True wiped the blood from his hands on his shirt, his eyes still fixed on the stranger in front of
him.
— "What if I kill him?"
Yuchagashi smiled again, as if he had been expecting exactly that question.
— "Then I'll give you an even worse opponent."
And with that, he turned and left, as if everything had already been decided.
The Chosen of the Night
Osaka – Japan
11:41 PM
Temperature: 12°C
Light rain. Cold wind coming from the east.
On top of an abandoned building in the industrial district of Osaka, the sound of punches
echoed like muffled thunder. The structure was old, with cracked walls, a floor wet from leaks
and a smell of rust in the air. Only the moon, hidden by dark clouds, illuminated that
battlefield.
In the center of a destroyed hall, two men faced each other with fury and precision.
One of them, in a dark green jacket stained with mud, was David Hoshima.
1.78m, 81kg, black hair shaved on the sides, green eyes sharp as razors. His nose was
crooked, already broken a few times, and scars covered his arms like medals. He wore
baggy pants and worn leather gloves. His muscles looked like tense steel cables.
David stood with his arms raised in a high guard position, breathing heavily.
— "Haa… haa… Mutesouri…"
In front of him, like a statue sculpted by pure violence, was Mutesouri Kant.
1.91m, 94kg, slender but defined body, with long muscles like those of a panther. His long
white hair fell to his shoulders, stuck together by the humidity in the air. His eyes were
amber, almost feline. He was wearing no shirt — just black pants and bare feet. His skin was
marked by bruises… but he was smiling.
— "You're still standing. That's admirable." — Mutesouri said, his voice calm, almost serene.
David advanced with a spinning elbow strike, followed by a sequence of short punches,
using a technique derived from Pankration, an ancient martial art.
But Mutesouri dodged with minimal movements. Elegance and instinct.
He was using something different… something that resembled the Shinshin Kaikan mixed
with forbidden prison combat techniques.
Then, the counterattack.
A kick to the spleen. A knee to the chin. And finally, a sudden movement—a backhand strike
that twisted David's entire body, making him fall backwards, unconscious, his breath caught
in his chest.
Silence reigned for two seconds.
Until the rusty door opened with a firm, echoing creak.
Yuchagashi entered.
"Regrettable…" he said coldly, staring at David's fallen body.
Mutesouri just turned his face toward him, still catching his breath.
"He was a good opponent. But he underestimated me."
Yuchagashi took a few steps, his hands behind his back.
His gaze ran over Mutesouri from top to bottom, assessing, calculating, like a surgeon
examining a sharp blade.
— "Mutesouri Kant. Son of a war assassin. Exiled at 17. Interned at 19. Escaped at 24.
You've remained in hiding… until today."
Mutesouri wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
— "Did you come here just to judge me?"
— "No." — Yuchagashi replied. — "I came to deliver an invitation."
He took a small folded piece of paper from his overcoat pocket.
— "There is a young man. Name: True Hagai. He defeated concrete with his bare fists. They
say he was born to fight… but I need to be sure."
— "Do you want me to face him?"
— "No." — Yuchagashi's eyes flashed briefly. — "I want you to try to beat him. The pre-fight
is set. You're my trump card. Let's see if this kid is really the freak they say.
Mutesouri smiled. For the first time that night, it wasn't a smile of contempt or pride… but of
pure excitement.
— "If he's strong enough… maybe he can break me."
— "Or die trying."
Yuchagashi turned and left.
The wind blew stronger.
The night in Osaka still had echoes of violence in the air.
Memories of Iron and Skin
Port of Osaka, three years earlier
Time: 5:18 a.m.
Temperature: 6°C
Low fog covering the crane tracks
The sound of the sea was muffled by the thick fog, and the smell of old fish and diesel hung
in the air. Inside a small makeshift room between containers, the cold cut like a knife. Inside,
a woman was preparing a thin tea on a gas stove. Her body was already showing signs of
weakness, but her eyes… still carried the fire of the daily struggle.
Her name was Josefa Hagai.
She was 36 years old, thin, 1.62m tall and about 50kg. Her skin was dark and her hair, black
and tied in an improvised bun, was always covered by an old scarf. She always wore the
same worn wool coat and baggy worker's pants. Her fingers were always cracked and dirty
with oil. She cleaned ships—alone—and no one respected her for it.
But to True, she was the whole world.
— "Wake up, my son. The day has begun."
Her voice was soft but firm. True, lying on a thin mat, slowly opened his eyes. He was eleven
years old. His face was still round, but his body already showed muscles that did not belong
to a child. He wore his boots, always without socks, and looked at the floor as if he hated the
day.
Josefa sat down next to him, handing him the mug of tea.
— "You have to promise me something, True."
— "What?
— "Don't be just another one of those men who turn to stone. Promise me that you will be
more than that. That you will have purpose."
— "I don't understand." — he said, drinking the bitter tea without complaint.
She smiled.
— "One day you will."
That morning, as she set off for the dock with aching knees and a bent spine, True watched
through the small crack in the door. She was coughing up hidden blood. And yet… she
walked forward.
Three months later, she was dead.
True didn't cry on the day of the funeral. Or the next day. He just sat in the same place,
looking at his hands. Hands that couldn't hold his mother's life. Hands that would become,
from then on, his only weapon.
That night, he went to the containers, alone.
He began to punch a steel plate. Over and over.
Weeping in silence, until his knuckles opened and blood flowed.
And in that moment… something inside him was born.
It wasn't hate.
It wasn't pain.
It was desire.
The same one his mother carried.
But unlike her, he wouldn't serve.
He would take it.
And now, three years later, in the same harbor where Josefa died, True Hagai is about to
face an opponent unlike any he has ever seen before. His name is Mutesouri Kant. And the
final test is coming.
Beast vs. Man
Port of Osaka
Warehouse 3 – 10:47 p.m.
Temperature: 10°C. Clear sky. Absolute silence.
The warehouse floor was clean. For the first time. The workers had been kept away.
Heavy-duty chains locked the doors. Industrial lights cast harsh shadows on the cracked
concrete. The fight would not be seen by many—only by those who mattered.
In the upper corner of the warehouse, on an iron structure above the containers, Boris Soure
watched with his arms crossed. Beside him, silent as a tombstone, Yuchagashi Rando kept
his eyes fixed on the improvised arena.
In the center, two men stood face to face.
A boy.
A predator.
True Hagai, 14, eyes as empty as a deep well.
Mutesouri Kant, 27, white hair plastered to his skin and a slight smile on his lips.
— "You're younger than I thought," Mutesouri said, rolling his neck slowly. Cracking sounds.
"You're more talkative than I'd like," True replied, emotionless.
The air between them seemed to tremble. There were no bells. There were no rules.
Boris murmured,
"If he survives the first twenty seconds... then he can win."
Mutesouri was the first to step forward.
One step. Two. Then an explosive thrust—like a feline leaping. The ground sank beneath his
feet. His first attack was an open-handed strike, aimed squarely at True's chest. Not a
punch. A slash.
Technique: Prison Claw—Strangled Dragon Slash.
A fighting technique used by inmates in clandestine prisons—fingers stiff, bone tips pointed
like blades.
True crossed his arms, blocking.
CRACK.
The impact knocked True back six feet. His forearms burned. Blood was slowly dripping.
— "He doesn't hesitate..." — True thought. — "This man fights as if every blow is meant to
kill.
Mutesouri didn't give him time. He spun his body into a side kick. True ducked. He
counterattacked with a punch straight to the abdomen.
BOOM!
The blow landed.
Mutesouri staggered back a step… and smiled.
— "You're rough. Not technical. But your body has a fury that screams."
True didn't answer. He advanced again, like a cornered animal, throwing a sequence of
punches — a hook, a straight, a left cross.
Technique: Hammer Chain – Porto Fighting Style.
Hard, dry movements, without flourishes. Strength concentrated in the shoulders and hips.
Mutesouri blocked the first. Dodged the second. The third grazed his jaw. A cut opened.
Blood ran down the corner of his mouth. And then he retaliated with a spinning kick to
True's chest.
SMACK!
The boy flew three meters. He fell on his back. He coughed. He spat blood.
From above, Boris took a step forward, tense.
Yuchagashi, without taking his eyes off, spoke softly:
"He's not ready yet."
But then, they saw:
True getting up. Without hurry. Without fear.
"You fight as if you were already dead," True said, wiping the blood with the back of his
hand.
"And you... fight like someone who hasn't yet understood what he's feeling."
True advanced.
This time, not with speed, but with intent.
Mutesouri jumped forward, trying another attack with the finger pressure technique — aiming
for the eyes.
But True dodged it by a millimeter.
And he landed a punch on Mutesouri's chin with all his strength.
BAAAAM!
Mutesouri flew to the side, falling face down on the ground. But he spun around and stood
up with a wide smile.
Blood was now dripping from his nose, his lips, his eyebrow.
— "Good. Good. That's the look I was hoping to see..."
— "You don't know anything about me," True murmured.
— "No. But I know what it's like to lose everything... and still stand. Because when there's
nothing left, all that's left is your fists."
They both ran toward each other.
Impact. Body against body. Muscles roaring. The concrete cracking beneath their feet.
End of the first half
Scream in the Cage
Port of Osaka
Warehouse 3 – 10:56 p.m.
Flashing lights. Blood-stained concrete.
The silence that preceded the chaos was broken.
True Hagai and Mutesouri Kant collided again.
This time, there was no more study, caution, or analysis.
It was pure instinct. Pure will to dominate.
— "HAAAAAH!"
True threw a left hook, but Mutesouri blocked it with his forearm and spun around the boy
with a circular movement of his hips.
Technique: Cutting Wind – Outer Whirlwind.
A technique of evasion and space control, used to break the enemy's rhythm.
Mutesouri landed a spinning kick to True's ribs, followed by a vertical elbow to the base of
the neck.
CRACK.
True fell to his knees, spitting thick, dark blood. But his eyes were open, and his fist…
clenched, still clenched.
"He must be unconscious," Boris muttered from above.
Yuchagashi watched in silence. His pupils seemed to focus on something beyond the
material. He saw more than a fight. He saw raw will being tested to the limit.
"He won't win."
"But he will survive," Boris replied, crossing his arms. "And that's more than enough to be
here."
Back in the arena, True stood up.
He leapt forward, lowering his body, spinning with both fists closed in a brutal lateral attack.
Technique: Double Chain Hammer
Improvised strike. Concentrated force in the lateral impact to break defenses.
BAM – BAM!
The first fist hit Mutesouri's stomach. The second, his chin.
Mutesouri took two steps back, staggering.
— "You…" — he said, laughing with blood dripping from his teeth. — "You're learning how to
hurt."
But True's gaze didn't reflect pleasure. It was pure emptiness.
He advanced once more, but this time Mutesouri acted with absolute coldness.
Technique: Spirit Break – Dead Man's Reversal.
A movement used to break not only the body, but the instinct to react.
He pretended to fall, but spun with his knee and hit the side of True's head with his heel.
The sound was dry.
CRACK!
True fell.
And didn't get up immediately.
Silence.
Mutesouri was panting, sweaty, covered in bruises. He knelt beside the boy and looked at
his half-open eyes.
— "Do you still hate me?"
True was breathing hard. A slight smile.
— "I don't hate you…"
— "I just… wanted… to keep fighting."
From above, Boris and Yuchagashi slowly descended. The echo of their footsteps filled the
warehouse like funeral drums. Mutesouri stepped away, wiping his face. Yuchagashi stared
at the boy's fallen, kneeling body. True was shaking. He tried to get up. And he
managed—for a moment. Then he fell again. Yuchagashi then spoke: "Test over." Boris said
nothing. He just ran his eyes over the boy as if looking at the younger version of himself.
Yuchagashi then bent down and spoke close to True's ear, with the coldness of a judge and
the tone of a herald: "You lost." "But… you passed." True didn't react. She was somewhere
between pain and fainting. "Tomorrow, I'll come back with the rules." "The CAGE now
recognizes your name." Yuchagashi stood up. He turned to Mutesouri, who was wiping the
blood away with his open hand.
— "Get ready. The tournament is near."
The shed was empty.
The only thing left… was the sound of True's heart beating slowly.
Slowly.
But still beating.
End of Chapte