In this world, one principle has always held true, either in the past, present and the future. It is that:
Violence is Life.
From the open area where fighting sports is the most popular kind sports, to the underground where violence is done through arenas.
Chaos is natural when that principle is adhered, thus one day a young monarch from the Edo period proposed an Order to the Chaos. "Why don't you settle this endless dispute with a match!" A simple thing and yet none can't think of it.
Thus the creation of Kengan matches started. With it, as if provoked countless organization start popping up, to the surface, each seeking control over commerce and power. The matches became a currency of influence, where corporations could settle disputes without drawing public attention, using fighters as living weapons and proof of dominance.
The underground arenas grew, hidden behind office buildings and warehouses, their existence whispered in boardrooms and back alleys alike. Rules were minimal but sacred: no weapons, no interference, and victory decided only by submission or knockout.
It was in this world of calculated brutality and clandestine power plays that a proper organization would step forward not as a mere participant, it was the Kengan Association, formed to oversee and regulate these matches, ensuring that the chaos of violence remained orderly and that disputes stayed "civil" in their own brutal way.
It became the invisible hand behind commerce and conflict, a body that controlled which corporations could fight, which fighters could step into the arena, and how victories and losses would shift the balance of power.
From that moment, the Kengan Association didn't just manage fights—it shaped the very world of underground martial commerce, turning each match into more than a contest of strength: it was strategy, influence, and survival all in one.
Of course the Kengan Association is just another player in this world of violence. It may set the rules, sanction the arenas, and keep the public from seeing the blood spilled in back rooms, but it did not create the hunger for power, nor could it control it. Corporations, merchants, and shadowed guilds all played their own games, using fighters as instruments of influence, each blow a message, each victory a claim staked in the ongoing war of commerce and dominance.
From The Strongest Man in the world, the hidden sects of China, the rising shadows in Korea, to the brutal gangs of Russia, the language of violence was universal. Borders, laws, and governments meant little when fists, feet, and willpower could carve power out of nothing. Each arena, each contract, each match was a battlefield where influence was measured not in papers or policies, but in sweat, blood, and the unyielding force of the human body.
And in this world, legends were born not in peace, but in chaos. Fighters became more than tools, they became symbols, warnings, and trophies. To step into a fight was not merely to clash with an opponent; it was to stake a claim in a world where survival, dominance, and respect were earned through violence.
This was the world Ying Zheng had chosen to walk, and it would accept no excuses.
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Light slipped through the curtains of a mansion, falling across the body of a male human.
Ying Zheng woke up slowly, eyes hidden even in sleep behind the white blindfold
Gazing straight towards the ceiling with hardship on his eyes, after a minute of nothing, he sighed and pushed himself up. "Sigh… mornings never get easier, no matter how disciplined you are." The blanket covering him rolled over revealing a muscular body and no clothes whatsoever.
Rolling the shoulders and stretching the stiffness from my body, I then stepped toward the window. With a single motion, pulled the curtains open and letting the sunlight flood the room.
Swish.
The sunlight hit my face fully now, it's warm and nothing like in my past life.
I stood there longer than necessary, letting it rest on my skin, eyes closed. There was a quiet satisfaction in it, the kind that didn't come from victory, effort or eating. It's just standing still, breathing, and feeling the time pass without resistance. It's comforting.
For a brief moment, nothing pressed on me.
No obligations. No violence. No expectations.
I let out a slow breath, with my shoulders loosening.
Knock. Knock.
The sound was firm and deliberate.
"I'm up," I said.
The door opened softly.
I turned as she stepped in, her presence immediately filling the room. Her posture was straight, movements controlled, and eyes sharp even at rest.
She is a tall woman with a strong, well-built frame, her pale skin standing out against her waist-length, dark purple hair that is tied in low pigtail braids with square bangs hanging over her eyebrows, with blue eyes and sharp canine teeth.
Her face is sharp and angular, with a soft expression that changes according to her duties. Thin, rectangular glasses sit on her nose, that is clearly decorative rather than real when seen close.
She wears a classic maid outfit. A black dress with long sleeves, a white apron tied cleanly at the waist, and a high collar that keeps everything formal and restrained. The skirt falls below the knees, white cuffs line her sleeves, and dark stockings cover her legs, completing the uniform look.
Despite the traditional maid attire, the outfit sits perfectly on her frame, tailored rather than loose. Her posture remains straight and composed.
"Good morning, Master." she bowed and said calmly.
"Morning, Roberta." I replied.
Her gaze flicked over me in a quick, professional way and yet something feels off in how he looked. He felt those subtle scan. She had served me since the cult days ended, loyal beyond reason. A former FARC guerrilla turned maid, the "Bloodhound of Florencia" they call her, someone who had traded blood for a quiet service after I offered her rescue. But even at peaceful times the predator never fully slept, she still hones her abilities.
Her eyes met mine. "Breakfast will be ready shortly," she said.
I nodded. "Good. While I wait, what are my agendas today?"
She took a notebook from who knows where and read. "Aside from your usual duties in the gym and practice, you are to prepare for the upcoming Kengan. That is what you told me to note of." she snaps the notebook closed after she finished reading.
"Hmm, I see. Well then it's just the usual I guess, I'll get ready soon, do tell the chef my usual thanks." I head towards my large closet and took a loose chinese robe to put on myself.
She nodded her head and turned to leave.
As the door closed behind her, I glanced back toward the window. The sunlight was still there, unchanged, indifferent to everything waiting ahead. 'Hmm, I feel like she just checked my body... She's getting more bolder now that I'm an adult huh." A faint smirk crossed my face. Roberta was many things someone who's loyal, deadly, broken in her own way but she was mine. And in this world of monsters, i could ask nothing more that loyalty.
I linger a second longer, letting the sunlight warm my body.
Then I turned away. Must be what must for now, I have a beginning to write in this world. Pushing the door open, I walk out to get my food.
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Inside a skyscraper, a blonde muscular man with flowing chin-length blonde hair that is split on either side and gentle blue eyes and is wearing a priest garments. He is talking with a man wearing a well-tailored dark brown suit.
"Ying Zheng, known as the King of beginning he started at Kengan affiliated with a cult named Army of God when he's 12 and stopped at age 16 reasons seems to be the death of their leader, reasons of death unknown." The blonde man reads through a dossier in his hand. "It's been 2 years now and he's coming back?"
"Yes, that's what my subordinates found when they dig into him." The man in suit said. "He applied for a sanctioned match under his own gym. No sponsor yet, but he's representing the gym as himself for the fight. I do not understand though, surely as the heir from that massive cult he should have money to spare for a measly reputation..." contemplating he took his hand and put it in his chin.
"What do you think Mokichi?" The man in suit asked.
Mokichi's gaze drifted to the window. The city below sprawled in cold light, ordinary streets hiding arenas where blood is spilled.
"Some inheritances come with chains," he said quietly. "He was raised on violence as scripture. A child king in a world that bows only to violence. Then his god or father figure falls, he must've been so confused on what to do, that poor child." He turned, robe cascading against the floor. The smile remained, but something sharper flickered in those gentle blue eyes.
"With two years of silence. He's Building a gym not for wealth, but to build his personal subordinates, maybe he's simply following his father's path or he's creating something new." He paused, fingers brushing the cross at his neck. "We wouldn't know till I fight him."
"Tell the board to ready. Let us see if this blindfolded king truly deserves the beginning he claims." The liaison nodded, a quiet respect settling over him. He bowed slightly. "As you wish, Father Robinson."
Mokichi stayed by the window as the door closed behind him. Hands clasped with eyes on the city below.
Violence was life.
As was and always will be.
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AN: I'm just setting up the tone. Also I've decided to make this into a harem, just feel like it would fit a bit more better with the set up i'm trying to do.
Leave your suggestions and Criticisms here, Even opinions matter. Have a nice day.
Word Count: 1,663