Underworld Ascension: Martial Arts System

The observation room sounded of machinery, monitors flickering as they displayed the aftermath of each fight. Nine leaned back in her chair, her white hair catching the glow of the screens. She swirled a cup of something steaming—tea or coffee, it was hard to tell—and observed the carnage below with a detached fascination. 

One monitor showed a boy curled into himself, clutching a bleeding arm as his opponent loomed over him, triumphant but reluctant. 

The fight had ended not with a killing blow but with the loser tapping out, his face squeezed in humiliation and pain. On another screen, a lifeless body lay crumpled in a corner, a dark pool slowly spreading beneath it. 

A third screen displayed two boys in an uneven standoff, one screaming and pleading for mercy while the other hesitated, blade in hand, as if grappling with the morality of his next move. 

Nine made a small sound of disapproval. "Soft. If you hesitate, you die. It's that simple."

"Not all of them think that way," the man beside her said. His voice was deep, measured, like the rumble of distant thunder. His face was still obscured by the angle of his chair and the shadows of the room, but his eyes gleamed faintly, reflecting the violence on the screens.

"Maybe not," Nine replied, her tone dismissive. "But it's how they'll learn. That hesitation will cost them eventually."

Her attention shifted to a different monitor. The screen was darker than the others, the light dimmed by the thick spill of blood staining the floor. A figute more brute than boy stood over his opponent, his blade still dripping crimson. 

The loser's body was sprawled at an unnatural angle, his throat sliced clean through. There was no hesitation here, no mercy. The victor simply turned away, wiping the blade on his sleeve like it was a casual chore.

Nine's lips curved into a smile. "Jan Gok. Now there's a candidate. Ruthless, decisive. The kind of person who understands what's needed to survive."

The man didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on the screen, but his expression—what little of it was visible—remained unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his tone calm but with a faint edge of dissatisfaction. "He has skill, but something's missing."

"Missing?" Nine echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You think someone who can slit a throat without flinching lacks something? Please."

"It's not about what he can do," the man said. "It's about why he does it. There's no edge to him. No desperation. He fights like it's a game, not like he needs to."

Nine's smirk faded slightly as she considered his words. She studied the screen again, her sharp eyes narrowing. "Desperation, huh?" she murmured. "Well, maybe you'll see it in the next round."

---

The mechanical voice erupted through the speakers, cold and robotic, echoing in the small chambers where the participants waited. 

"All battles have been completed. The next round will commence shortly. Participants, the doors will open soon. Weapons are strictly prohibited. Possession of any weapon will result in immediate disqualification and elimination."

Tae leaned against the wall of his chamber, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. The announcement didn't surprise him. Nothing about this place did anymore—not the blood, not the rules, not even the floating screen that plauged his vision at random.

He sighed, the sound heavy, and straightened. 

His shoulder still ached where the knife had grazed him earlier, the fabric of his hoodie clinging to the shallow wound. He didn't bother checking it. The pain was manageable, and there was no point wasting energy on something so minor. Not here.

Just get through it, he told himself. One step at a time. Figure out the rest later.

The door in front of him hissed, gears clicking as it slid open. He stepped forward without hesitation, his movements smooth and unhurried. The room he entered was identical to the last—white walls, bright lights, and an almost clinical sterility that made the blood from the previous fights seem even more jarring. 

But it wasn't the room that made Tae pause.

It was the boy standing in the center.

He was shirtless, his pale skin almost luminous under the harsh lights. His build wasn't large—lean and wiry, like someone who relied more on speed than brute strength—but every muscle on his body was taut and defined, veins bulging grotesquely along his arms and hands. 

His dark hair hung loose, framing a face that was calm, almost too calm. His eyes, deep and unblinking, locked onto Tae the moment he entered.

There was no taunt, no sneer, no sign of nervous energy. Just silence. A heavy, suffocating silence.

Tae's steps slowed, his body instinctively shifting into a loose, defensive stance. He didn't even think about it—it was automatic, a reflex born of too many close calls. His golden-brown eyes flicked over the boy, noting the slight twitch of his fingers, the way his weight was balanced on the balls of his feet.

This one... is dangerous. 

The realization settled in his chest, but he didn't let it show. He kept his expression neutral, almost bored, as if the boy in front of him was just an obstacle to push through. But inside, every nerve in his body was on edge, coiled tight like a spring.

---

In the observation room, Nine leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on the screen displaying Tae's next match. She tilted her head, her interest piqued.

"The steel claw user," she said, more to herself than to the man beside her. "How do you think the boy will handle it?"

The man's eyes didn't leave the monitor. "His speed might give him a chance," he said after a moment. "But only if he figures it out early. If he doesn't..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was clear.

Nine smirked. "Let's see if desperation will give him that edge you're so obsessed with." 

Her eyes flicked back to the screen, where the two boys now stood facing each other, the room charged with tension so thick one could touch it. Whatever happened next, she knew it wouldn't be dull.