1 01 Huuta changed jobs to Umso! (1/2)

--Colosseum.

The Colosseum is an iron stronghold that looks like a hollowed out cylinder.

But the eyes of the people are not on the outside, but on the inside.

Hot sand flutters across the vast field. Sparks fly from steel to steel.

The cheers echoing each time, bursting through the blue sky.

Swordsmen fight one on one.

Everyone bared their fangs ferociously and flashed their silver blades to defeat the swordsman in front of them.

The rapier wielder dances like a butterfly and stings like a bee.

A big man wielding a heavy sword, ready to split the earth with his opponent.

The warrior who stands elegantly with a warped blade in his hand.

They all had their own flamboyance.

Those who had gathered here, both those standing on the ground and those looking down on the ground, were equally enthusiastic about the battle.

The spectators were talking about who was the strongest.

They argued about who was the best.

But there was an unspoken agreement in their words.

Except for one.

”The winner, Champion Huta!

The last program of the day.

Of course, it was the challenger who had won the tournament, and the champion who was defending his title.

But the conspicuously empty seats and the sighs of disappointment that seemed to be escaping from the audience were a far cry from what should have been the conclusion of the championship defense.

Yesterday's fight to determine the challenger to the champion was much more exciting. The spectators were immersed in the battle spun by the swordsmen, ridiculing it as a ”de facto final.

Cheers erupted like the sound of gunfire from the cylindrical Colosseum, praising the victors and congratulating the losers.

Not today.

The sound of dismay, as if to say, ”I knew this would happen anyway,” is a noise that cannot be called a cheer.

Standing in the middle of the field is a young man.

Looking at the trash being thrown into the field as usual, he still looks down with an expression of resignation.

It was a familiar scene.

You're not a fighter, you're a crackpot with no personality, you're fighting to make your challenger look like a fool, et cetera, et cetera.

Without the energy to wave, he left the field as if he were a loser.

”Hey!

A familiar voice sounded. The eternal second place, always challenging you. Or, as some call him, the de facto champion, the most popular fighter.

Looking back, he said only one thing as he spat out blood.

”Next time, I'll win!

It would be rude not to respond to those words.

But what can I say?

--I heard it last week, and the week before, and the week before that.

I've been trained.

When I first debuted, people expected a lot from me.

I've trained.

Winning with the same weapons as your opponent is starting to be criticized.

I trained harder.

When the Colosseum regulars found out that he was not using the same weapons, but rather imitating the fighting style, they began to beat him.

I've been trained.

They began to point fingers at him and call him out for taunting his opponents.

He trained harder.

The same thing happened when he joined the ranks of the best fighters. Their fans became Huta's antagonists.

I've trained.

No one could beat Futa anymore. The crowd started to get frustrated.

He worked out.

His fights became less and less watchable.

And finally, he spat.

”You're unemployed.