Chapter 82: BATTLE IN THE CAGE

That paper was still in his pocket when Kai left the school gate that afternoon—folded twice, with handwriting slanting to the right and ink that had turned slightly blue at the edges. He read it once more under the streetlight, making sure nothing was missed, then folded it back and walked home. Not to his apartment. He just needed time until night—time to make sure no one was following him, time to make sure he wasn’t carrying anything he shouldn’t be carrying.

He spent the rest of the afternoon at the park near his apartment—sitting on the same bench as yesterday, watching people pass, doing nothing. When the sun started to set, he walked in the opposite direction from his apartment—following small streets he knew, turning at corners he didn’t need, and making sure, in a way that had become his habit for years, that there was no one behind him.

That night, he left.

The address on the paper led to the outskirts of the city—an area he rarely visited, where old buildings still stood and the asphalt roads were cracked from tree roots pushing through from below. He drove his car until the road could no longer be passed, then he walked on foot. The instructions below the address were strange—not like ordinary instructions. Find the lake. Wait for the moon. Look at the reflection.

Kai found that lake after almost twenty minutes of walking—a small lake with dark, unmoving water, like black glass placed among the trees. He stood at its edge and waited. The moon was already high—almost full, its light falling onto the water’s surface and reflecting back, and for a few seconds, there was nothing. Then—slowly, as the angle of light changed—the reflection began to form something. Not the reflection of trees. Not the reflection of the sky. The reflection of a road—a road that didn’t exist in the real world, with small lights along its sides, leading to somewhere he couldn’t see. Kai followed the direction of that reflection, and after a few steps, he found a path that hadn’t been there before—hidden behind bushes too dense to see from a distance.

That path led him to a warehouse. The building was large—larger than an ordinary warehouse—with a tin roof rusted in places and wooden walls painted black, so it blended with the darkness of the night. No lights outside. No sound. The door was half-open—a gap two fingers wide, enough to enter.

Kai stepped in. He didn’t have time to see anything—the darkness inside was too thick, swallowing all light from outside—but he sensed something was wrong. There was something on the floor. Something moving. He stepped back, but it was too late. An iron cage—large, with bars as thick as his arm—fell from the ceiling and trapped him in place. The sound of its impact filled the entire room, and dust flew from between the bars.

The lights turned on. Not one light—dozens. Spotlights in the corners of the room, on the walls, on the ceiling, all turning on at once and hitting Kai’s face from every direction. He blinked, trying to adjust, and when his vision returned, he saw the room for the first time.

The warehouse was far larger than it appeared from outside. The floor was concrete—rough, with dark stains he couldn’t identify. The walls were made of wood and metal—iron panels arranged like a cage, with gaps between them. On the left and right sides, there were stands—not permanent stands, but wooden benches arranged in tiers, enough to hold hundreds of people. The stands were now full. Hundreds of faces—some familiar, some not—stared at him from behind the cage bars. On the second floor, there was a balcony jutting into the center of the room—a balcony with iron railings and several chairs better than those in the stands. On that balcony, several people stood—men in suits, some women in dresses, all staring at him with different expressions.

And in the center of the room, below the balcony, there was a door—a metal door located directly beneath the balcony, connected to the second floor by an iron staircase attached to the wall.

That door was open.

A man came out from there. He was around forty years old, with slicked-back hair and a white shirt rolled up to the elbows. He wasn’t big—not small either—but there was something in the way he walked that made the people in the stands turn their heads. He carried a microphone—not a stage microphone, but a small one with a cable trailing to the floor—and he walked to the edge of the balcony, right above Kai’s cage.

"Good evening, everyone," the man said. His voice echoed throughout the room—not too loud, but clear, with a tone accustomed to speaking in front of crowds. "Tonight, we have a special guest."

The stands cheered. Not all—some just clapped softly, some just watched—but enough to make the room feel alive.

"My name is Nolan," the man continued. "For those of you coming for the first time, I’m the one who runs the show here. And tonight—" he paused for a moment, enjoying cheers he hadn’t asked for, "—tonight, we will witness something that has never happened before. A newcomer. No name. No reputation. Facing—" he raised his hand, and the stands fell silent again, "—twenty chosen fighters."

The cheers exploded. This time louder—wilder. Nolan waited until the sound subsided before continuing.

"For those of you who want to place bets—the betting tables are open. You can bet on which fighter will defeat our guest. Will he fall at the first opponent? The second? Or—" Nolan smiled, and the smile didn’t reach his eyes, "—will he last until the last opponent?"

He turned down—toward the cage where Kai stood, silent, with hands at his sides and eyes that never left his face.

"Host," Nolan said, "do you have anything to say before we begin?"

Kai didn’t answer. He just stared—flat, without emotion, without fear, without anger. The gaze he usually gave to people he considered unworthy of being answered with words.

Nolan held that gaze for a few seconds—then he looked away, a little too quickly. He cleared his throat softly, raised his microphone again, and said in a voice slightly higher than before, "Alright! Without further ado—let’s begin!"

The first opponent appeared from behind the metal door below the balcony—a large man with arms full of tattoos and a bald head. He stepped to the center of the room, and Kai’s cage lifted—slowly, with chains pulled from above—until it was high enough to let Kai out. Kai stepped to the center of the room, and the cage lowered again behind him—enclosing the fighting area, not himself.

The first opponent charged without warning. His body was large, but his legs were fast—he swung his fist toward Kai’s head with enough force to break stone. Kai ducked, feeling the wind from that fist pass over his hair, and he moved to the side—not away, but closer. He entered the range, pressing his body against the opponent’s chest, and drove his elbow into the man’s ribs. Once. Twice. The man flinched, but didn’t fall—he instead caught Kai’s arm and tried to slam him. Kai let himself be lifted—then, at the peak of the swing, he twisted his body in the air and kicked the man’s face with his heel. The man staggered, releasing his grip, and Kai landed on both feet. He didn’t wait. He stepped forward, caught the man’s arm, twisted it back, and pushed him to the floor. The man fell face first, and didn’t move.

The stands cheered. The betting tables started moving—some people added bets, some people cursed.

The second opponent entered before Kai had time to catch his breath—a thin man with movements faster than the first. He didn’t attack directly. He circled Kai, looking for an opening. Kai followed him with his eyes, not moving, waiting. The man charged—from the side, with a small knife Kai hadn’t seen before. Kai ducked, feeling the blade pass his ear, and he caught the man’s wrist. He twisted—once—and the man screamed, dropping his knife. Kai kicked his knee, and the man fell.

The third opponent was larger—larger than the first. He didn’t use weapons. He just charged, trying to crush Kai with his body. Kai let him get close—then, at the last second, he jumped, stepped on the man’s shoulder, and jumped again backward. The man hit the cage wall, and Kai landed behind him. He kicked the back of the man’s knee, and the man fell.

The fourth and fifth opponents entered together—two men with knives. Kai didn’t wait for them to attack. He charged the first, deflected his knife with his forearm, and drove his fist into the man’s throat. The man choked, fell. The second tried to stab from behind—Kai spun, caught his hand, and used his momentum to slam him to the floor.

The stands were now truly in an uproar. The betting tables could no longer keep up—too many losing, too many winning. Nolan on the balcony watched with an unreadable expression—his smile was still there, but his eyes no longer smiled.

"Five opponents down!" he called out, his voice slightly higher than before. "But this isn’t over! We still have fifteen fighters left—and this time, they won’t come one by one!"

The metal door below the balcony opened again—and this time, five men came out at once. They didn’t charge together. They spread out—surrounding Kai—and waited. These weren’t thugs. These were people who knew what they were doing.

Kai took a breath. He felt the small wounds on his body—from the knife that almost grazed, from the fist that almost hit, from the shoulder of the man he collided with. Nothing serious. But he knew this wasn’t over.

The five men charged together. Kai didn’t try to dodge them all—impossible. He chose one, the closest, and charged him first—hitting his throat, dropping him before he could move. Then he spun, deflected two attacks at once, and kicked one man toward another—they collided, and both fell. Two remained. Kai faced them with his back to the cage wall—no way out. They charged together, and Kai jumped—stepped on the wall, spun in the air, and kicked both of them in the head as he passed them. They fell.

Fifteen opponents. All down.

The stands exploded. Cheers, shouts, curses—all mixed into one sound that filled the room. Nolan stood on the balcony, with the microphone in his slightly trembling hand. He stared at Kai—still standing in the center of the room, with breath slightly heavy but no more—and for the first time that night, he didn’t know what to say.

The cage lifted. Nolan came down from the balcony—descending the iron stairs with steps faster than he intended—and walked toward Kai. He extended his hand.

"Congratulations," he said. His voice was softer now, only for Kai. "You were incredible."

Kai didn’t take his hand. He just stared at Nolan—flat, without emotion.

Nolan pulled his hand back, not offended. He even smiled—a smile that this time was more sincere, or at least more careful. "Follow me. We’ll talk in my room."

He turned and walked toward the metal door below the balcony. Kai followed him.

Nolan’s room was on the second floor—not a large office, just a room with a wooden desk, two chairs, and a metal cabinet in the corner. On the desk, there was a pile of money—not counted, not organized, just stacked like scrap paper. Nolan sat in his chair, pointed to the chair across, and Kai sat.

"You know," Nolan said, "I’ve been running this show for five years. I’ve seen hundreds of fighters. I know within three moves whether someone will last or not. You—" he looked at Kai, "—I’ve never seen before. And you defeated twenty fighters in one night. Twenty. Including the last five—who weren’t ordinary fighters. They were personal guards of one of our guests. I borrowed them for this event."

Kai didn’t say anything.

"Do you know how much money I made tonight?" Nolan pointed to the pile of money on his desk. "Five times the usual. People bet against you—and they lost. I run the bets. I take the percentage. So—" he leaned back, "—thank you."

Nolan blinked—like he just remembered. "Oh. Right. You’re hired." He smiled. "But I’m curious. Why do you want to be a door guard? If you want money—" he pointed again at the pile of money, "—you could be a fighter. You’d get more. Faster."

"I don’t need more," Kai said. "I need steady income."

"Income?"

"I was just lucky tonight. I don’t know how long that luck will last. I want a job that doesn’t depend on luck."

Nolan stared at him for a long time. Then he laughed—a short laugh, like someone who just heard a joke he didn’t understand. "You’re strange. People come here for money. You come here for—" he shook his head, "—whatever that is."

He stood and extended his hand again. "Alright. Welcome aboard, Kai."

Kai took that hand. He gripped it—not too hard, not too soft—and released it.

"There’s one thing," Nolan said, before Kai could turn. "You won tonight because he wasn’t here."

Kai looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Nolan smiled—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "If he were here, you wouldn’t have won."

He didn’t explain. He just turned and walked to the door. "That’s it. Let’s end this conversation. Tomorrow night you start work. Come to the same place. Ten o’clock."

Kai left that room without saying anything. Behind him, Nolan still stood at the threshold, watching his back until it disappeared down the stairs.