One Piece: Undying Dream

9:00 - Front Gate

The morning sun was just starting to pick up and blazed down as Roku approached the gates. The guard at the entrance, a hulking figure, glanced up lazily, uninterested.

"Look who's back for more. The little champion returns to his cage," the guard mocked. "Doesn't matter how many throats you tear out in there, boy. You're still just meat with a number." The guard handed Roku his number.

Roku grunted, not responding. He had learned long ago that words were a waste of breath in a world like this. His goal wasn't to talk—it was to survive. And right now, that meant entering this godforsaken pit.

Once inside, the air felt suffocating. The dirt underfoot smelled of blood and sweat, and the ring of the arena was nothing more than a circle of stone surrounded by jeering, bloodthirsty spectators. He was no stranger to violence, and this was just another day.

Roku kept his head down as he shuffled to the side, eyeing the other fighters in his pen. They were all different—some bigger, some faster, but they all shared the same thing: desperation. The low murmurs of their conversations were drowned out by the crowd's chants, each one encouraging the fighters like they were nothing more than animals.

The holding pen reeked of sweat and fear, the fighters waiting for the signal to enter the arena. Most avoided eye contact, saving their energy for the battle ahead. Some whispered prayers to gods who had abandoned this place long ago. Others flexed their muscles in a show of bravado that fooled no one.

Roku found his usual spot against the back wall, furthest from the guards. He'd learned long ago that attracting attention before a fight was a good way to start with a target on your back. But today, it seemed, invisibility wasn't an option.

A mountain of a man pushed through the crowd of waiting fighters, his face a map of old scars and fresh bruises. He stopped directly in front of Roku, blocking out the torchlight.

"You," the man growled, jabbing a thick finger at Roku's chest. "You're the one. The boy who killed Krell in the last pit fight."

Roku didn't respond, his face a blank mask as he stared past the man.

"I'm talking to you, rat." The big man moved closer, his breath hot and sour. "Krell was my friend. Only one I had in this hellhole."

Roku finally looked up, his blue eyes flat and empty. "Not my problem."

The big man's face flushed red with anger. "You took him down with a cheap shot. Hit him from behind."

"He was trying to kill me," Roku said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Just like everyone else in the pit. That's how it works."

"You should watch your back today," the man snarled, leaning down until his face was inches from Roku's. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you in half."

Something shifted in Roku's expression then—a subtle change that the more observant fighters noticed. The indifference receded, replaced by a cold amusement that was somehow more unsettling.

"You're not the first to make that promise," Roku said, a mocking edge creeping into his voice. "The others are all feeding the worms now."

The big man's hands clenched into fists the size of small hams. "If there wasn't a rule against fighting before the pit opens, I'd crush you right here, boy."

Roku pushed himself off the wall, standing straight despite being half the man's size. The other fighters edged away, sensing the change in the air.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Roku said, his voice carrying clearly through the suddenly quiet pen, "Brutes like you are all muscle, no mind—predictable as sunrise." His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But don't worry. The pit opens soon enough, and then you can try to avenge your friend. I'll even give you the first swing—seems only fair, considering how quickly this will be over."

The big man's face contorted with rage. A guard rapped his spear against the bars, sensing trouble.

"Break it up," the guard called lazily. "Save it for the sand."

The big man jabbed a finger at Roku one last time. "I'll make sure you feel each bone shatter," he hissed, backing away.

Roku's cold smile remained fixed on his face, but as soon as the man turned away, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Too easy," he mutters. He'd seen the type countless times—fighters who relied on intimidation and raw strength, whose rage made them predictable. An angry opponent telegraphed his moves, wasted energy, and made mistakes. 

 His eyes scanned the other fighters, noting which ones had watched the exchange with interest, which ones might consider him a target now.

The horn sounded—the signal that the gates would soon open. Roku rolled his shoulders, pushing all thought from his mind except for what lay ahead.

The fight before the fight was just another game in this place. Words meant nothing once blood began to flow.

As the bell rang, signaling the beginning of the first match, Roku was ushered into the arena with several others. He had fought for his life before, and he would do it again. He had no choice.