ONE PIECE: WORTHLESS PROGRESSION

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Toshi could hear the noise growing louder with each step, screams, chants, and the unmistakable roar of a bloodthirsty crowd. It felt like the walls themselves were vibrating with the intensity of the sound, sending a shudder through him. Sir, the little fat man, waddled ahead, his grin widening as he glanced back and caught sight of Toshi's expression.

'I have a bad feeling about this…' Toshi thought, his stomach twisting. His instincts screamed at him to turn around, but the heavy weight of the shackles around his wrists and the fact his head will be blown off if he tried to run left him no choice. He forced his feet to keep moving, even as his gut churned.

As they stepped out of the narrow tunnel, the scene that unfolded before him made Toshi's eyes widen a bit. Before him stretched a massive arena, its sheer size contradicting the small building he had seen earlier..

At the center of the arena was a giant caged octagon. Thick, rusted bars formed the cage, and the ground inside was packed dirt, stained dark from the countless battles that had taken place there. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, and blood.

In the middle of the ring, two men were fighting. They wore no shirts, only ragged, bloodied black shorts clinging to their bruised bodies. Both men were battered and bruised, their faces swollen, and fresh blood trickled from cuts that decorated their skin like morbid trophies. They fought with the desperation of men who had no choice but to win, each blow sending waves of dirt scattering underfoot.

The crowd around the cage was frenzied, shouting and cheering with a violent intensity, their faces twisted. It was a mass of bodies pressed close to the bars, eyes gleaming with excitement, hands clutching money, drinks, and anything they could wager. Toshi's throat tightened as he realized what kind of place this was.

A fight pit. A brutal, underground arena where lives were gambled as easily as coins.

The brutal fight continued, with each strike blood splattered onto the dirt floor. The two men in the cage showed no mercy, trading bone-crushing blows that left both of them barely standing. Their bodies were smeared with blood, some their own, some not.

Thousands of spectators filled the stands, a mass of bodies surrounding the cage like a living, breathing wall. The noise was deafening—cheers, jeers, and the wild, feverish shouts of those eager to see more blood spilled. It was a circular pit of frenzy, a cruel spectacle that made Toshi's stomach churn. He could feel the panic rising inside him as he looked at the crowd, a lump forming in his throat.

Sir, moved through the tightly packed crowd with a sense of familiarity. It was clear he knew where he was going, his eyes scanning the faces around them. Suddenly, Toshi's attention was drawn to a tall man in the crowd who stood out from the rest. He had an intimidating presence, his gaze cold and calculating as he watched the fight.

In the man's hands was a staggering amount of beli, stacks upon stacks gripped casually in his fists. It was more money than Toshi had ever seen in his life. The man's appearance was sharp his short black hair cut close in a buzzcut style, a leather black jacket stretched over broad shoulders with a blood-splattered white undershirt underneath.

His black pants were tucked into sturdy black boots, and a horizontal scar cut across his face, running from the bridge of his nose to his left ear. He had sharply angled eyebrows and piercing dark brown eyes.

The man's gaze flicked toward them for a brief moment, and Toshi's heart skipped a beat. There was something unsettling about him, a coldness that suggested he was more than just another spectator. Sir's steps quickened as he made his way towards the scarred man, a wide grin splitting his face as if he had found exactly what he was looking for.

Toshi hung back, watching as Sir and the scarred man exchanged words. He couldn't make out what they were saying over the noise, but he could see Sir's excitement mounting with every exchanged word.

When suddenly Sir jabbed a finger in Toshi's direction, a chill ran down his spine. The scarred man turned, eyes narrowing as he studied Toshi. After a tense pause, the man gave a single nod, and Sir's face split into a wide grin.

He hurried back to Toshi, his grin growing from ear to ear. Without warning, he grabbed Toshi by the shoulder, leaning in so close that Toshi could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Listen up, brat," Sir said, his voice low and urgent. "You're fighting. If you lose, you're dead. I've put everything I've got on you...so don't you dare screw this up."

Toshi felt the floor drop out from under him. His stomach twisted, and a cold sweat broke out along his brow. Judging by the greed in Sir's eyes, Toshi knew that losing wasn't an option...not for either of them.

Yet there was one undeniable truth gnawing at Toshi's insides.... he couldn't fight.

Toshi swallowed hard, a dry lump sticking in his throat. ' There it was... that bad feeling I was getting, ' he thought, his breath hitching as he tried to calm his racing heart. His nerves were frayed, unraveling with each passing second, and all he could do was hold himself together just long enough to make it to the cage.

' One disaster after another, ' he mused bitterly. ' Captured by a group of pirates, sold off as a slave, and now I'm about to be thrown into an underground death match...all in the span of a few days. '

If that wasn't bad luck, Toshi didn't know what was. It all felt like some twisted nightmare he couldn't wake up from. He could hardly remember what it was like to be free, to not have his fate dictated by the whims of those more powerful than him.

The realization stung, a painful reminder of how quickly his life had spiraled out of control. There was no escape, no miracle that would save him. He had no choice but to face whatever came next, even if every instinct in his body screamed at him to run.

. . . . . . 

*Clank* *Clank*

The heavy chains binding Toshi's wrists, legs, and arms were finally removed, leaving only the shackle around his neck. He instinctively tugged at the collar, his fingers running along the cold metal.

"You can't take this one off either?" Toshi muttered, his voice laced with irritation.

The short, stout man standing before him frowned, furrowing his brows as he looked up at Toshi. "No," he replied curtly, "that's in case you try to run off."

Toshi sighed heavily, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He glanced around the empty waiting room. It was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of distant screaming. His heart pounded relentlessly, each beat reverberating in his chest like a war drum. The adrenaline coursing through his veins sent a tingling sensation up his arms and legs, spreading throughout his entire body. He clenched his fists, his breathing uneven as the anticipation clawed at him.

' So this is it, ' Toshi thought, trying to steady his nerves. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, trickling down his face and bare chest, soaking into the waistband of his worn black shorts. 

The silence was oppressive, suffocating almost. Which amplified the sound of his racing heart, a reminder that death could be waiting for him on the other side of this moment. The thought lingered in his mind like a shadow.

' If I die again… will I be reborn as a rich noble? Or… will I even be reborn at all? ' Toshi's thoughts spiraled. Was this supposed to be a second chance, or was it just fate's cruel joke?

*Click* *Click.*

The sound of the doorknob unlocking echoed through the empty room, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder. The door creaked open, and a scarred man stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

"It's time," he said flatly before turning on his heel and stepping back out, leaving the door ajar.

The short, fat man beside Toshi grinned, his face lighting up with an unsettling excitement. "Let's go," he said with a chuckle, rubbing his hands together eagerly. He waddled toward the door, motioning for Toshi to follow as he disappeared after the scarred man.

Toshi clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as frustration burned inside him. ' This little shit is putting my life on the line while he watches from the stands, making money off my suffering, ' Toshi thought bitterly.

' Because of this fat fuck, I'm going to die... ' The thought sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through him, but there was nothing he could do now except walk forward...and face whatever awaited him.

Toshi sighed, stepping through the door and into a dimly lit tunnel. The walls were damp, the air thick and musty. Ahead of him, the fat man waddled clumsily, tilting back a bottle of booze and downing the last of its contents.

In the distance, the deafening roar of a crowd echoed through the tunnel, growing louder with every step. Toshi's heart pounded in his chest, matching the rhythm of his anxious footsteps.

At the tunnel's end, the scarred man came to a halt, standing next to a worn wooden table. Spread across it was an array of weapons—swords, daggers, maces, knives—each gleaming faintly under the dim light.

"Pick one… or none," the scarred man said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. There wasn't a trace of sympathy in his tone.

Toshi hesitated, his gaze sweeping across the weapons laid out before him. They looked menacing, each one capable of ending or saving a life. He swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he reached forward. Slowly, his hand wrapped around the hilt of a sword.

"Gwah," Toshi groaned as he tried lifting the sword. The moment he dragged it off the table, it slipped from his grip and clattered loudly onto the cobblestone floor, sparks flickering as it landed. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, forcing a chuckle. "Hehe… too heavy for me," he admitted, grunting as he hoisted the sword back onto the table.

Instead, he reached for a pair of daggers. They were smaller, lighter, and fit comfortably in his hands. He turned them over, examining the polished blades as they gleamed under the faint light streaming from the arena.

"Alright," the scarred man said, his tone flat. "Wait for the announcement, then go in." With that, he shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled back down the tunnel, leaving Toshi alone with the fat man.

As the seconds dragged on, Toshi's nerves frayed. His stomach churned with unease, and his grip on the daggers tightened. I don't even know how to use these, he thought bitterly, pacing in the cramped tunnel. Each step felt heavier as anxiety clawed at him.

The fat man, oblivious to Toshi's growing tension, leaned lazily against the wall, sipping from his booze and humming to himself.

Then… the crowd erupted in a deafening roar, shaking the walls of the tunnel. A booming voice echoed through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen… our next contestant!"

The fat man grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's your cue, boy," he said with a mocking laugh, stepping aside to make way for Toshi.

"In the left corner, we have our next contestant! Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, and get ready for another bloodbath! Contestants, please step out!" boomed the announcer, his voice echoing across the arena.

On cue, Toshi stepped out of the tunnel, his movements slow and steady. He wasn't exactly in a rush to die.

As he walked, he felt the weight of hundreds of eyes bearing down on him, judging his every step. A giant spotlight snapped onto him, bathing him in an unforgiving glare as he walked the narrow path leading to the octagon.

With each step forward, his breathing grew shallower, his chest tightening with the oppressive pressure of the crowd's jeering and laughter. He forced his gaze upward, scanning the faces around him. Corrupt marines off duty, pirates from all over, bandits, and other degenerates shouting and placing bets on how long he'd last.

Reaching the base of the stairs that led into the ring, Toshi paused. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady his nerves. ' Just one foot in front of the other… ' he told himself. He climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last, until finally, he entered the ring.

As soon as his feet touched the arena floor, the metal cage door behind him slammed shut with a resounding clang. The sound sent a shiver down his spine, driving home the reality of his situation.

There was no escape... Toshi was trapped, forced to fight for his life. Across the ring, a tall, lanky man stepped forward. He was just slightly taller than Toshi, with a lean but muscular frame. His long, curly blonde hair flowed behind him, and his sharp, narrow eyes seemed almost permanently shut. The wide grin he had plastered on his face made him seem almost snake-like.

The man glanced briefly at the crowd before locking eyes with Toshi. His grin widened. "Lucky me. This'll be quick," he said with a cocky scoff, pointing the tip of his sword at Toshi.

Toshi's breath hitched. He shakily raised the twin daggers to his chest, trying to steady himself in a clumsy defensive stance. His hands trembled, but he gripped the daggers tightly. The man across from him snickered, amused by Toshi's obvious fear.

A loud, high-pitched ringing pierced Toshi's ears, drowning out the screams of the crowd. He winced, shaking his head slightly, but the sound persisted. It was deafening, like a siren blaring in his mind, before it gradually began to fade. As the ringing died down, the world around him seemed to fall eerily silent.

With a swift motion, the blonde-haired man swung his sword in a diagonal arc, slicing cleanly through the air, making Toshi flinch. The crowd erupted into cheers and jeers, but Toshi barely noticed.

All he could focus on was the man in front of him, and the fact that, one way or another, only one of them would leave that ring alive.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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