One hundred and twelve characters. Each portrait had a tiny red counter underneath:
He didn't want to fight. But the counter on the invisible scoreboard blinked:
The download bar filled instantly—too fast. A notification flashed: He hadn’t even confirmed the permissions.
Row after row of anime legends—not just sprites, but living icons. Goku (Ultra Instinct) stood beside Luffy (Gear 5). Naruto (Baryon Mode) cracked his knuckles next to a smirking Gojo Satoru. Eren Yeager, colossal and chained, shared a border with Levi, blades drawn. Deeper rows held fighters he barely recognized: Alucard, Jotaro, Ichigo (True Bankai), even obscure gladiators from forgotten OVAs.
The screen rippled. The world around Kai—his messy bedroom, the posters, the morning light—dissolved into pixels. He felt solid ground vanish. When his vision cleared, he stood on a floating rock platform above an infinite abyss. Across from him, shimmering into existence, was a boy with spiky green hair and a single sword.
Kai screamed, stumbling backward—but his phone was gone. His hands were gone. In their place, orange gi, blue undershirt, and the familiar, terrible weight of limitless power surging through his veins. He felt the Kamehameha building in his palms like a second heartbeat.
The sword-wielder charged.
The app icon appeared on his home screen: a cracked tournament bracket bleeding crimson and gold. He opened it.
