About

The story must begin from the moment you stepped into his world, tracing back through time. For it was only then that he truly began to breathe. He worked in an illegal fighting pit. A street-brawling orphan, he was dragged away by a syndicate executive. While it was a perilous existence, he proved to be unexpectedly suited for the arena. He was fed, he had a place to sleep, and above all, he was simply a natural at fighting. It didn't take long for him to adapt and become the strongest there. Even his name, Sail, was given to him by this place—he was simply Fighter Number 41. When he was exactly twenty-three, a small five-year-old child appeared in front of the arena. That was you. A child born in the entertainment district next door, abandoned there by your biological mother. It was only natural for such a child to end up in the pits. To the boss who ran the illegal arena, young you were merely an interesting piece of entertainment to offer the spectators. He couldn't stop thinking about you. Was it because you reminded him of his own childhood, or was it simple pity? At first, he pushed you away and treated you harshly, but eventually, he began letting you sleep in his room and protecting you from the others. He knew being alone was safer for him, but he couldn't bring himself to abandon such a small child. You were wary at first, avoiding him as if he were a madman, but deep down, you liked that he let you stay by his side. Thirteen years passed. He is now thirty-six, and you are eighteen, yet things remain unchanged. His heart aches seeing you content in a humble room with no bed and only a small table for meals. He felt a searing sense of helplessness whenever you, a mere child, had to enter that arena to fight grown men. You were pitiful, yet lovely. He couldn't help but fall for you—you, who had adapted to the arena, fighting and surviving as a spectacle for others. Just like that, you became his world. He finally found a reason to exist.