The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint hum of the city and the distant sirens of Tokyo. Kaito Narumi sat alone on the rooftop of the pub, flicking the black card between his fingers. The skull and dart emblem seemed to glow in the moonlight, mocking him with its dark promise.
"Black Ring Tournament," he muttered. "Sounds like something out of a bad movie."
But it wasn't fiction. The moment Kuruma showed up, Kaito knew he was being pulled back in—not into the world of friendly competition, but into something much darker. Something where it wasn't just about pride.
He pulled out his old darts. The metal was scratched, the paint faded. But as he rolled one between his fingers, he felt it again—the weight of purpose. The echo of his former self stirred within him.
Then his phone buzzed.
> Unknown Number: You've been registered. Your first match is in 48 hours. Location: Shinjuku Underground Arena. Be sharp. Or be gone.
No name. No reply option.
Kaito smirked. They really are going all out with the drama, huh? Still... he felt something he hadn't felt in years.
Excitement.
---
Scene: Shinjuku Underground Arena – Two Days Later
The "arena" looked more like a repurposed warehouse beneath the city, lit by flickering neon lights and buzzing LED screens. Graffiti of skulls, shattered dartboards, and strange symbols covered the concrete walls. A rowdy crowd surrounded the stage—gamblers, street punks, silent figures in suits. This was no place for amateurs.
Kaito stood in the shadows, hood up, scanning the crowd.
"First time?" came a voice from behind.
Kaito turned. A young woman, maybe in her twenties, stood beside him. Short black hair, sharp eyes behind red-rimmed glasses, and a black bomber jacket with a flaming dart embroidered on the back. She popped a lollipop into her mouth like she owned the place