Chapter Text
The roaring of the spectators could be heard beyond the stone walls of the arena.
The Cavea was fully seated with the faces of unknown men, reaching from merchants and commoners to nobles and even members of the imperial court.
In the middle, the almost white sand of the ground shone in a deep burgundy as the blood of the battle’s end seeped through it. Mirroring the flowing liquid in the raised cups of the senators and aristocrats in the high-ranking seats, entertained at yet another special win of the rising Gladiator – infamous for his cunning battles rather than the display of brute strength.
As his fights never seem to lack a certain surprise, he has made himself quite a memorable gladiator in his past years as a contestant. But as loud as the crowd roars and jumps from their seats as his final opponent falls to the dirt, the murmurs and sneers from some nobles stay.
He doesn’t win by power. He wins with tricks.
Using misdirection and psychological warfare. Taunting his opponent into making a mistake and then delivering a precise, effortless final strike. He fakes injuries and plays the emotions of his opponents just as much as the spectators.
What makes a good strategy and has already led him to win his ninth fight tonight, also made him a scandalous and dishonourable fighter among the nobles.
Only fuelling this reputation, he stands proud, even cocky, in the middle of the arena. A bloody spear in hand, dripping his hands and clothes in even more dirt and scarlet colour. Unbothered by the roars, unbothered by the sneers. A grin on his face, as he locks his gaze on the imperial seats, blowing a kiss - mocking them.
Dazai Osamu. The notable Gladiator entertaining Rome’s elite.
The reception is mixed.
Among the high-ranked seats alongside senators and aristocrats, sits a young man with longer red hair and striking blue eyes. Despite his special and noble appearance, his face forms into a displeased frown.
“Tch. He didn’t win because he’s strong. He won because he’s a damn trickster,” Nakahara Chuuya mutters to his sister, Kouyou, who raises an eyebrow at his irritation but doesn’t bother to answer.
Chuuya was never a fan of the cruelty of the games, though he plays his role and attends them with his family. His reactions range normally from boredom to disgust; every game with the Gladiator Dazai manifests to be, he can't help keeping a sharp gaze, unimpressed.
From his left, his older brother, Verlaine, injects himself into the conversation. He smirks at his brother. “And yet, Rome loves a good trickster. You could learn from that.”
However, the attention the crowds pay to the winning streak of Dazai they are not the only ones keeping their eye on him.
The Emperor himself has had a growing interest in him for the last year. Not only is it rumoured that Dazai soon has won enough money with his battles to be able to buy his freedom, but some people even swear that the Emperor wants to introduce the young cunning man as a member of the imperial court.
It is no secret that the Emperor has a liking for Gladiators despite their bad status and reputation, so bringing one into the Emperor’s court - especially one forced into the arena for rebellions - is a hot topic among all classes. It only fuels the sneers and spits thrown at the young man.
And it isn’t helping that when the sun begins to set, and the nobles gather after the big gladiator event earlier this day, Dazai appears.
Now bathed, clean of the remaining red and staining smell of iron. Dressed in loose yet fine garments – Yet not fitting in at all. He stands out like a piece of coal between diamonds, though with no doubt he has been invited by the Emperor to the noble gathering, so he doesn’t have to fear much more than stares.
Of Course, not everybody is opposed to his presence, because it is quite exciting, isn’t it?
Not that Dazai is bothered either way.
He stands to the side, a cup of wine in his hand as he makes eyes at some women who are too shy to approach. He was thinking about going over himself before his attention was taken by an annoyed voice next to him.
“You fight like a coward.”
Dazai turned to the voice, finding an annoyed yet curious glance from a noble next to him. He hadn’t even noticed his approach – probably because he was so small – but couldn’t help but grin at his bold entrance.
“Ah, but I win, don’t I? And I get to drink wine instead of bleeding out in the sand.”
His answer only got Chuuya more annoyed. He sneered at Dazai as he accused him once more, “You play people like pieces on a board. That might work in the arena, but not in real battle.”
Dazai had to fight back a laugh. He couldn’t help but be amused at the blunt accusation of the noble, the daring in confronting a fighter, and the pure naivety in his view. “Oh? And what does a pampered senator’s son know about battle?” He knew who he was, there was no mistaking. They haven’t met, though he heard about the senator with the… unusual-looking children. An elegant-looking woman with red hair and manners better than that of the emperor's wife, a blond, tall, and cunning man, no doubt taking over their father's seat in the senate, and the youngest.
The youngest, a man with hair red as fire and eyes blue as the ocean. Petite and quite pretty for a man. Also, apparently very impulsive and naïve.
Chuuya steps closer, unbothered by the height difference between the two of them. He lowers his voice, “Enough to see that you don’t deserve to win.”
This throws Dazai off guard for a split second—how bold. He grins, intrigued. “How interesting. We’re going to have so much fun, aren’t we?”