--Colosseum.

　The Colosseum is an iron stronghold that looks like a hollowed out cylinder.
　But the eyes of the people are not on the outside, but on the inside.
　Hot sand flutters across the vast field. Sparks fly from steel to steel.

　The cheers echoing each time, bursting through the blue sky.

　Swordsmen fight one on one.

　Everyone bared their fangs ferociously and flashed their silver blades to defeat the swordsman in front of them.

　The rapier wielder dances like a butterfly and stings like a bee.
　A big man wielding a heavy sword, ready to split the earth with his opponent.
　The warrior who stands elegantly with a warped blade in his hand.

　They all had their own flamboyance.
　Those who had gathered here, both those standing on the ground and those looking down on the ground, were equally enthusiastic about the battle.

　The spectators were talking about who was the strongest.
　They argued about who was the best.

　But there was an unspoken agreement in their words.

　Except for one.





"The winner, Champion Huta!



　The last program of the day.

　Of course, it was the challenger who had won the tournament, and the champion who was defending his title.

　But the conspicuously empty seats and the sighs of disappointment that seemed to be escaping from the audience were a far cry from what should have been the conclusion of the championship defense.

　Yesterday's fight to determine the challenger to the champion was much more exciting. The spectators were immersed in the battle spun by the swordsmen, ridiculing it as a "de facto final.

　Cheers erupted like the sound of gunfire from the cylindrical Colosseum, praising the victors and congratulating the losers.

　Not today.

　The sound of dismay, as if to say, "I knew this would happen anyway," is a noise that cannot be called a cheer.

　Standing in the middle of the field is a young man.

　Looking at the trash being thrown into the field as usual, he still looks down with an expression of resignation.

　It was a familiar scene.

You're not a fighter, you're a crackpot with no personality, you're fighting to make your challenger look like a fool, et cetera, et cetera.

　Without the energy to wave, he left the field as if he were a loser.


"Hey!


　A familiar voice sounded. The eternal second place, always challenging you. Or, as some call him, the de facto champion, the most popular fighter.

　Looking back, he said only one thing as he spat out blood.


"Next time, I'll win!


　It would be rude not to respond to those words.
　But what can I say?

　--I heard it last week, and the week before, and the week before that.







　I've been trained.

　When I first debuted, people expected a lot from me.

　I've trained.

　Winning with the same weapons as your opponent is starting to be criticized.

　I trained harder.

　When the Colosseum regulars found out that he was not using the same weapons, but rather imitating the fighting style, they began to beat him.

　I've been trained.

　They began to point fingers at him and call him out for taunting his opponents.

　He trained harder.

　The same thing happened when he joined the ranks of the best fighters. Their fans became Huta's antagonists.

　I've trained.

　No one could beat Futa anymore. The crowd started to get frustrated.

　He worked out.

　His fights became less and less watchable.



　And finally, he spat.


"You're unemployed.


　And.


　Futa was "unemployed".



　In this world, every person has the power of "occupation".


　Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses depending on the "occupation" they were born with, and they search for their vocation and live in the right place at the right time.



　However, in rare cases, there are people who have no "occupation"-that is, no job.


　No matter what they are asked to do, they are considered to be below average.


　The conditions under which this occurs have not been clarified.


　But it was a label that could not be reversed.


　Futa wanted to change it.


"I'm unemployed.

　He was ostracized because he was unemployed, and he died quietly in the corner of society.

　Futa had seen such "unemployed" people many times before.

　That is why he wanted to prove that there is something that can be done through hard work.

　Futa realized his own talent.
　He could imitate the movements of anyone.

　However, he could not become a clown because he did not have any eccentric ideas or a wealth of storytelling skills.

　There is not enough human charm to make money in street performance.

　He was just an unemployed person. But Futa didn't give up.

　He could fight like one.

　But as a mercenary, he couldn't pass the aptitude test for his profession.

　As a sorcerer and a knight, there were tests standing in the way.

　That's why I thought that a swordsman, who could be registered by anyone, would be perfect for me.



　The stage was set, and I was confident that if I fought, I would win.

　The reality was different.

　The real swordsman had his own style.

　Futa didn't.

　A crunchy bastard with no personality getting carried away on a hallowed battlefield.

　At best, he was spat upon.


　I trained.

　Trained.

　Trained.


　Futa was strong. He could never be beaten.

　But that's all. No matter how hard he fought popularity would never come.
　If you're not popular you don't deserve to be a fighter.

　It wasn't enough to be strong.



"Mr. Futa.


　He was always in the waiting room pondering unanswered questions.

　He had no friends to ask for help, and his earnestness prevented him from running away.

　And then... I was approached.

　The man sat down next to Futa, smiling as he showed off his shiny gold dentures. He squared his shoulders congenially.


You know what I'm talking about. No matter how strong you are, you'll never be popular.

　Futa nodded emphatically.

"No matter how much you think about it, you'll never come up with a good idea. I'm not in a profession where I can come up with ideas. You should leave these things to a manager like me.

　Futa was so exhausted that he didn't even realize that he was being mocked for being unemployed.

"You're all strong and no flair. I'm sure you've heard that a lot.

　It was something he had been told so often that he couldn't even muster up the energy to nod.

"That's why. If you don't have flamboyance, why don't you have flamboyance in your matches?

　So I didn't even realize that the sweet words were the power of professional storytelling.

　I looked at him as if I'd just had a revelation. 　




　And that day.


　Champion Huta's reign came to an end.

　The same day he was banished from the Colosseum.