Chapter Thirty: "Hair," Yuta, and Mitsuki

Far away in Tokyo, Jing Baitang had no idea that before his own funds had even come through, Yagami had already found himself a helper.

Now he was sitting in his bedroom, staring at the phone that had just been cut off.

“Could this nuclear power plant incident be the calamity that the Clay Bodhisattva spoke of?”

Having lived his entire life under the shadow of a fatalistic prophecy, Jing Baitang’s first reaction upon hearing Yagami’s warning was precisely that.

“The horrific symptoms of radiation leaks, the vast number of people affected—could that be enough to frighten even the mysterious Clay Bodhisattva?”

His deep, black eyes flickered, thoughts churning violently in his mind.

But then, he quietly shook his head, dismissing his own speculation.

“No, that’s unlikely.”

Jing Baitang didn’t believe that a mere nuclear plant accident could be described by the Clay Bodhisattva as “the earth rising in arms, the world a fiery hell.”

A nuclear power plant stands as a crown jewel of modern science, a testament to the marriage of theoretical knowledge and engineering wisdom. Its design at inception was already a masterpiece.

Not to mention, this technology has been in use worldwide for decades. Every possible problem and risk has already been explored and addressed by those who came before.

Though Jing Baitang never placed much hope in the Japanese government’s capabilities, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that a world-class company like Tokyo Electric would have no contingency for nuclear incidents.

Even if the Japanese authorities were often criticized for their responses to new crises, surely they’d at least learned from the past.

Jing Baitang had every reason to believe that even if something truly went wrong at Fukushima, as long as the remedial measures were handled well, at worst the effects would only reach the city where the plant stood.

Not even the whole of Fukushima Prefecture would be affected!

With such a minor scenario, how could it possibly be enough to startle a figure from a high-powered world like the Clay Bodhisattva?

People over there could fight to the death and cause no less destruction than this.

Jing Baitang shook his head in mild exasperation, but beneath it all, he seemed to breathe a subtle sigh of relief.

Though he still hadn’t discovered what the “great disaster” foretold in the prophecy actually was, at the end of the day, he didn’t yet have the strength to face calamity head-on either.

“Hah—”

The young man in the bedroom closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

But when he opened them again, the calm of before was gone—his gaze burned as intensely as molten steel.

Ruling out the imminent arrival of disaster was indeed a relief. But news of the nuclear plant had nonetheless snapped Jing Baitang out of the complacency that had settled in after repeatedly gaining Nen abilities from the “Dragon Blood Secret Art.”

Helplessness, weakness, death by fate...

Countless dark emotions coiled around his battle-hardened heart like venomous snakes...

His muscular yet somewhat gaunt arm was raised before his eyes.

In those eyes blazed the fierce power of a will to survive—

—identical to what had burned in the heart of a child eight years before!

“This frail body that can’t even withstand a bit of nuclear radiation...”

Nen glimmered faintly as it flowed through him.

And in that process, the young man’s resolve only grew firmer.

“Perhaps... it’s time to develop a Hatsu of my own!”

~~~~~~

After dinner, Taiketsu Zeno was pulled by Saeko into the dojo’s equipment storage room.

The dimly lit storeroom was a jumble of bundled bamboo swords, wooden swords, and protective gear piled in disarray.

Taiketsu Zeno watched Saeko’s back as she rummaged through the heap, unable to help swallowing hard.

Her upper body swayed with her searching, full and supple; her waist was delicate yet strong enough to grip; below, a full, rounded crescent...

No young man could possibly remain calm in the face of such a vision!

That is, unless the owner of that vision hadn’t just hefted—with a single hand—a bundle of heavy protective gear taller than a man and set it aside as easily as placing a cup of water.

Taiketsu Zeno swallowed again.

This time, though, his lips twitched faintly.

Reality had a way of reminding him, at the most unexpected moments, of the gulf that separated him from the truly strong.

“Hey! Catch.”

He was jolted from his thoughts by Saeko’s cheerful call, but along with her voice, an entire set of kendo armor came flying toward him.

“Whoa—wait!”

Thud—clang!

His panicked cry did nothing to halt the momentum of the airborne armor. The gear—heavy as it looked and just as heavy in fact—slammed into the blond youth, pinning him back against the wall before finally stopping.

“Whew...!”

Taiketsu Zeno opened his mouth wide, gasping for air, his eyes as wide as a goldfish.

In front of him, Saeko, holding two wooden swords, handed one to him.

The smile curling at the beauty’s lips nearly made the blond youth think he could smell blood.

“If you’re not here for my looks, but to become stronger through the sword, then from now on, I’ll train you to the standard of that blow. Prepare yourself!”

Only after finally catching his breath, still clutching his chest and crouched half on the floor, did Taiketsu Zeno dare to look up.

But even beneath that terrifying smile, he reached out like a hunting hound, snatching the offered sword.

He couldn’t yet speak, but he stared fiercely into Saeko’s eyes, refusing to look away—refusing to let go!

“Oh? That’s a good look in your eyes,” Saeko said, clearly amused. “In that case, I look forward to seeing your performance in tomorrow’s official lesson.”

With that, she walked out of the equipment room.

Only when her figure had disappeared from sight did Taiketsu Zeno, holding on by sheer force of will, collapse onto the floor with a “thump,” sending up a cloud of dust.

“Just a greeting blow, and I could barely breathe,” he said, propping his wooden sword on the floor with trembling hands. “Whew—hah! That’s... outrageous!”

Bzz—bzz. Just as the blond youth was still marveling at the gap between himself and the strong, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

With numb arms, he fished out the phone.

“Narushima? What does he want with me?”

Taiketsu Zeno was puzzled by the caller.

Unlike himself, who was something of a nobody among the school delinquents, Narushima Mitsuru, the burly white-haired guy, had a fearsome reputation even among the delinquents as savage and violent.

It was said that when he was learning mixed martial arts, he’d gotten so fed up with the rules that he’d kicked out of his own dojo!

Experiences like that, which most people would avoid at all costs, had earned him sky-high popularity among delinquents.

—The kind of popularity where, walking down the street, he’d be surrounded by admirers.

So why was he calling now?

Though they’d exchanged numbers, this was the first time they’d ever actually called each other.

Nervously, Taiketsu pressed the answer button.

“Moshi moshi...”

“Taiketsu Zeno! Please, tell me where you are right now! Is that bespectacled guy still with you?!”

Before Taiketsu could even finish his greeting, Narushima Mitsuru’s fierce voice burst through the receiver in a rapid-fire barrage.

But listening closely—

—Why on earth was he using honorifics, so obviously against his will?!

Taiketsu Zeno was stunned.

He was sure of one thing: the infamous Narushima Mitsuru had never used polite speech with anyone!