Chapter Forty-Two: The Changing Tides of the Banquet

The grizzled, stubble-faced captain of the Deathbringer was stopped by one of his sailors just as he was heading back to his quarters for sleep.

“What?! You’re telling me the results of the preliminary round are already out? It’s been less than five minutes!” The weather-beaten old captain’s jaw dropped in shock.

Perhaps even he now realized it: there was a truly fearsome monster aboard the Deathbringer tonight!

Unprecedentedly, the battered old ship hadn’t even made it out of the harbor before a long gangplank was set up to the opulent Kengan. The five fighters who passed the preliminaries, along with hundreds of company representatives, all crossed that gangplank onto the luxurious cruise liner.

Waiting for them was none other than the president of the Great Nippon Bank and chairman of the Kengan Association—Metsudo Katagiri.

The gaunt old man, draped in the interplay of nighttime shadows and golden light, looked for all the world like a withered corpse teetering on the edge of the grave. Yet this was the man who controlled the nation’s largest financial system—whose very footstep could make the prime minister hold his breath. He lorded over the underground fighting club that encompassed nearly every major corporation in the realm, and behind him now stood row upon row of black-suited fighters, each one radiating danger.

Even if he truly were a corpse, he would be one whose aura could suppress the four corners of the world!

The power and wealth he embodied were precisely what Kyoudo Shiratou had pursued for eight years—a sense of security existing only at the very apex of humanity.

Then, the desiccated old man issued a statement that perfectly matched Kyoudo Shiratou’s expectations. The essence was simple: “The true heart of the Kengan matches lies in the ruthless, cutthroat struggle of commerce. Fighters are but pieces on the board, and pieces must know their place.”

Ohma and the Arab fighter glowered, their faces stormy—likely incensed to see their lifelong martial pursuit reduced to the role of a mere tool. Yet the old man’s sweeping words did nothing to faze Kyoudo Shiratou.

After all, his own identity was the fusion of “fighter” and “company representative”—the union of capital and force.

Be my own tool? There seems nothing wrong with that at all!

Of the group, only the Arab man could not bear it; he charged forward to teach the withered little old man a lesson. But midway, a nondescript man in a black suit dispatched him with a single punch and a kick, sending him flying into the sea.

And so—the farce ended.

Those who had passed the preliminaries finally entered the inner sanctum of the grand cruise ship: a dazzling hall that could satisfy any definition of “luxury.”

Even with a thousand people mingling, there was no sense of crowding. Water cascaded from above like a waterfall, and ornamental fountains dotted the space... It was hard to imagine this all existed on a ship.

But such finery meant little to the fighters. For those whose lives were built on martial prowess, there was no need to flit about like merchants; all that mattered was to rest and prepare for battle.

Even for Kyoudo Shiratou, this remained true. Most of his assets came from the stock market and other financial instruments, and his current scale was far too small to blend into the social circles of the corporate giants.

Teacher Take and Shirogane Mitsu drank together, looking content and at ease. So Shiratou simply waved from afar. After regrouping with Saeko and Taisuke, the three remained by the buffet table.

...And had already drawn at least seven or eight waiters to hover around them. To leave the table bare would be a dereliction of duty.

“Ahh! Burp! I’m a superman! Just a meal, nothing—”

“This guy... burp, how can he eat so much... burp!”

Ohma and Rihito forced down the food sticking in their throats, staring across the table at Kyoudo Shiratou with a mixture of suspicion and envy.

On the other side, apart from the ravenous youth, sat a gentle, smiling beauty with violet hair, occasionally tidying up the table for him. Next to them, Taisuke seemed already accustomed to this spectacle, sipping his juice nonchalantly.

“If you just want a decent meal, it’s best to steer clear of Shiratou’s table,” Saeko warned.

“True, true. While Big Brother Shiratou has an odd way of making people want to follow him, when it comes to eating, I’d rather not share a table,” Taisuke agreed.

Ohma, driven by his competitive streak, had approached Shiratou’s “predator’s den” of a table. And now Rihito, having just recovered from Shiratou’s earlier restraint, joined with a stubborn gleam in his eye.

But under Shiratou’s hellish aura of gluttony, the two only managed to put away the equivalent of two servings each before reaching their limit.

Just as they forced down another mouthful, determined to keep up, the scent of expensive women’s cigarettes and a languid voice drifted over.

“Wow! Our ‘Monster’ is just as wild at the table. Good thing I didn’t save you any lunch last time!”

A suspicious flush colored Shion Kouryuin’s cheeks, her gaze lingering on the three fighters at the buffet with a wolfish hunger. Her fiery figure, striking features, and the contrast of her status as the president of an education conglomerate made her all the more striking.

Beside her, Rihito even forgot to keep stuffing lobster in his mouth. Yet Saeko, who was being addressed, merely narrowed her eyes. Shiratou, meanwhile, reluctantly slowed his pace.

“Kouryuin, please calm down. The scent of... arousal is practically overflowing.”

Shiratou couldn’t help but wonder—had the Deathbringer’s fights been recorded and leaked? What else could have turned this muscle-obsessed woman into such a state, if not the mountain of sinew he’d built?

Akin to a lecher stumbling into a wine-soaked brothel, perhaps?

Kouryuin’s reply was as breezy as ever. “Mm, of course.” She agreed readily, but her gaze never wavered. She even picked up a plate and began to eat with obvious relish.

...A muscle-obsessed version of “feasting with the eyes”?

Saeko continued to smile, but Shiratou could sense her murderous aura rising inexplicably.

Whoa, whoa! Don’t tell me you’re thinking of chopping her down? Weren’t you close friends just days ago?

Just as Shiratou considered hustling Saeko away to spare Kouryuin, the gaunt old man appeared at the staircase in the hall.

At once, the music and the movements of the waiters ceased. The well-drilled sense of order was such that it felt as if the entire world had been paused by the weight of his authority.

Shiratou’s eyes burned as he looked up at the old man on the stairs. That, he thought, was the image of the power he sought for his own future.

“This ship will dock in twenty-seven hours. At that time, registration for the fighters will take place. Until then, no fighting between contestants is allowed during the voyage. That is all.”

Across from him, Ohma and Rihito continued to glare at Shiratou, determined to out-eat him, but the boy finally set down his steak, his interest piqued.

“Has the wind changed? Interesting.”