Chapter Fifty-Four: Wild Words

Sitting in the special seats reserved for fighters, Kazuo Yamashita was so startled by the chunks of concrete crashing down before him that he nearly leapt out of his seat. After a moment of flustered panic, the mild-mannered older man caught sight of Saeko, seated calmly not far away.

Hesitating for a moment, he pursed his lips and approached her. Was this young lady perhaps Shiratou’s girlfriend? They did seem awfully close on the ship. If his own loved one were to take such a blow in the arena...

Oh, Kazuo Yamashita! Why is it you never learned how to comfort people?

Just as the petite, frail old man reached Saeko’s side, unsure of how to offer solace, her gentle and composed voice sounded first.

“There’s no need to worry, Mr. Yamashita.”

“Huh?” Kazuo scratched his head, at a loss. “I, uh, you... Ahem, it’s good to have faith in your loved one, but Miss Saeko, after suffering such a hit, it’d be better to give up quickly and seek medical help...”

“It’s not blind faith, Mr. Yamashita.” The violet-haired beauty smiled, warm and serene, pointing toward the fading cloud of dust. “It’s simply the truth.”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, as her words fell, Kazuo’s unique intuition—ever since he’d entered the world of underground fighting, it had never failed him—began to scream.

Like an ancient marionette, Kazuo’s neck stiffly twisted, the usually unobtrusive ache suddenly feeling like rusty cogs grinding against each other. He could almost hear the creaking of his own joints.

What’s happening to my body?

Even though the air conditioning was strong, sweat poured from him as if a valve had burst.

Kazuo was panicking inside, yet his body, as if out of his control, slowly turned toward where Saeko was pointing. Just like a dinosaur at the end of the age, compelled to look up at the falling star of doom no matter how terrified it felt.

In that instant, a flash of revelation passed through Kazuo’s eyes.

“So... I’m afraid?”

“My survival instinct as a living being... is experiencing fear?!”

At last, as the audience around him remained blissfully unaware, lost in their own excitement, Kazuo’s rigid body turned halfway around and he gazed upon the settling cloud of dust.

Thud—

His legs gave out, unable to support his weight; he collapsed into the empty seat beside Saeko.

“Sharp instincts, Mr. Yamashita,” she said, her voice still gentle and lovely. “It’s a pity you never set foot in the world of martial arts. Otherwise, you might have become something quite remarkable.”

“But for now, just watch what Kyo does.”

Kazuo heard not a single word from the violet-haired beauty beside him.

His glasses hung askew on his face, yet his eyes remained glued, as if by some unbreakable force, to that drifting cloud of smoke.

A slender, pale hand emerged from the haze!

It pressed downward—neither fast nor slow, neither with great force nor little.

And yet, this unremarkable, easily visible motion seemed to control every particle of dust in the air!

The instant the hand pressed down, the towering cloud of dust, over three meters high, crashed down to the ground in unison!

From within the ruins emerged a youth, his hair neatly swept back.

...!!!

The scene was nearly surreal, as if it had seized every throat in the arena in an instant.

The rowdy Deathmatch Arena fell utterly silent.

Unlike ordinary people, most fighters knew that the world’s secret techniques and ultimate arts could deliver feats bordering on the miraculous, so their surprise was less pronounced.

But in the audience, a man in a black karate gi—hair bristling, body massive as a black bear—suddenly widened his eyes. Beneath him, the sturdy flooring shattered under his foot, even though he was seated and not bracing for force.

Foolish youths might think this was some unknown technique, but he had spent his life pursuing the martial path to its very limits!

He knew—this was no trivial secret art!

“What... is that?!”

Once still as a deep well, his eyes now shone with disbelief and delight, radiating a power that could be seen with the naked eye.

His fighting spirit surged so powerfully that even Rihito, the “Superman” beside him, looked at him as one might a being not quite human, his own body trembling unconsciously.

Meanwhile, on the arena floor, in the hush that followed, Kyo Shiratou lowered his hand and strolled leisurely up to the mountain-like Julius.

He looked up at him.

“Not bad, old man,” Kyo said with a smile, raising his fist. “Now, it’s my turn to throw a punch.”

“Have you been reading too many yakuza novels? On this ruthless stage, you’re still thinking of trading punches for honor’s sake?”

Perhaps it was the unnatural muscles, forged by modern science, that made it impossible for Julius to show emotion. Even facing Kyo, who seemed a hero out of legend, his face remained expressionless.

He only mocked the boy, treating a contest worth billions as child’s play.

But Kyo’s smile did not change in the slightest.

“Ah, did I mislead you?” he said, smacking his forehead in mock realization.

“Let me be clear, then...

If you’re confident in your strength, I’ll take you head-on.

If you’re confident in your speed, I’ll chase you all over the ring.

If your pride is in your technique, I’ll match you move for move...

In truth, I’m not just speaking to you, but to every fighter who stands against me.

—I will crush you all, right where you’re most proud, with a strength that admits no argument.”

Cutting-edge stage equipment broadcast the boy’s wicked smile and bold words throughout the Deathmatch Arena.

His wild arrogance and unshakable confidence swept through the audience like a gale.

The arena, which had been stunned into silence by a surreal moment, erupted once more in a roar.

Several surges of murderous intent also began rising from the fighters’ seats.

“He... I... He...” Kazuo Yamashita was nearly stupefied by this declaration, so arrogant it bordered on lunacy.

Beside him, the gracefully seductive Saeko kept flexing her hand as if gripping a sword, smiling, her gaze dazed and crimson as she watched Kyo in the ring.

Her moist tongue traced her lips.

“Kyo, you’re... absolutely magnificent!”

If even fighters in the stands could barely contain their bloodlust just hearing those words, then what of the “monster” Julius, standing right before the boy?

—Of course, he could only attack with everything he had!

Furious, veins bulging on his shaven head, Julius bent low and unleashed a Russian-style swinging punch!

“Take this, you little shit—see if you can handle it!”

Boom—

The punch hadn’t even landed and the force of it sent the dust swirling in all directions.

When the thudding blow finally struck the youth’s cheek, a great cloud of dust was kicked up.

The ground beneath their feet instantly cracked in a web-like pattern.

Yet, despite the massive, skull-sized fist landing squarely on his head, Kyo Shiratou did not go flying as before.

Instead, Julius, towering as a mountain, saw his pupils contract in shock.

There, in the dust, the boy’s head was only knocked slightly askew by the force of the punch.

“Why the surprised look, old man?” Kyo, head still under the giant fist, turned back to face him with a smile.

“Didn’t I say?

—Let’s go head-to-head.”