So what if these bodyguards got sent flying with just a touch?
Did that stop taekwondo dojos from spreading like wildfire?
Forget practical use for a moment—when it came to style, taekwondo kicks were absolutely top-tier.
One leg meant one leg.
Balanced by the sheer strength of his lower body, Kyousuke stood firm, unmoving on one leg, while the other lashed out again and again with dazzling kicks.
For enemies at a distance, Kyousuke twisted his hips, sending out flamboyant high front kicks.
His sandal-clad foot shot out with blinding force, toes cracking against jaws, sending burly men weighing over a hundred kilos airborne, drooling as they crashed down.
Sometimes he'd swing down with a brutal axe kick—though half the time his opponents collapsed before his heel even touched them.
For those who got too close, he unleashed merciless roundhouse kicks, his shin slamming straight into their midsections.
Sure, he hadn't trained his shins like a Muay Thai fighter, but it wasn't like the Yamazakura gang had steel plates hidden in their ribs.
They might have been good at chaotic brawls, but against a fighter like Kyousuke?
They were hopeless.
And if someone actually managed to get right in front of him?
He'd casually deliver a low kick to their thigh—or, if they looked too smug, an even nastier scraping kick just to wipe that grin away.
Sandal. Shorts. Blue T-shirt.
Even surrounded by over a dozen Yamazakura "fight specialists," Kyousuke stood tall, sharp, and unshakably cool.
His long, muscular legs lashed out like steel whips, sending enemy after enemy sprawling like falling petals.
A rose on the battlefield.
That was the phrase Kisaki thought of, watching his unyielding boss stand among the bodies.
The sight left the members of the Rampaging Angels utterly spellbound.
Eikichi Onizuka's mouth hung open—he forgot to cheer, too entranced by the almost artistic display of combat.
Powerful. Cool.
Yes—that was it. Only someone like this was worthy of leading them.
Once again—coolness was everything.
For a delinquent, weakness was the original sin, but raising the bar? That always came down to being cool.
'Too strong, aniki!!'
Momotarou barked excitedly, tail wagging. For a dog, worshiping strength was instinct.
Following this aniki meant he could pee on anyone's doorstep he wanted—it was the peak of dog life!
Of course, as Kyousuke's number one underling, Momotarou would never do anything to embarrass his boss.
…Though giving enemies a "pee wash" after aniki knocked them out? That might be acceptable.
Aniki was too kind to do it himself, so as his loyal follower, it was Momotarou's sacred duty!
Taekwondo, Muay Thai, karate, bajiquan… countless styles flashed through Kyousuke's kicks.
To experts, his form was probably full of flaws—but lying flat on the ground, the Yamazakura gang could swear on their lives: that foot was deadly.
"Fuuuh—" Kyousuke exhaled deeply, feeling great.
Sure, his opponents were weak, and he hadn't even used his real strength.
These moves?
He'd only picked them up from watching random martial arts videos online.
He rarely got to use them in everyday life—but for crushing weaklings, they were perfect.
And style? Style was mandatory.
If someone attacked him from behind, he'd never use a boring back kick.
At minimum, it had to be a flashy spinning hook kick—entertainment value maxed out.
This wasn't like pummeling subordinates in the kendo club.
This was about thrashing outsiders in front of his men.
He had to put on a show, fight with style, fight with flair, fight until his enemies coughed up bile.
"Need a break? We can go again if you like."
His smile softened as he looked at the groaning Yamazakura members sprawled across the ground.
'Again!?'
Doma, who had been faking dead since the start, felt his blood run cold.
Beside him, Nakamura stubbornly tried to rise—even though he'd just eaten a brutal front kick followed by an axe kick.
The few still conscious trembled at Kyousuke's words.
Why—why had they ever thought that smile was harmless, easygoing?
He was a monster. A smiling, merciless monster!
And that smile—it was getting brighter. Terrifyingly so.
Doma's hand slipped into his pocket, expression twisting between fear and resolve.
His fingers brushed against the folding knife inside—his "blade of victory."
This was his chance.
No matter how tough Kyousuke was, he was still flesh and blood.
A cut would spill red like anyone else.
Miss this chance, and the Yamazakura gang would be a laughingstock tomorrow—forever nailed to the pillar of shame.
But… was it worth it?
His mind raced, weighing risks against survival.
Then Kyousuke turned and looked straight at him.
Those eyes—bright as starlight—locked onto him, and Doma's heart lurched.
He noticed! That monster, Kyousuke, must have guessed about the knife.
Maybe he even felt the intent to ambush in Doma's gaze!
Would he be beaten again? Or would he have to cut off his pinky finger in apology?
Doma despaired. And then… the terrifying man spoke, softly.
"Don't worry. No matter how many of you there are, no matter what weapons you bring—please, go all out.
Because to me, your movements are unbearably slow."
"HOH-HOH!! Rampaging Angels!!"
"HOH-HOH!! Praise the Handless Demon!!"
"Handless Demon!!"
Kyousuke's words ignited the crowd.
A chorus of wild shouts filled the night as Onizuka popped a party streamer, colorful ribbons bursting into the sky.
'Boss is so strong… I've never felt prouder!' Kisaki Tetta thought, chest swelling.
'Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it!' Kyousuke cursed inside.
He never should've bragged about fighting with only one leg.
Now he'd just cemented that stupid nickname—"Handless Demon"! He could already imagine his idiotic underlings coming up with stories to spread it even further.
Damn brats! Too cruel!
And yet… he had been telling the truth.
The only problem was—they were the ones getting beaten senseless, while he hadn't even gotten started.
He was waiting for someone to pull a knife.
That way, he could beat them up again—this time with a perfectly good excuse.
Understanding dawned on Doma. Slowly, he let go of the knife, pushing himself up from the ground instead.
When he saw Kyousuke's eyes light up in anticipation, he quickly blurted out:
"…What kind of person is she?"
"Hm?" Kyousuke frowned, not following.
Doma pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapped one loose, and stuck it between his lips.
He didn't light it. Instead, his eyes grew distant, gazing at the quietly beautiful Yamazakura tree swaying nearby.
"For a man as strong and wise as you to start a war… I can only think of one reason."
With the burden of fear cast aside, his acting skills returned in full, his voice rich with nostalgia.
"Love. Only love could drive a man like you. So tell me—what kind of girl is she?"
Although Doma hadn't said it outright, his meaning was obvious—he wanted to know what kind of girl could smile beneath the Yamazakura tree, the very tree that had symbolized his own youth.
Before Kyousuke could answer, Nakamura, tears choking his voice, suddenly shouted:
"Boss, let's charge again! This is your love we're fighting for!"
His cry was like a nightingale bleeding into the night—piercing, sorrowful, and absurdly dramatic.
Even Kisaki Tetta, usually cold as ice, was moved for a brief moment by Nakamura's loyalty to both his boss and love.
Moved… and also seized by the urge to smash Nakamura's mouth in with his steel pipe, just to steady his own wavering heart.
Kyousuke turned his gaze toward the Yamazakura tree glowing faintly under the moonlight.
Even here, with blood soaking the ground, the tree remained breathtakingly beautiful.
It didn't matter who owned this house, who picnicked beneath it, or even who ruled this nation—the tree bloomed every year, unchanged.
A fleeting beauty.
An eternal beauty.
Contradictory, yet perfectly united.
That was what he had been chasing all along.
After two seconds of silence, Kyousuke crouched down, met Doma's eyes, and smiled softly. Then he spoke:
"To put it mildly… she's a goddess."
His voice was like the first breeze of spring, brushing silently over all creation.
Doma's jaw dropped, his cigarette slipping from his lips.
'To put it mildly"? "A goddess"!?'
Was this his idea of modesty!? Could he get any more exaggerated!?
The words of Kyousuke were as unreasonable as his strength—completely beyond common sense.
"I see…" Doma muttered bitterly.
He finally understood why all the elaborate stories he'd woven had failed to deceive these lunatics.
He'd been outclassed from the start.
And not just him—Nakamura, who moments ago was screaming about protecting his boss's love, now lay flat on his back, staring blankly at the moon.
'The boss's love? That's nothing compared to Hojou-san's.'
One spoonful of this "dog food" was enough to knock even the most loyal, battle-hardened thug senseless.
Nor was it only the Yamazakura gang.
Even the Rampaging Angels, who had been howling with fanatical cheers from the wall, now wore heavy, solemn expressions.
Had winter come already? It felt so cold.
Why were they out here, late at night, eating dog food instead of sleeping?
Oh, right. Because it was all to help make their boss's goddess smile.
"Uuuuuuh—"
Onizuka actually burst into tears.
"Hey, Ryuji! Did you hear what boss just said!? That so-called 'Love Master F-kun' is nothing compared to him!"
"…Yeah. I heard." Danma Ryuji's throat felt bone-dry.
"To put it mildly, she's a goddess…" Kisaki Tetta repeated softly, his face torn between laughter and tears.
'God… why did you make me meet a man like this!?'
Even though he studied obsessively, memorizing every line, reciting them every morning.
The gap between himself and his boss wasn't shrinking—it was growing wider, like a chasm he could never cross.
"If you have to be as amazing as boss just to fall in love, then I give up!" wailed Gorou, clutching his head.
"Yeah, forget love. Having bros is enough," Onizuka agreed with a solemn nod.
"Snap out of it, Eikichi—you already have a girlfriend!"
Danma Ryuji raised his fist and hammered Onizuka's head, the way you'd smack a broken appliance.
No—more like a scrapyard compactor crushing junk.
"Oh, right. You're so smart, Ryuji. I already have a girlfriend."
But even as he said it, Onizuka's face grew more confused.
"Damn it, how did I even land Kyoko? Don't tell me my memories of having a girlfriend are all an illusion!?"
At that, Danma froze, his own face twisting in shock.
"Wait. How could I possibly have a girlfriend? Did I mistake a blow-up doll for the real thing?"
"Wake up, Ryuji! Your girlfriend talks, remember!?"
This time Onizuka grabbed Ryuji by the shoulders, pounding his head furiously as if to knock sense into him.
"But some models do talk…" Ryuji muttered weakly.
His skull throbbed like a hammer was pounding it over and over.
His memories were starting to blur.
"For real?" Gorou leaned in, eyes wide.
"For real. I once spent two months' salary on one," Ryuji said seriously, ignoring the pain in his head.
The more he spoke, the more convinced he became—maybe he really didn't have a girlfriend.
Suddenly, Ryoma Mitsuhashi noticed something.
"Strategist, what are you doing?"
Everyone turned. Kisaki was tapping furiously on his phone, face deadly serious.
When the others pressed him, Kisaki, as second-in-command, felt it was his duty to enlighten his idiot comrades.
He proudly turned his phone screen toward them:
"To put it mildly, she's a goddess."
April X, Yamazakura gang.
Analysis: Humble yet proud, a contradiction that only emphasizes the depth of his love.
Even strangers can feel the sincerity behind these words. It's overwhelming.
Usage: The best love lines don't have to be spoken directly to your lover. If even strangers envy your love, then it must be unbreakable.
Conclusion:I'm still far behind.
Gorou swallowed hard, then looked up at Kisaki as if staring at something terrifying.
"This is…" Mitsuhashi's words trailed off in disbelief.
"I always knew you weren't normal, Kisaki," Onizuka said, eyes wide. "But this is straight-up insane."
Terrifying.
As one, the group scooted a step back along the wall, perfectly in sync.
"Hmph. Idiots." Kisaki sneered.
"I may never be as great as boss, but if I keep studying relentlessly, if I use the right words in the right moments, I'll become a master pick-up artist—leagues beyond you fools!"
He looked down at them with absolute scorn.
"That's genius! I get it now!"
Onizuka shouted, whipping out his phone.
Under the shocked stares of the others, he opened his girlfriend Kyoko's chat and typed without hesitation:
———————————————————————
"This might sound sudden, but to put it mildly—you're my goddess!"
———————————————————————
"Eikichi…" Danma Ryuji stared at him in disbelief. "When the hell did you get this smart!?"
Not to be outdone, he pulled out his own phone and messaged his girlfriend:
———————————————————————
"You asked me what could possibly be more important than sleeping beside you. It's hard to explain. To put it mildly—you're my goddess."
———————————————————————
Gorou stared at them like they were monsters.
'Senpai really are on another level… they understand everything.'
He reached for his phone… search through his contact again… and again…
But—
"Uuuuuuuuugh…"
Tears streamed down his face.
"I don't even have a girlfriend!!!"
———————————————————————
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