Chapter 2: Live a Little Freer
In the yakuza boss's eyes, Shiraki Kei had only spaced out for a moment.
However, for Shiraki Kei, those two names—"Teiai Group" and "Kengan matches"—were churning in his mind, sending his consciousness into overdrive once again.
Countless pieces of information and memories erupted in his brain like a volcano.
...
The Teiai Group was one of the largest financial monopolies in the country.
On the surface, its business covered finance, real estate, and entertainment. In reality, it operated in both the legal and illegal spheres, secretly controlling loan sharking, underground casinos, and a slave labor industry chain.
In a possible future, a deadbeat punk named "Itou Kaiji" would cosign a loan for a friend, end up 3.85 million yen in debt, and be forced to participate in a series of life-and-death gambles.
That was the story known as Kaiji.
And in Shiraki Kei's case, the high-interest loan Arisa had taken out had, with interest, already ballooned to thirty million yen.
Such an astronomical sum was far beyond a single person's ability to repay. Even selling the land wouldn't be enough to fill this black hole!
...
As for the "Kengan matches," they originated in the Tokugawa Shogunate era.
Major merchants formed guilds. When their interests conflicted, they arranged matches through the guild, and the results of the match settled everything.
The method was simple: "Both sides hire fighters for a brutal one-on-one battle"!
Entrusting their ambitions to the fists of fighters—
Thus, the "Kengan Association" was born, and the fighters who participated in these matches were known as "Fighters."
In another possible future, a martial artist named "Tokita Ohma" would step into the Kengan ring, fighting to the death until he burned out completely.
That story was titled Kengan Ashura.
...
...
Now, these two "stories" were interwoven in the same world.
"The 'people' from those stories probably exist in this world, too..."
"Are there other 'stories' as well?"
"..."
The pressure in his head began to build. Shiraki Kei didn't have much time left to think, so he mulled over more practical problems.
"For an individual, thirty million is an astronomical debt. But for the Kengan Association, filled with powerful players, a mere thirty million is just a small side-bet."
"And they just said 'go fight a fighter,' not 'go fight in a Kengan match.'"
"So it's possible the Teiai Group's chairman, 'Hyodo Kazutaka,' just wants to watch a bloody underground brawl, like one of his other sick, twisted gambles."
...
...
The mental overdrive subsided.
Shiraki Kei thought for another moment, which only looked like a few seconds of stunned silence to the three men opposite him.
"Fine."
Shiraki Kei suddenly nodded.
This time, it was the Grisly Tooth boss and the two Teiai debt collectors who were stunned. They hadn't expected him to agree so directly.
"Hey!"
One of the debt collectors, afraid Shiraki Kei was just placating them, frowned and explained, "Do you even know what a Kengan match is? That's underground fighting in the hidden world..."
"Yeah, I've heard of it. I just thought it was some kind of urban legend."
Shiraki Kei took the contract and looked it over.
He had to admit, compared to the intimidation and extortion of common thugs, a "dual-track" financial group like Teiai—operating both legally and illegally—was the only way to make real money.
They had illicit force and were backed by legitimate banks.
As long as a debtor was still part of "society," still had "attachments" and "desires," they could never just give up and throw it all away. They could never default on the debt. They could only be squeezed dry, step by step, down to the marrow.
His sister, Sakurai Arisa, was still in school, and he didn't want to sell the dojo land the old man had left them. Therefore, Shiraki Kei needed time to consider his next move. This opportunity was perfect.
Besides, he was also very interested in the "Kengan matches."
"..."
Seeing Shiraki Kei agree so readily, the Grisly Tooth boss actually felt a little unnerved, afraid the guy was planning some trick.
"Don't try and pull any fast ones, you hear me!"
As he spoke, the boss clenched his fist and waved it in front of Shiraki Kei's face, the threat obvious.
But Shiraki Kei's expression remained calm.
He had just faced "Ryu's" fist directly. Compared to that, this minor boss wasn't even in the same league.
Even if the guy swung at him right now, he could easily dodge, step to the side, and throw a punch that would shatter his glasses and break his nose.
A fight like that was just... boring.
Therefore, after signing the match contract, Shiraki Kei's mind went right back to replaying Ryu's punch, a burning impulse in his gut as he tried to figure out how to avoid it.
Seeing Shiraki Kei space out again, the two debt collectors were confused, but the boss couldn't be bothered.
"Ignore him. His brain's been scrambled before!"
The boss cursed, left him with a "See you in three days, at night," and left with the two debt collectors.
...
...
Silence returned. Shiraki Kei stood alone in the same spot.
And before his eyes, the ink-wash shadow of Ryu reappeared, this time far more solid than before. Even the folds on his gi were clearly defined.
SWISH!
Ryu once again threw a straight punch. The motion was beautiful, possessing a kind of "perfect" execution.
But that was for an "observer."
For Shiraki Kei, who was facing the punch head-on, the simple, unadorned movement was wrapped in an indescribable killing intent. He could practically see the character for "Death" being written before his eyes!
Dodge?
He couldn't!
Shiraki Kei changed his movement, trying to side-step, but he was still too late. Ryu's fist struck him on the side of the face. For an instant, he felt half his face cave in, as if he'd lost several teeth!
CRASH!
Shiraki Kei suddenly fell backward, knocking over a pile of junk, clutching his face and twitching.
"Pfft..."
He worked his mouth. His face was fine, and his teeth were all there, but he really did spit out a mouthful of bloody saliva—a testament to the human body's strangeness.
Lying on his back, Shiraki Kei suddenly found it all hilarious, and he actually started to laugh out loud.
He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, laughing as he looked up at the sky, so overcome with joy that he couldn't help but pound the ground.
He never thought a day like this would come—
Remembering a jumble of half-real memories, Ryu's phantom throwing punches at him, his "incurable" Punch-Drunk Syndrome being cured, the Teiai Group coming to collect a debt, and now having to fight an underground match against a Kengan fighter...
Street Fighter, Kaiji, Kengan Ashura... What else was out there?
This world was so f*cking interesting!
Cured of a major illness, as if reborn, Shiraki Kei accepted it all. And he figured one thing out—
He needed to live a little freer.
...
...
Luckily, no one was around, or they would have been terrified by the sound of his laughter.
Unable to calm his racing heart, Shiraki Kei went to the dilapidated warehouse and dragged out a standing punching bag. It was covered in a thick layer of dust that made him cough.
After he got sick, this old training equipment couldn't be sold for money, so it had been sealed away in the warehouse.
He placed the bag in the open lot.
Shiraki Kei stood firm and took his stance—it was slightly different from orthodox karate.
Body angled, front shoulder raised, forearm horizontal to block, rear hand guarding his jaw.
It was a completely subconscious movement. Or rather, he had been forced into it by the phantom Ryu's punch, making his stance more closely resemble Ryu's.
A grandmaster of fighting like Ryu was "feeding" him moves. This was a rare opportunity, and Shiraki Kei would, of course, pour all his effort into figuring out how to dodge Ryu's "straight punch" and how to counter-attack after.
Shuff! Shuff...
His feet slid back and forth, light but with a slight sluggishness.
After all, he'd been sick for five years, unable to train. It was perfectly normal for his technique and physical condition to have declined sharply. He was a long way from his semi-pro level.
Shiraki Kei knew full well he wasn't some "greatest fighting genius in human history."
What he had to do now was get from the "negatives" back to the "starting line." Only then could he talk about moving forward.
Thwip! Thwip!
One punch after another landed on the bag, and his muscles slowly began to warm up.
But no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't get Ryu's punch out of his head. And no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't fully avoid it.
"Hoo..."
He exhaled a cloud of hot air.
Facing another identical straight punch from Ryu, Shiraki Kei tried to duck this time, but the force of the approaching fist blew him off balance, and he nearly fell to the ground.
His powerlessness turned to agitation and anger. Snapping back from his crouch, Shiraki Kei threw an uppercut.
BANG!
His fist struck the bag. With a loud crack, the bag was sent flying into the air, tumbling over the nearby fence.
"Huff... huff..."
Shiraki Kei's wrist was numb, but he felt no joy.
His punch definitely had enough power, but the problem was that his "opponent" wasn't a stationary punching bag.
If this were a real fight, being off-balance in a crouch meant that ground-grappling, a front kick, a roundhouse, or even a soccer kick could have ended his life!
"Sparring with a grandmaster is no joke."
...
...
After a short rest, Shiraki Kei went to wash the sweat from his head.
He pulled out his phone and browsed aimlessly, trying to "re-learn" as much as he could about this world. He soon found traces of information in the corners of certain forums—
The "Man of the Divine Realm," undefeated in underground mahjong for decades;
"Kakerou," a neutral organization that, at the a member's request, referees wagers and is responsible for collecting the stakes;
The "Army of God," a religious organization that was suddenly wiped out;
The "Tokyo Dome Underground Arena," established by a major conglomerate, a "sacred place" that gathers fighters from every school and discipline;
And so on, and so on...
This information seemed dubious, and most of it was classified as unreliable urban legend.
But cross-referencing it with the memories in his head, Shiraki Kei was fairly certain these things were real; they just weren't known to the general public.
...
...
"Haha..."
Lying back on the old sofa in the empty lot, feeling the breeze, Shiraki Kei felt completely refreshed.
It had been a while since he'd moved, and his body felt much better. He drifted off into a hazy sleep, only to be awakened by the sound of chatter.
He opened his eyes. It was already dusk, the time when school let out.
His sister, Sakurai Arisa, and two other girls in the same school uniform were walking down the street, talking and laughing.
"Bro, you sunbathing?"
Arisa waved to Shiraki Kei, then hurried her steps. She pressed her hands together apologetically and introduced her two classmates.
"This is Matsumoto Kozue, and this is Kure Karura."
"We all went to a dessert shop, so we're back a little late, sorry sorry... Bro? Are you listening?"
Shiraki Kei was definitely listening.
Especially when he heard those two girls' names—it was even more confirmation of his earlier judgment.
His consciousness started to go into overdrive again...
"Stop!"
Shiraki Kei slammed the brakes on it. "Not now. Don't go into overdrive. Not necessary!"