"Good kids," my ass.
Now Yang sat cross-legged, eyes closed, one hand resting lightly on the floor. A thin line of sweat trailed from his temple down his cheek.
He was inside the dojo. From the outside, the building had a sleek, modern design—but the interior told a different story.
Bamboo mats covered the floor. Wooden sliding doors lined the walls. Incense sticks burned quietly in the corner, their smoke curling lazily through the still air some escaping through the small gap in the shoji door
Yang sat at the center of it all—surrounded by literal giants glaring daggers at him.
The shoji door slid open.
A tall young man stepped inside, slicked-back hair, thick eyebrows, posture straight and composed. It was Katsumi—the old man's son from earlier. He carried a tray with five teacups and a tea pot balanced carefully in his hands.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting, Yang-san. The kettle was broken, so I had to use the stove to heat the water…"
His eyes shifted to the men standing—and sitting—in front of Yang. Their earlier scowls had vanished, replaced with stiff, unnatural smiles. One of them even had an arm draped tightly around Yang's shoulder.
"Oh! Looks like you've gotten acquainted with the rest… I'm glad."
Katsumi smiled warmly as he stepped closer, setting the tray down before lowering himself to sit beside Yang.
"No, no need to apologize. And yes, these fu—" Yang cleared his throat. "—I mean, these gentlemen were wonderful company while you were out." He glanced around. "I don't see your father."
"Ah, yes. Something urgent came up outside, so he had to check on it." Katsumi poured the tea calmly. "But there's no need to worry."
"Isn't this place a bit too… how should I put it?"
Yang reached for one of the cups, and several of the men's eyes widened at once.
He had taken it before Katsumi could finish pouring the rest of the cups and hand them one by one.
Katsumi didn't seem offended. He simply chuckled. While the other three men didn't look pleased by it especially the one in the middle
"Empty, you mean?"
Yang nodded.
"Today's Sunday. Most of them are at work."
"So… you guys are unemployed?"
Katsumi smiled faintly.
"'In between jobs' would be a better way to describe us...
"What about you, Yang-san?"
Yang hadn't even taken a sip. He slowly lowered the cup, staring at Katsumi as if the question itself were absurd.
"What do I look like to you?"
Katsumi coughed twice, clearing his throat as he hurried to change the direction of the conversation.
...
"So, Yang… why do you want to train here?"
"Train? No, no—I'm not here for that. I, uh… uh—"
"He's here to apologize for stealing your shoes."
The shoji door rattled as it slid open again A girl hopped inside with careless energy.
It was the same pink-haired girl—only now she was wearing a karate gi, the sleeves slightly rolled,purple belt neatly tied
Silence
Yang scanned their faces one by one. Katsumi's expression barely changed, though there was a flicker of hesitation as he glanced toward one of the men.
The other two, despite their earlier reactions, also shifted their attention to the man in the center.
The tall, muscular figure with the undercut. Veins bulged across his forehead as he glared.
"So it was you, huh…"
"Oh… yeah. My bad." Yang dipped his head slightly. "We good now?"
"Oh, since you apologized, I'm sure he—"
"Half-assed apologies won't cut it. Do you even know how much those shoes you stole cost me?"
"I can pay you back."
"A bum like you?" He let out a sharp laugh as he rose to his feet, looming over Yang. "Don't make me laugh. Do a kowtow… and I might consider it."
"Suedō!?" Katsumi shouted.
But Suedō ignored him, eyes locked on Yang.
Yang glanced up at him, then let his gaze drop to the man's belt.
A black belt with two red stripes.
Second dan
Experienced
Yang noted it silently as he straightened up, faced him for a brief moment—then turned as if to leave.
" yeah yeah run away like the bitch you are fag "
Whooof
__________
Amazing. Just… amazing.
Doppo Orochi is the founder of Shinshinkai Karate—
a martial art forged during the war. When Doppo was still just a teenager, it had already been refined to the point of becoming a lethal weapon.
He honed it through combat—hundreds… no, thousands of fights against both men and beasts—until it evolved into what it is now.
That relentless experience also allowed him to see the potential in others… and their limits.
So witnessing someone with no natural talent for martial arts reach this level of perfection was absurd.
Doppo's gaze shifted to Yang's legs, which he had pinned by wrapping an arm around his shoulders to prevent escape.
Yang legs were locked firmly in a sanchin-dachi stance.
Was he doing it to impress him?
No. That was very unlikely. The boy's entire way of moving was shaped by that stance.
It was as if the stance itself had fused with his being.
Not to mention his hands, coated in an invisible dark aura.
The malice radiating from them made it feel as if a demon lived within his fists.
Doppo wondered who had taught that boy karate. Had they ever told him the most important principle of it?
Demon's hands, Buddha's heart.
But this boy…
He carried only demons in his hands.
"Um… old man, could you please let go?" Yang said, trying to pull free, but Doppo's hands didn't budge in the slightest.
"Stop squirming. I told you—just speak to the boys and then leave."
"And I agreed to that.so... Please?"
Suddenly, both their eyes widened. They turned toward the door. A black SUV was parked outside.
At last, Doppo released him.
"Yang, go inside. I'll join you in a moment… and don't try to run."
Yang raised his hands in a contemptuous gesture as he walked in.
Doppo stepped out through the doors, arms spread wide, a grin carved across his face.
The rear door of the SUV opened. A towering man in a pristine white suit unfolded himself from the back seat. An X-shaped scar marked his face, a cigarette resting between his lips.
Hanayama Kaoru.
He removed the cigarette just as the driver hurried around from the front, hands outstretched. Without a word, Kaoru placed it between the man's fingers.
Doppo descended the entrance steps slowly, amusement glinting in his eyes.
"Well now… what brings the big boss himself to the dwelling of a humble old man?" he asked lightly.
Hanayama's gaze remained steady.
"I came for him."
"Him? There are a lot of 'hims' in this place, big boss… My son is a 'him' too." He gestured with his thumb toward the doorway, where Katsumi was peeking out. "And three others who are also 'him'"
Hanayama's gaze didn't waver despite the mockery in Doppo's tone.
"Or maybe you mean… that boy I came with."
"…"
"If so, then sorry. Can't really do that."
Hanayama face remained stoic except for a small squint of the eyes that disappeared quickly "may I know why?"
"Simple. He's my guest. I can't just hand him to a gangster...especially not one reeking this amount of murderous intent."
Doppo's smile faded.
"I'd welcome you as a guest myself… but since you seem to have violent intentions ,I'll have to ask you to leave."
His expression finally turned serious.
" and if i refuse ?"
They glared at each other. The air between them seemed to twist and warp, the pressure alone forcing the driver onto his backside, sweat pouring down his face.
"You'd go that far… for someone like him?" Hanayama asked.
"I've said it once, and I'll say it again so that it get through that thick skull of yours" Doppo replied evenly. "He's my guest. I don't care what he's done. All I want right now is to drop this useless conversation and go back in to serve him some tea. Got that or do you want me to explain again ?"
After a long moment of silence, Hanayama turned away.
"Give him my regards," he said, stepping back into the car and leaving Doppo standing outside.
As the vehicle finally pulled away, Doppo let out a breath and scratched the back of his neck.
"Just what the hell did that boy do?!"
_____________
As Doppo slid the door open, he called out, "Hello! You boys having fun?"
His eyes widened. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he shouted, drawing everyone's attention to him.
In the center of the room, Yang stood casually—one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck.
In front of him towered a tall, heavily built young man with a brown undercut, glaring down at Yang. Veins throbbed at his temple, anger clear on his face
Katsumi was behind him holding him from the back as if trying to stop
Unlike Yang, he was in a proper fighting stance—hands raised, knuckles forward, aimed straight at him.
That's what everyone else saw.
But Doppo saw something different.
Yang's legs were always set in sanchin stance
And the faint scent drifting from his pocket…iron
He had a hidden weapon.
The tall man glanced toward Doppo—
Yang seized the chance almost immediately
WHAP!
Yang's hand, the one that had been lazily rubbing the back of his neck, snapped forward and struck him across the face.
"Huff…" Doppo sighed, pressing a hand over his eyes as he shook his head.
There was no stopping it now.
The tall man shoved Katsumi aside.
"Suedō, listen to me! Fighting against the weak is aga—"
Doppo grabbed Katsumi by the shoulder and pulled him back down.
"It's not against the rules anymore " he said calmly.
"But still, Suedō's the one who started it."
"What's with you?" Doppo frowned. "Did you fall in love with him or something?" He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at imaginary tears. "Ohh how sad… I won't be having grandchildren anymore."
"What I'm saying is, everything was going smoothly, but Suedō just kept provoking him!"
"That doesn't change the fact that the boy struck first," Doppo replied flatly. "In karate, there's no such thing as a first strike. Now that he's been hit, he has every right to retaliate."
He glanced at Katsumi.
"And don't worry about your boyfriend. Despite how he looks… he's strong."
"Osu!" Katsumi pressed his left palm against his right fist and bowed slightly, glancing up just a little. "I'm not into men, though!"
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, lover boy." Doppo smirked.
Katsumi felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned.
The pink-haired girl stood there, cheeks flushed, giving him an awkward thumbs-up. "I-I support you both."
"Come on, not you too, Hina…" Katsumi sighed.
Meanwhile, Suedō touched the corner of his lips and wiped away a thin trail of blood.
"This is for calling me a fag," Yang said, flicking his hand to shake off the blood and spit
"Not bad," Suedō smirked as he settled back into his stance. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a steady calm.
Yang didn't give him time to settle. He lunged forward, hands blurring as they struck from every angle—
Ribs.
Head.
Stomach.
But every strike was calmly knocked aside, brushed off by the back of Suedō's hands as if they were nothing more than light taps.
Seeing his blows deflected so easily, Yang drove his right knee upward.
Suedō reacted instantly, stepping back to avoid Yang's rising knee. In the same motion, he swept Yang's standing leg, knocking it out from under him.
Yang hit the floor flat on his back.
"I lost," he said calmly from the ground.
Suedō, however, was staring at his own hands in horror.
The skin across the backs of them had been torn open, peeled away from deflecting those strikes.
Slowly, his gaze dropped to Yang's right hand.
Brass knuckles.
He'd taken them off Tarou's unconscious body and hidden them in his pocket.
Yang slipped them off, set them on the floor, then rose and turned to leave.
"Oi!"
Yang barely turned his head
A fist filled his vision.
Suedō's punch crashed straight into his face.
It wasn't just any punch. It was a seiken tsuki, delivered by a dan ranked karateka which should be
Ten times heavier than an ordinary strike.
Yet Yang didn't flinch. His head barely shifted from the impact.
"My turn."
His right fist shot forward toward Suedō's chest. The air around his hand seemed to warp around as it moved
Suedō's crossed his arm to defend against it but it was useless his fist pushed through his arms
In the next instant, Suedō was hurled across the room, crashing into the wall at the far end.
He dropped to his knees, eyes bloodshot, clutching his chest as his breath refused to come.
"Suedō-senpai!!"
The three large men rushed toward him in alarm
But instead of staying down and swallowing the humiliation, Suedō charged at Yang like a raging bull ready to pierce it horn into yang ass
Yang fired another seiken tsuki—
This time, Suedō slipped past it. Before Yang could retract his arm, Suedō seized his wrist twisted it and dragged it over his shoulder.
Naga-waza.
A sharp twist of the hips. The joint locked cleanly. He meant to hoist Yang up and slam him down
But it felt like trying to lift a massive, heated boulder.
Yang didn't budge.
To everyone watching—except Doppo of course—none of this made sense.
Yang barely looked muscular. Lean. Maybe sixty kilos at most. Nothing about his frame suggested overwhelming power
Yet moments ago, he had sent Suedō—one hundred and thirty kilos of solid mass—flying across the room with a single punch.
And now, when Suedō tried to lift him, he couldn't move him an inch.
The same Suedō they had seen bench-press two hundred seventy kilos—more than double Yang's weight.
But Yang stood there like something rooted deep beneath the floor.
"Do you enjoy having a man glued to your back, Suedō?" Yang said lightly.
The words alone made Suedō's grip falter. He let go at once and stepped back, putting distance between them
And yang looked at his right hand it was slightly bent because of Suedō's putting it over his shoulder
"Is this enough for you, mister?"
Yang glanced at Doppo.
The old master was smiling a wide smile that sent a quiet chill down Yang's spine.
Yang shook his head and moved to leave, sliding the door open—only to stop when something soft hit the top of his head.
He turned and looked down.
It was a karate gi, a black belt wrapped around it.
Yang slowly raised his gaze.
Doppo stood there with a wide, gleaming smile.
"We're open twenty-four seven," he said casually. "So you're free to stay here until you sort things out with that gangster."