CHAPTER 141: THE HOLY LAND OF COMBAT!!
Two days later. Match day.
By evening, the sky had begun to fade into a tranquil, deep indigo, casting a cool shadow over the city.
A classic black luxury sedan was parked in front of the Soul Combat Hub, its engine humming as it waited for its passenger. Ren Shiroki finished his final shower, packed his duffel bag, and looked toward the porch. Arisa had just finished her own workout and was currently performing a series of high-tension stretches.
Ren noticed her glance. She offered a casual wave, as if her brother were just heading out for a grocery run rather than a life-or-death duel.
"Hmm. No parting advice? I guess she's finally used to this," Ren muttered, shaking his head.
Since Arisa hadn't explicitly asked to come, Ren wasn't going to force her into the line of fire. He called out a quick "Get some rest!" and climbed into the sedan. The car accelerated toward Suidobashi.
Five minutes after Ren departed, the roar of a motorcycle echoed at the gate.
Fusui Kure pulled up on her bike and gave two sharp honks of the horn.
Arisa burst out of the house, clutching a backpack stuffed to the brim with snacks and cold drinks. She locked the door in three seconds flat and vaulted onto the rear seat.
"WOO-HOO!"
The two girls threw their hands up in the air.
They had decided to go the moment the match was announced. They didn't need Ren's permission; after all, "Infiltrating" a secret match was far more fun than being an invited guest.
The mood was electric. Tonight wasn't about Yakuza or terrorists; it was just a pure technical clash between two monsters.
VROOOOM—!
Fusui twisted the throttle, her black-and-white eyes shimmering. "Destination: Suidobashi! Let's go!"
Inside the Sedan.
Ren wasn't alone in the back seat. Doppo Orochi sat beside him, nursing a cold can of beer. The Shinshinkai Master had come along specifically to witness Ren's first encounter with the Underground Arena.
"The Tokyo Dome Underground Arena," Doppo mused, looking out the window. "To people like us, it's a fairy tale kingdom. The 'Rear Garden' of the strong."
Doppo took a slow sip and began the history lesson.
"May, 1985. Bunkyo Ward. Construction began on the Great Dome Stadium. At the time, a certain financial titan—a man with more power than the Prime Minister—offered to fund a massive portion of the construction on one condition: he wanted a 'Private Space' added to the blueprints."
"The public knows the Dome has six floors above ground and two below. What they don't know is that there are six more floors beneath those. The true face of the Holy Land."
"The man who operates that arena is the same one I told you about—Mitsunari Tokugawa."
Doppo leaned back, his single eye sharpening.
"In 1615, after the siege of Osaka, the Toyotomi clan was erased. The Warring States period ended. But for the warriors who only knew how to excel in blood, peace was like a winter they couldn't survive. Street violence spiked across the country."
"The Shogun of that era, Tokugawa Iemitsu, feared the breakdown of order. He tasked his confidant—Mitsu, the son of Yorifusa—with a special duty: create a place where the strong can display their genius without destabilizing the nation."
"Mitsu built the first 'Rear Garden' at his private villa. For four centuries, the Tokugawa family has protected that tradition. Through bans on dueling and the modernization of the law, they kept the pit alive."
Doppo crushed his empty beer can into a flat disk.
"Unlike the Kengan Association, which is a tool for business, the Dome exists for the Purity of the Struggle."
"Elite wrestlers, Sumo legends, masters of lost arts—if you want to hit someone, you go there."
"There are no weight classes. No genders. No rounds. Except for firearms and blades, every 'Forbidden' move is recognized."
Doppo let out a jagged, happy grin. "You can choke them! You can hit the vitals! You can even bite their faces off! It requires no Referee because the 'Truth' of the win is absolute!"
Ren listened to the lore, his pulse quickening. He leaned back, a relaxed smile on his face. It felt like he was heading toward a summer festival with a group of old friends.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. He was a Tokugawa loyalist. He knew Dr. Kureha Shinogi's name was already etched into the Arena's ledgers. Tonight, a second name was being added.
He wondered if the youth named Ren Shiroki had the "Might" to stay on that list for long.
The city lights faded as the sedan pulled into a private parking area beneath the Dome.
They stepped out and were met by the Arena's "Owner."
He was a tiny, shriveled man with a perfectly smooth bald head, wearing a high-end traditional kimono. He was flanked by two massive bodyguards, but the old man looked like the most dangerous thing in the room. He was beaming with a manic, high-energy joy.
"Doppo! You old bastard! I haven't seen you since the tournament ended!"
Mitsunari Tokugawa scurried forward, and the two legends embraced. Doppo hoisted the tiny old man into the air, both of them laughing like children.
Once Tokugawa was back on his feet, he turned his gaze to Ren. His eyes were like pinpricks of light. "So, you're the one who's going to trade blood with Kureha tonight?"
He scurried around Ren, inspecting him from every angle like a prize stallion. He slapped Ren's bicep. "Nice! Simply perfect! A sturdy one!"
Tokugawa shook Ren's hand vigorously. Ren tried to exchange a business card, but the old man waved it off. He didn't carry them. Instead, he pulled a masterfully crafted folding fan from his sash and handed it to Ren as a "Welcome Gift."
"Haha! Let's get you inside!"
Tokugawa led the way through the labyrinthine concrete corridors. They entered a specialized high-speed elevator embossed with the Tokugawa crest.
The floor indicator dropped: B3... B4... B5... B6.
DING.
The doors opened to a luxury corridor lined with thick red carpet. At the end stood a pair of massive reinforced steel doors.
The doors swung open, and the legendary Tokyo Dome Underground Arena manifested before them.
WHOOSH—!
The internal volume was staggering—320,000 cubic meters of hollowed-out earth. The ceiling was a massive, inverted white dome, and the stands were built in a steep trapezoidal tiers that could hold 1,500 people.
In the center of the pit was the ring: an octagon cordoned off by heavy wooden fencing, with a diameter of ten meters. The floor was packed, level sand.
Tokugawa gestured to a large frame hanging on the wall. "My family's antique! Read it and weep, boy!"
Ren looked at the bold calligraphy of the Fighter's Creed:
Any and all weapons are strictly prohibited.
All injuries and losses are the sole responsibility of the participant.
No prize money or rewards shall be granted.
The one who takes the Throne shall have their name remembered for eternity.
—1643, Tokugawa Mitsunari.
"Hahaha! Are you getting fired up?" Tokugawa cackled. "Get to the locker room! Kureha has been warming up for an hour!"
The Locker Room.
Under the watchful eye of his brother Kosho, Dr. Kureha Shinogi was finishing a warm-up that would have hospitalized a normal athlete.
Sprints. Max-load bench presses. Explosive plyometric pushups. Back-arches.
And finally, the "Cross-Hang." He supported his entire body weight on a pair of gymnastics rings, his arms extended horizontally in a perfect "T-shape," holding the pose with the stillness of a statue.
ZIP!
Kureha flipped from the rings and landed as light as a feather. He took a water bottle from Kosho, wiping sweat from his brow.
Kosho looked at his brother. Kureha's "Perfect Physique" was no longer just "hot"—it looked like it was burning. Every muscle fiber was vibrating with a lethal combat-consciousness.
"Are you taking this seriously from the start?" Kosho asked with a grin.
"Of course," Kureha said, dropping the bottle. He stripped off his soaked training gear and put on a fresh athletic tank top and shorts.
"If I don't give Ren-kun everything I have in the first ten seconds... I suspect the match will be decided before I even realize it's started."
Kureha walked out of the room, heading toward the "Blue Dragon" entrance of the pit.
Upstairs, the stands were packed. The announcer's voice roared over the sound of the crowd.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE DOCTOR IS IN!"
"He's a genius of the scalpel, but tonight, he's here to perform a different kind of surgery! Healing or Destruction—it's all in his hands!"
"THE MASTER OF THE SUPER-PHYSIQUE... KUREHA SHINOGI!!"
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