CHAPTER 162: THE UNINVITED GUEST
In the Underground Arena of the Tokyo Dome, there are no walls to scale.
Even in the casual matches of the Kengan Association, fighters rarely utilize
the terrain beyond pinning an opponent into a corner. They fight in boxes. They
fight in cages.
But a Street Brawl is different.
This doesn't mean a warrior should rely on weapons or external tools—for Ren
Shiroki, that would be a betrayal of the "Might." The key was to widen the lens
of his own perception. He had to stop seeing the "Ring" and start seeing the
"World."
In the ink-wash fog of Ren's mind, a new Master manifested.
He didn't have the grounded weight of Ryu or the boulder-like mass of Zangief.
He moved like a leaf in a hurricane—agile, unpredictable, and weightless.
Are you studying my frame data? Haha! Looking good, kid!
{Not bad at all! Keep that momentum going!}
{But listen up. My moves aren't just for the ring. They're built on the logic of
Parkour.}
The phantom blurred, vaulting over invisible obstacles.
{The city I grew up in was a maze of clay-brick houses and winding alleys. If
you don't learn how to run along the walls and dance on the rooftops, you never
get anywhere.}
{Sounds like a game, right? But the ' Might' was born from the need to survive
and protect. Don't be so rigid!}
{Be lighter! Be faster! Enjoy the wind!}
Ren stood on the balls of his feet, his heart rate stabilizing as he replayed
the sensation of the wall-kick in his mind. The "Flavor" of the street was
starting to sink in.
"You really work hard at your training, Ren-kun," Mitsuyo Kureishi noted,
strolling over.
His own opponent was currently a human pretzel, so Kureha's focus shifted to the
man in the beanie—Akuhujio.
"Yo~!"
Kureishi grabbed Akuhujio by the collar and slammed him against the brick wall.
With his other hand, he caught the man's index finger.
CRACK.
A sharp, dry snap echoed through the alley. The agony was enough to jolt
Akuhujio out of his blackout.
"WAAAAAGGH!"
The hitman screamed, his eyes bulging. Before he could beg for mercy, Kureishi
dragged him to the corner and pointed at his partner, the Mummy.
The Bandaged Man was a ruin. Every limb was broken, his ribs were crushed, and
his jaw was hanging by a thread of skin.
"E-eep...!"
Akuhujio broke. Cold sweat poured down his face, his bladder failing him. "Okay!
Stop! I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"
Kureishi dropped him into the dirt. "Threat over. So... who signed the check?"
Akuhujio clutched his broken finger, his voice a frantic whisper.
"It was Katsumasa Hayami! The Chairman of Toyo Electric!"
Desperate to stay alive, he began a total data-dump. "He's the man closest to
taking the Kengan Chairmanship! He hired a dozens of us to probe the other
fighters. There's a massive bounty for every 'Ace' we dismantle before the
official rounds begin—"
Akuhujio stopped, looking at Ren and Kureishi. He was looking for a
reaction—fear, anger, concern.
But they both looked... bored.
Ren was scratching his cheek. Kureishi was looking for a cigarette. It was a
look that asked: "Is that all?"
Akuhujio couldn't understand it. Katsumasa Hayami was a titan of industry. To
oppose him was to invite the wrath of a multi-billion yen empire. Didn't they
want to know who Hayami's star fighter was? Didn't they want the tactical map?
In that heartbeat, Akuhujio felt a chill of pure, existential dread.
As a professional "Shadow Contractor," he realized he was facing a breed of
human he couldn't calculate. These two didn't care about the board. They didn't
care about the money or the politics.
They only cared about the "Snap" and the "Struggle."
CRACK.
As a final penalty for wasting his time with corporate names, Kureishi snapped
Akuhujio's arm at the elbow and dislocated his shoulder for good measure.
"Haha! I told you once the match starts, the fun never stops!"
Kureishi stood up, looking at Ren. "Ren-kun, who are you calling?"
"Ichika-san. She's at the station. Someone needs to haul these two to the
hospital, and I don't want to deal with the paperwork."
Ren dialed the number.
Ring... ring...
"Oi. This is the 'Detective who is currently dying of overwork' speaking. Who
the hell is this?"
Ichika Iori sounded like she was at her breaking point. The stress of the
"Street Brawl" was taking a visible toll on her voice.
"Ah, Ren-kun. If I drop dead, make sure my funeral has high-end catering. What
do you want?"
Ren gave her a brief summary of the alley fight.
Ichika sighed. "Fine. I'll send a cleanup crew. Honestly, adding two more bodies
to the count tonight isn't a big deal. The city is a mess anyway."
"Mess?"
Kureishi leaned into the phone's mic, his eyes sparkling. "Yo, Ichika-chan! What
kind of mess?"
"Kureishi-senpai? You're drinking with Ren-kun?"
Ichika groaned. She switched to a video call, her dark circles looking like
bruises on her tired face. She held up a folder to the camera.
"You recognize this face, right?"
It was a mugshot of a massive, bald Westerner with a manic, gap-toothed grin. He
looked about fifty years old, radiating an aura of prehistoric malice.
Ren and Kureishi both nodded. Speck. One of the five convicts from the
Synchronicity.
"This bastard was 'arrested' earlier for assaulting a patrol officer," Ichika
explained.
"I say 'arrested,' but the truth is he just decided he didn't want to find a
hotel. He's been treating our holding cells like a private suite. He eats our
food, sleeps on our cots, and laughs at us."
"Tonight... he vanished. He literally walked through the cell bars. It's an
absolute humiliation for the department, but we can't stop him."
"The guy is a Monster, Ren-kun."
Ichika flipped to two more photos. The first showed a reinforced concrete wall
with a massive, jagged crater in the center. It looked like it had been hit by a
wrecking ball. The second showed a police cruiser that had been reduced to a
cube of scrap metal. The engine had been pulverized.
"He did both of these," Ichika whispered. "With his bare hands."
"The Kengan Match is the least of my worries. These convicts... they're
'Geniuses of Slaughter.' They have zero losses. They're in Tokyo to find someone
strong enough to kill them."
"Ren-kun, Senpai... you two can take care of yourselves. But watch out for your
families. These guys don't play by the rules."
Ren and Kureishi nodded, promising to stay vigilant, and departed before the
patrol cars arrived.
Ren rubbed his chin as they walked. Ichika was right. While Kengan fighters
fought for pride or profit, these five were "Unstable Elements." And according
to his memories, Speck was the most volatile of the bunch.
"Arisa is staying at the Kure estate tonight," Ren noted. "Marco and Karura are
with her. Great-Grandpa Erioh is there, too. She's safe."
Ren looked at Kureishi. "What about your place? Your Dojo is a static target."
Kureishi waved a hand. "I'm the only one who lives there. Cosmo stays over
sometimes, but no civilians are involved."
"Hah! You sure about your student?" Ren teased.
"I told you," Kureishi grinned. "Cosmo chose the path. I'm not his guardian.
He's a 'Genius' in his own right. Don't underestimate him!"
Meanwhile. The Kureishi Dojo.
It was deep into the night, but the lights in the main training hall were still
blazing. Two figures were locked in a grapple: Cosmo Imai and Marco.
They had formed a pact to spar regularly to test their progress. This was the
final round of the night.
ZIP! BOOM!
Marco lunged with a heavy straight. Cosmo slipped the strike and dove for the
giant's back, his arms reaching for a rear-naked choke. But Marco's biological
instincts were sharpening.
He didn't panic. He tilted his head back and delivered a sharp headbutt to
Cosmo's face.
BAM!
Cosmo took the hit but used the contact to launch a kick into Marco's ribs. Both
men skidded back, gasping for air.
"Hah... huff..." Cosmo's eyes were glowing. "You've improved so much, Marco!"
Marco's expression was innocent and bashful. "Thanks for the practice,
Cosmo-kun!"
Marco wiped his sweat, put on his Hawaiian shirt, and prepared to leave. He
wanted to head back to the Hub for a shower and a late-night snack.
Once Marco was gone, Cosmo began to tidy up the mats. He was looking forward to
a hot shower and a deep sleep.
DING-DONG.
The dojo's doorbell echoed through the empty hall.
"Hmm? Did Marco forget his inflatable donut again?"
Cosmo walked to the front entrance and slid the door open.
It wasn't Marco.
Standing on the porch was a massive man in a tattered black tracksuit. He had a
smooth bald head and a wide, unsettling smile.
He was Colossal.
He stood at least 230cm (7'6") tall, his frame so wide he completely blocked the
streetlight. Even through the tracksuit, his muscles looked like they were made
of corded iron.
"Hmm. Pardon the intrusion~"
The man squeezed his way through the doorway, looking around the dojo with a
look of predatory curiosity. He carried a ragged woven bag in one hand.
"I figured people would be home this late. So I came to visit."
"Hmm... is it just you here, little boy?"
The death-row convict—SPECK—had arrived!
☆☆☆
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