CHAPTER 170: THE ART OF ADAPTATION
The Hillside.
Fusui Kure agreed to provide Motobe Izo with a direct line to her family's
weapons suppliers.
The man was a legendary master of Real Combat Jujutsu; expanding her network
with a titan like him was good for business. Perhaps some of her cousins in the
village would even be interested in learning his "Tactical Grappling"
techniques.
Motobe took a slow drag of his cigarette, his eyes returning to the "War Zone"
below. "That youth... Ren Shiroki. He's clearly holding back his terminal
strike. He's waiting for a reason to use it, isn't he?"
Fusui nodded, remembering the [STRIKE AT THE APEX]. "He's calculating. Speck is
guarded, and Ren-chin is testing the structural integrity of the 'Monster'
before he commits his spirit."
Motobe frowned, his gaze deepening. "But the clock is working against him. Speck
is an engine of attrition. If they stay in a standard exchange, Ren-kun's
biology will fail before the convict's does."
Fusui blinked. "So, he needs to break the stalemate with a 'Variable'?"
"Precisely!"
Motobe chuckled. He enjoyed talking to a specialist who didn't need a lecture.
"This is 'Real Combat.' It is infinitely more dangerous than a dojo with mats
and rules. It exists in the world of shifting geometry and sudden changes."
He flicked his ash. "The winner won't be the one who hits harder. It will be the
one who sees through the opponent's logic and delivers the 'Unexpected.'"
The Amusement Zone.
BAP! BAP! BAM!
Ren Shiroki launched a high-speed three-hit combination, his knuckles slamming
into Speck's face.
[LUKE: TRIPLE IMPACT]!
The punches drew fresh blood from Speck's nose, making his manic grin look even
more demonic.
THUD!
The force of the final blow knocked Speck backward, and he landed on his rear in
the dirt.
Seeing Ren close the distance for a follow-up, Speck scrambled backward like a
panicked animal, his hands and feet kicking up sand.
But in the next microsecond—
"HEI—YA!"
Speck slammed his palms into the pavement and arched his back into a
high-tension bridge. He launched his right leg upward from the ground, his heel
aiming for Ren's skull with the force of a hydraulic piston.
At 230cm, Speck's reach was absurd. From his prone position, his leg covered
nearly three meters of ground.
But to Speck's shock, the "Might" hit nothing but air.
"!?"
Speck jerked his neck up, searching the sky. Ren Shiroki had leaped into the air
the microsecond Speck's weight shifted, perfectly predicting the low-line
counter.
ZIP!
Ren didn't just jump; he plummeted. He tucked his knees and drove his boots
downward toward the giant lying on the deck.
[JAMIE: BREAKIN' STRIKE]!
BOOM!
The double-footed stomp connected squarely with Speck's abdomen. Ren poured his
entire 101kg body weight into the impact, driving Speck's torso an inch into the
concrete.
"WAAAAAGH!"
Speck shrieked, a mixture of saliva and bile erupting from his mouth.
Driven by pure panic, the giant swung a wild, desperate fist to force Ren back,
then rolled away, clutching his stomach.
"Hah... huff... a good hit... a very... hard hit..."
Speck knelt in the dirt, his body trembling as he retched. His eyes were
squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in a mask of intense suffering.
It was an opening that would have ended a Kengan match in seconds.
Ren's foot slammed into the floor.
[DRIVE RUSH]!
He exploded forward, covering the gap in a heartbeat. But halfway through the
lunge, he braked. He stopped five feet from the "suffering" convict.
At that exact heartbeat, Speck—who had looked half-dead a second ago—suddenly
whipped his arm around. He hurled a massive handful of sand and gravel directly
toward Ren's eyes.
But because Ren had stopped short, the debris fell harmlessly in the space
between them.
"Hah!"
Speck let out a dry, hacking cough and stood up, his "Agony" vanishing
instantly. He was perfectly fine.
"You're a flexible one, kid!"
Speck rubbed his stomach and looked around. Ren had disappeared again.
Where is he?!
Speck spun around, his eyes darting through the shadows. "Ren Shiroki! Where are
you hiding?!"
He looked up and spotted a fresh, dark shoe-print on the side of a nearby
streetlight pole.
"!?!"
Ren had used the metal pole as a springboard. He had run up the vertical surface
and was currently descending from the sky.
Behind me!
Speck tried to turn, but a heavy boot slammed into his lower back.
[DRIVE COUNTER: RUSSIAN KICK]!
THOOM!
The impact sent Speck stumbling forward. He couldn't find his balance and
slammed head-first into the concrete base of the light pole.
CLANG!
The metal pole buckled, dented by the giant's skull. Speck's vision swam as the
shockwave rattled his brain. He heard footsteps closing in and swung a blind,
heavy back-fist.
Ren wasn't there.
Ren had performed a low-roll past Speck's flank. As he passed the light pole, he
reached out and grabbed the metal shaft, using it as a pivot to swing his body
around in a high-speed centrifugal arc. He launched a driving knee into Speck's
face.
BAM!
"Guh—!?"
Speck's nose ruptured again. Tears and blood flooded his eyes.
In a blind frenzy, Speck began swinging his massive arms like clubs. CLANG!
CLANG! He hit the light pole several times, leaving twisted metal in the shape
of his knuckles, but Ren remained a ghost.
When Speck finally wiped the blood from his eyes, Ren was sitting atop a high
climbing frame ten feet away.
Ren sat with his legs dangling, looking down at the giant with a calm, taunting
smirk.
"Well?"
Ren beckoned with a hand. "Are you done with the 'Santa Claus' tricks? Or do we
keep playing tag?"
Speck's face turned into a map of jagged, pulsing veins. The humiliation was a
hot iron in his gut. His manic grin returned, but it was now filled with a
genuine, murderous heat.
REEEEE—!
Speck lunged toward a heavy park bench. He caught the iron frame and heaved.
HRAAAGH!
The bench—solid timber bolted to a 250kg concrete base—was uprooted and launched
into the air by Speck's prehistoric strength.
BOOM!
The bench flew toward the climbing frame. Ren back-flipped away, the massive
object crashing into the steel bars where he had been sitting.
Ren hit the sand and reset his center. He didn't retreat. He began a high-speed,
erratic run through the "Amusement Zone."
He vaulted over railings, slid under play-sets, and used the complex geography
of the park to stay a fraction of a second ahead of Speck's reaching hands.
He was playing Parkour.
{You've got it! I'm impressed, Ren!}
The vibrant phantom of Rashid blurred alongside him, vaulting a barrier with
effortless grace.
{Keep the movement fluid! Don't fight the terrain, use it!}
{Wow! My moves really do look stylish in the moonlight!}
{Haha! Perfect! Keep the rhythm light!}
Rashid's teaching style was a constant stream of high-energy encouragement. Ren
found himself absorbing the "Might of the Wind" at an incredible rate.
WHOOSH!
After leading Speck in two wide circles through the park, Ren finally achieved
total synchronization with the environment. He knew every ledge, every pipe, and
every shadow.
TAP.
He suddenly skidded to a halt and spun around to face the charging giant.
Speck roared, grabbing a second iron park bench and swinging it like a oversized
flyswatter.
ZIP!
Ren leaped into the air. He didn't dodge. He launched a high-velocity
thrust-kick directly into the center of the bench.
[RASHID: EAGLE SPIKE]!
CRACK-SHATTER!!!
Ren's heel met the timber. The "Might" of the [ENGINE] converted the impact into
a detonation. The 250kg bench exploded into a cloud of splinters and twisted
iron.
Ren landed lightly on his feet, his arms swaying in a loose, rhythmic guard. His
eyes were glowing with a new understanding.
"I see it now. Parkour isn't just about 'Moving.'"
"It's the Art of Adaptation."
"You don't just adapt to the environment, Speck. You adapt to the War."
☆☆☆
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