CHAPTER 177: UNSTOPPABLE FOOTSTEPS
Speck's fists were no joke; they were the same ones that had pulverized the
Statue of Liberty.
Even with the "Adaptation" of his Parkour-based combat style, Ren Shiroki's body
was a map of structural failure. He had multiple hairline fractures in his jaw
and forearms. His body was redlining, and he was in no condition to handle a
high-stakes "hotel date" with a daughter of the Kure Clan.
Fusui Kure let out a disappointed sigh, but she was a professional. She tucked
her suppressed 9mm away and drove Ren straight to the Kure-affiliated hospital.
The Next Morning. Early.
Mitsuyo Kureishi had experienced a double-dose of ecstasy the night before.
First, he had indulged his "fetish" in the park, and then he had returned home
to find a quiet, satisfying conclusion to his own evening. He arrived at the
hospital ward today looking positively radiant.
He brought a bag of breakfast sandwiches and a basket of premium fruit to Ren's
room.
After a quick reunion, Kureishi performed a manual check of Ren's skeletal
alignment.
"Perfect. The calcification is already starting. You're made of reinforced
concrete, Ren-kun!"
Satisfied with Ren's progress, the two of them walked over to the neighboring
ward to visit Marco and Cosmo Imai.
The speed of Marco's recovery was terrifying. He was already out of bed,
wandering the room with his inflatable donut around his waist. Cosmo was sitting
up in bed, looking through a martial arts magazine. Their spirits were
remarkably high.
"Nice! Simply perfect!"
Ren offered them a pained grin. He looked at Kureishi, and the two masters
shared a private, satisfied smile.
Kureishi scratched his head, looking a bit sheepish as he addressed the boys.
"Sorry about that, you two. Your opponent... Speck... well, Ren-kun and I
finished him off for you."
Cosmo gave a weary shrug. "It's fine, Sensei. I figured that would happen the
second you walked into the park."
Marco tightened his fists, his expression solemn and focused. "It's okay! Marco
doesn't need revenge! Marco is already ready to fight the Next One!"
Kureishi raised an eyebrow.
"Oi, did you not hear me?" Kureishi explained. "Speck is done. His bones are too
old to knit. He'll never throw another punch in his life."
But Cosmo understood what Marco meant. "No, Sensei. Marco isn't talking about
Speck. He's talking about the Fight itself. He wants the struggle, not the
vengeance."
"Is that so?"
Kureishi smiled, looking at his top student. "And what about you, Cosmo? You
were rubbed into the dirt like a used rag. How do you feel?"
"The same," Cosmo said.
He tightened his own hand, feeling the power returning to his fingers. A rare,
fierce smile crossed his boyish face. "Marco protected me, and because of that,
I'm still here. But facing a monster like that... I didn't feel fear. I felt...
curious."
"I know it sounds weird, but... I actually can't wait to get back out there."
Cosmo fell back against his pillows with a sigh. "I guess I really am a 'Freak'
like you, Sensei."
Seeing that the student and the hub-member had successfully climbed over the
wall of trauma, Ren and Kureishi felt a great weight lift from their shoulders.
They left the two to rest and headed toward the exit.
By chance, they passed a high-security ward guarded by four stone-faced MPD
officers. Inside was the "nearly dead" Speck.
His body was a wreckage. Every major bone in his limbs had been snapped by
Kureishi, and his skull had been cracked by Ren's [APEX] strikes. He was
functionally a vegetable, kept alive by high-grade life support.
Inside the room, a veteran physician was staring at the monitor data, his brow
deeply furrowed.
"How do we explain this?" the doctor whispered to his intern. "When he was
brought in last night, he looked fifty years old. He was a prime biological
specimen."
"But look at him now."
The doctor gestured to Speck's arm. The massive, corded muscle had undergone
visible atrophy in a matter of hours. The skin was becoming paper-thin and
translucent.
"He is aging in real-time. In the last three hours, his biological markers have
shifted from middle-age to terminal senility."
"In fact... I suspect he is actually 97 years old."
The intern gasped. The doctor shook his head, a look of clinical wonder on his
face.
"There is no medical record of such a case. But there is a rumor... a piece of
underworld gossip from 1976."
"A treasure hunter named Jack Lee Beyond finally found the shipwreck he'd been
searching for for thirty years. A British freighter called the St. Klein."
"The haul was historic. Gold, jewels, artifacts—valued at over 700 billion yen.
In the papers the next morning, Beyond was quoted as saying: 'When I saw the
treasure, the excitement was so intense I thought I would climax!'"
The doctor paused.
"The public laughed. They thought it was a crude joke. But fourteen days later,
the joke became a tragedy."
"Jack Lee Beyond died of old age."
"He had looked like a healthy man in his forties. But his death certificate
revealed the truth. His real age was 88. He had stayed young through the sheer,
unyielding Obsession of his quest."
"The moment his wish was fulfilled—the moment he found his treasure—his spirit
relaxed. And his body finally realized how old it was."
The doctor looked at the withered husk of Speck.
"He's still breathing, but his engine is dead. He will likely die of natural
causes by the end of the week. Or he'll be executed by the state."
"Either way... he's satisfied. He found the 'Defeat' he was looking for."
Ren Shiroki stood at the window of the ward door, listening to the doctor's
lecture. He gave the door a light, respectful tap.
Speck didn't respond. He looked like a piece of ancient driftwood.
"Speck is done with the war," Ren whispered.
"But I'm just getting started."
"What is Strength?"
Ren slung his backpack over his shoulder and limped toward the hospital exit.
The morning sun hit his face as he stepped into the fresh air. He thought about
what Cosmo had said and felt a surge of agreement.
We are strange people, Ren thought. Everyone knows what we do is suicidal. But
we can't stop. We won't stop.
As long as the question remained unanswered, he would keep walking. He would
keep swinging.
"Nice! Simply perfect!"
Ren let out a low, vibrant chuckle as he headed back toward the Soul Combat Hub.
"I really want to fight again..."
DEATH-ROW CONVICT: SPECK — DEFEATED. WINNER: [SOUL] REN SHIROKI.
The news was registered by the Kengan Association Referees and rippled through
the participants of the Street Brawl Annihilation within the hour.
Several fighters had already been eliminated in various corners of the city, and
one Kengan veteran had already fallen to a convict. But the defeat of Speck—the
God-Breaker—sent a massive shockwave through the elite circles.
Tokugawa Estate.
Mitsunari Tokugawa and Metsudo Katahara were sitting on a veranda, sipping
high-grade matcha. They had just received the report.
"Interesting! Very interesting!" Tokugawa cackled, though he looked a bit
pouted. "I'm thrilled the kid won, but I'm devastated I didn't see it live!"
Metsudo fanned himself with a silk fan, a wolfish grin on his face. "That's the
beauty of 'Real Combat,' Tokugawa-kun. It's sudden. It's messy. It's a gift from
Destiny."
Tokugawa's eyes sparkled with a new scheme. "Well, if the 'Unexpected' is so
much fun... why don't we force a few more 'Encounters'?"
"We'll gather the most interesting survivors in one district. They won't be able
to resist each other."
Metsudo gave a sharp, satisfied nod. "Hoo-hoo... exactly. I like the way you
think, Old Man."
Tokugawa grinned, his eyes glowing with a manic fire.
"Hee-hee! Tokyo is about to get very, very Loud!"
☆☆☆
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