Chapter 274: Change of Hands
The Clinch—
As the name implies, it is the art of seizing the opponent's neck or skull. By
violently shaking the head, a fighter destroys the opponent's center of gravity,
setting them up for a devastating knee strike or a follow-through throw. This
was a textbook Muay Thai maneuver, executed with blinding speed. Once locked in,
even a giant like Dorian had found it impossible to breach.
But against Gouki Shibukawa—a 155cm "bag of bones"—the physics of the clinch
failed to follow the manual.
"HYAH!"
Ren Shiroki twisted his core, his hips snapping with explosive torque as he
attempted to jerk Shibukawa's head.
The old master didn't even raise his hands to defend. His expression remained
serene as he read the "Flow of Force" entering his cheeks from Ren's palms.
Forward, back, left, right, up, down, diagonal—
No matter which vector Ren applied, Shibukawa responded a microsecond ahead of
the impulse. He wasn't resisting the force; he was flowing with it, his body
twisting in perfect harmony with Ren's movements.
Swish! Zip! Whirl—!
The two wobbled across the sand, stumbling and shifting in a bizarre, rhythmic
dance. To the observers, the scene looked almost comical—a tall youth and a tiny
old man locked in a staggering embrace.
With every failed attempt to destabilize him, Shibukawa let out a playful,
taunting chuckle. "Heh~! Oho! Too slow! Hahaha—!"
Ren's temper flared. He decided to stop overthinking the redirection and rely on
raw execution.
"I've got you locked in!"
He abandoned the attempt to shake the Master's head. Relying on his hands only
to fix the target in space, he snapped his right knee upward, aiming straight
for Shibukawa's face.
[SAGAT'S TIGER HANG]!
Zip!
The knee strike was an inch from impact when Shibukawa's eyes suddenly widened.
He let out a sharp roar: "You little brat... I've got YOU!"
The old man stepped forward into the strike, his waist dropping as he lowered
his center of gravity. Simultaneously, his hands snapped upward, his palms
pressing against the underside of Ren's forearms. Using Ren's own rising
momentum as a fulcrum, he heaved upward.
WHOOSH!
Ren, who was balanced on a single leg for the knee strike, was suddenly
weightless. Shibukawa launched him into the air, his entire 101kg frame spinning
counter-clockwise like a propeller.
"—?!"
Ren gasped, sensing the impending face-plant. He triggered his [PARKOUR]
instincts mid-air, his legs kicking out at the empty sky to adjust his center of
mass and rotate his torso.
Tap!
Ren performed a mid-air twist and touched down on the balls of his feet. He
stumbled several paces, narrowly avoiding a fall, and came to a stop behind
Shibukawa.
Shibukawa remained in his follow-through posture, his arms tucked low, his fists
clenched. He stood like the kanji for "Stability" personified, his breathing as
calm as a mountain lake.
Even so, the Master had his back turned.
It was the ultimate opening for a counter-attack!
But to the shock of the crowd, Ren didn't move. He let out a weary, frustrated
click of his tongue and began walking toward the edge of the ring.
"I'm done! I quit!"
Ren spat a mouthful of blood and called out to the girl by the barricade.
"Fusui! Got any lunch recommendations? What are we doing this afternoon?"
"—?"
Fusui Kure blinked, unable to process the sudden surrender. Beside her, Sonoda
looked equally bewildered. "Why stop now? You were just about to take his back!"
"Look for yourselves!"
Ren pointed to his own eyes. The vibration in his pupils was only just
subsiding, and the red veins hadn't faded. It was the "After-image" of the
[ENGINE].
"I almost got launched into orbit. I had to use the [ENGINE] to cheat my way out
of that throw, and... well, this happened—"
Ren lifted his left hand.
The crowd let out a collective gasp.
Ren's left hand hung limp and useless. His wrist was twisted at a grotesque,
unnatural angle. It had been cleanly dislocated.
Ren pouted. "We said we were just 'Playing,' but I was the first one to use a
'Cheat Code.' What a waste."
"—?!"
Sonoda stared at the mangled wrist. After a long silence, he managed to stammer,
"Doesn't... doesn't that hurt?"
Ren gritted his teeth, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. "Of course it hurts like
hell!!"
Before Sonoda could react, a second cry of agony echoed through the plaza.
"WAAAAAH!"
The scream came from Shibukawa!
Is the Master hurt too?!
The onlookers scrambled to see. Shibukawa was standing with his hands cupped
together, staring down at his expensive tortoiseshell glasses.
One of the frames had snapped.
Likely, during the moment he had upended Ren, the youth's frantic grip on the
Master's head had exerted too much lateral pressure on the fragile, natural
material of the frames.
Shibukawa turned back to Ren, his face scrunched in a pout of his own. "Brat!
These were a custom limited-run! You can't buy these with money anymore!"
"..."
The masters and students stared at each other, the silence stretching on. The
high-tension combat energy evaporated, replaced by a cool summer breeze blowing
across the octagon.
The construction crew went back to their break, and the police units began to
relax. The "Game" between the youth and the legend was officially over.
CRACK!
Shibukawa seized Ren's wrist. With a single, expert flick, he snapped the joint
back into its socket. Ren's arm returned to its normal alignment instantly.
Ren flexed his hand, testing the grip. The relief was immediate. "Thanks,
Shibukawa-sensei."
Shibukawa tucked the broken glasses into his gi, looking uncharacteristically
gloomy. He was clearly milking the moment to tease Ren.
Ren: "..."
Sonoda stepped forward, trying to salvage the social situation. "Gentlemen...
truly a magnificent display—no, I mean, a wonderful game!"
Ren Shiroki, however, leaned his head on Fusui's shoulder and looked dejected.
"Forget 'Magnificent,' Sonoda-aniki. I didn't even get a glimpse of the 'Saint
of War's' true power!"
Sonoda blinked in confusion, but Shibukawa burst into a high-pitched giggle.
"Hahaha! Win or lose, a game is a game. But me? I just... really don't like
losing to anyone~!"
Shibukawa narrowed his eyes, grinning. "So, sorry about that, Ren-kun! I had to
make you look a bit silly in front of your girlfriend~!"
"..."
Ren let out a long, refreshed sigh. "Shibukawa-sensei... you really are a kind
old man."
Shibukawa looked a bit embarrassed by the sincere compliment. Sonoda was just
lost—he couldn't see the kindness in having one's wrist dislocated.
"Because," Ren explained, his voice leisurely, "even if I had lost just now, if
I asked for another round right this second, you wouldn't say no."
"You don't care about the previous score. If I want to fight, you fight."
"You'd find a hundred new ways to flatten me, launch me into the sky, and
eventually stomp me into the dirt." Ren's eyes sparkled with a faint glint. "A
senior who spoils his juniors with that much violence? That's the definition of
'Kind' in my book!"
The logic made Sonoda break into a cold sweat.
Shibukawa arched an eyebrow and laughed. "Heh... hehe! Well, those are the rules
of 'Our World', aren't they?!"
"And that's why it's fun!" Ren nodded. "Whether it's now, or tomorrow... or the
day after that... or the day after that—"
Shibukawa had been listening with a smile, but his expression gradually
stiffened. A bead of sweat appeared on his brow, and he waved his hands
frantically to stop the youth.
"Stop! Stop right there! Let's not play for a few days. Getting pestered like
that is bad for my health! I have a festival to enjoy!"
The old and the young continued their banter. Sonoda watched, trying to convince
himself that this was a healthy social interaction.
But looking at their eyes, the high-ranking official was struck by a
realization. Despite the fifty-year age gap and the difference in their
features, their gazes were identical—both were incredibly, terrifyingly clear.
In that moment, Mitsuo Sonoda felt a surge of relief that he had chosen the life
of a career cop rather than a martial artist. He knew he would never be able to
look at the world with eyes like those.
Sonoda decided to focus on his strengths: arresting criminals and maintaining
order.
Just then—"Ren! Fusui! And Mr. Cop—no, I mean, Officer! We brought drinks!"
A few Kure members arrived with a crate of sports drinks, handing them out to
the group. Fusui handed a chilled bottle to Sonoda.
Sonoda: "..."
Staring at the drink offered to him by a "Lethal Professional Assassin," the
Official sat in silence for a moment before deciding to ignore the subtext.
Underworld business is for under-worlders, he thought. I'll just enjoy the soda.
"Phew!"
Ren finished his conversation with Shibukawa and stretched, preparing to head
out with Fusui.
But then, Shibukawa seemed to remember something. He reached into his gi and
tossed a small, beautifully crafted metallic item to Ren. It was a high-end
designer lighter.
"A Kure kid gave this to me. He said it was the proof of 'Ownership' for the
ring this year. Whoever holds it on the final night gets to light the grand
fireworks."
Ren looked at the lighter, realizing its significance. It was the "Challenger's
Trophy"—the symbol of the King of the Hill. As the first winner of the day,
Shibukawa had been given the item.
It was a bit rowdy, but fitting for a festival of warriors.
Shibukawa hands on his hips, grinning. "I need to find a place to get my glasses
repaired. You youngsters can play with this toy for a while~!"
Ren hesitated. "But... I lost the match, Sensei."
"Ren-kun... I am the one who decides who holds my things!"
Shibukawa tilted his head, looking perfectly natural. "Take it! If someone has a
problem with it, you can either run away screaming or just beat them until they
agree with you!"
Ren froze, then his eyebrows shot up and he broke into a wide, shark-like grin.
The Ring has a new owner!
(End of Chapter)
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