Chapter 293: Mid-Summer Afternoon
Truly, when he stopped to think about it, this was a life of absolute luxury.
A lavish banquet hosted by the legendary Kure Clan, held at the Patriarch's own
estate, with the old man himself telling everyone to eat and drink as they
pleased.
The guest list was staggering. There were the Kure Clan's elite combat units,
the village children, a Master of Kenpo holding the title of "Kaioh," the most
famous pro-wrestling stable in Japan, and the MPD's finest Judo practitioners.
Oh, and one shouldn't forget the Himalayan "God of Destruction," Haruo Kono,
alongside two CEOs of the Kengan Association—Akio Kono of NENTEN and Gen Shikano
of Gandai.
The group was packed into the estate's massive dining hall, a rowdy, vibrant sea
of legends chatting and laughing.
"..."
This lineup far exceeded the scale of any standard festival; it was a gathering
of titans. Though it was only noon, almost everyone present was a high-level
combatant. Their metabolic rates were off the charts, meaning they could pack
away an unthinkable amount of food.
Sushi, BBQ, Sukiyaki, massive "Pro-Wrestling Style" portions of spicy curry, and
the Kure Clan's traditional handmade sweets.
"Mm! This is incredible~!"
Ren Shiroki sat cross-legged at a long table, digging into his favorite dessert:
Chestnut Yokan (sweet bean jelly). He leaned back, savoring the rich flavor and
silently praising the Kure family's culinary skills.
According to Master Ryu, a fighter's energy consumption is immense, which is why
many of the world's greatest warriors have a massive sweet tooth. Chestnut Yokan
was Ryu's personal favorite as well—right up there with a good bowl of buckwheat
noodles.
"..."
Fusui Kure sat beside Ren, chewing on a sweet dango skewer. Her black-and-white
eyes scanned Ren from head to toe, checking the status of his bandages.
His injuries weren't severe—mostly surface abrasions from the "Ash Missiles." A
bit of specialized ointment was all he needed.
"The Kure doctors are professionals. I'm good as new," Ren said, flexing his arm
to show her.
The girl's eyes crinkled into异色 (heterochromatic) crescents as she rested her
chin on her hand, admiring the definition of his muscles. "Looking good,
Ren-chin!"
"Right?"
On the other side of the hall, things were a bit noisier.
Jaku Kaioh, looking like a mummy wrapped in medical tape with several fresh
stitches on his brow, was currently trying to offer a toast to Erio Kure.
"Patriarch Kure! Thank you for the hospitality! You're a true veteran of the
martial world. I hope we can coordinate more in the future to properly educate
the younger generation—"
Even with half his face swollen and likely a few cracked ribs, Jaku's tongue was
as hyper-active as ever.
Erio Kure hummed a few polite responses before his patience evaporated. He
grabbed Horiuo Kure by the shoulder and shoved him toward Jaku to act as a
conversational shield.
Horiuo: "..."
Erio retreated to his seat, his "Great-Granddaughter-con" instincts flaring. He
was already counting down the hours until the festival officially started so he
could see Karura again.
Jun Sekibayashi was taking special care of Haruo Kono.
The two sat over double-sized portions of curry, talking about the
"Pro-Wrestling Spirit" and life in the Himalayas. Haruo looked visibly moved,
his eyes tearing up as he listened to the veteran's encouragement.
Meanwhile, their employers—Akio Kono and Gen Shikano—were discussing the "Toyo
Electric" situation.
Akio Kono, remembering how he had nearly been snatched by Hayami's Guardians the
night before, was still sweating. His face was a mask of anxiety.
Gen Shikano, however, remained stoic. As a former fighter and a hardline member
of the Association, he had been wary of Katsumasa Hayami for years.
"President Kono, you'd do well to distance yourself from the Toyo faction,"
Shikano warned in a deep voice. "That man's movements are becoming erratic. If
you stay in his orbit, you'll be swallowed by the darkness."
Akio nodded frantically, silently praying he could survive the coming storm.
"..."
Raian Kure had finished his meal before anyone else. He set down his bowl and
leaned against the window frame to catch the breeze. He had been irritated for a
while, and the sight of everyone "playing family" was making his skin crawl.
"Tch. This 'happy home' crap is making me sick."
Leaving behind a classic "Devil-style" complaint, Raian vaulted out the window
and vanished to handle his own definition of "Work."
After the meal was cleared, it was time for the midday rest. The Patriarch's
estate was sprawling, with plenty of guest rooms to ensure everyone could nap
without being disturbed.
Ren and Fusui were assigned the same suite in a quiet detached wing. They
accepted the arrangement without a word.
Fusui, being a sharpshooter, preferred open, well-ventilated spaces, especially
in the humid heat of a summer afternoon. She chose to sit on the shaded wooden
porch (Engawa) overlooking the garden. The short-haired girl rested her back
against a pillar, her feet touching the lush grass as she enjoyed the breeze.
"Mm!"
Ren stretched his arms over his head, intending to head inside for a proper
sleep.
But then, Fusui turned her head and gave her thigh a playful, rhythmic slap.
Tap-tap—
Seeing Ren's slight hesitation, the girl grinned. "You slept like a baby on my
lap after you beat Katsumi-kun. And in the Dome. Don't act shy now."
Ren realized she was right. He had no reason to refuse. He lay down along the
edge of the porch, resting his head on her lap. He draped a small towel over his
eyes and drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
Hah... phew... hah...
The sound of his steady breathing filled the air.
Fusui hadn't been tired, but in the absolute stillness of the afternoon, the
warmth and the rhythm of his breath proved infectious. She leaned her head
against the pillar and fell into a deep sleep beside him.
The mid-summer sun felt as clear and pure as spring water.
Jun Sekibayashi, unable to sleep, was out in the main courtyard performing
high-volume squats, drenched in sweat.
Elsewhere, the SJPW wrestlers and the MPD Judo Division officers were still
amped up from the morning's matches. The friction between them hadn't entirely
vanished, so they agreed to head back to the Central Plaza octagon for some
unofficial "Technical Exchanges." Since the ring was empty and "Ren-kun wouldn't
mind," they decided to have at it.
Up in his loft, Erio Kure sipped tea and watched the various training sessions
through his window. A playful, predatory smile touched his lips.
"Metsudo Katahara... you old bastard," the Patriarch mused. "The chaos you've
unleashed has made this era more interesting than I could have imagined."
Central Plaza Octagon.
Raian Kure stood barefoot in the center of the ring, his silhouette casting a
long shadow over the sand. He was wearing a grin that was both savage and
blood-soaked—the expression of a man who had finally found a way to "relieve his
boredom."
Before him stood a dozen men. They were the IDEAL hitmen and Toyo Electric
Guardians who had been captured during the night.
There were others in custody, but these twelve were the "hard cases"—the ones
who refused to talk.
The Kure Clan had specialists for interrogation, but Erio had decided these
trash-mobs needed a "lesson" in fear before the formal questioning began.
Naturally, the task fell to Raian.
Raian, having nothing better to do, had them hauled to the octagon. He stood
before them bare-handed. Then, with a mocking laugh, he kicked a crate of
confiscated weapons into the center of the ring: tactical daggers, combat
katanas, and even several handguns.
"Hey, you pieces of garbage. Let's play for your lives."
Raian bared his teeth, radiating a killing intent so thick it felt like physical
heat. Even the Kure guards standing on the perimeter instinctively took a
half-step back.
"Pick your toys. Fight however you want. If you manage to kill me, you're free
to leave. If not... I'm going to bleed you out like pigs!"
His raspy growl dropped into a terrifying snarl.
Raian stepped forward, his eyes locked onto the "stubborn" intruders. "Don't
bore me. Let the slaughter begin!!"
"COME ON, TRASH! DIE!!!"
The afternoon bled into evening.
"Nngh...!"
Ren Shiroki slowly blinked awake, stretching his limbs. It had been the most
restorative sleep he'd had in weeks. He removed the towel from his face and saw
Fusui still dozing beside him, her face peaceful. He stayed there for a few more
minutes, enjoying the quiet.
Before long, the girl stirred. Her black-and-white eyes opened, and she gave him
a sleepy, happy grin.
Ren sat up and vaulted over the railing into the garden. He began a slow,
deliberate series of joint rotations and stretches, exhaling a cloud of
refreshed breath.
"Nice. That's perfect!"
Ren splashed some water on his face and beckoned Fusui. It was time to head out.
At the main gate of the estate, they ran into the "Hell's Angel," Jun
Sekibayashi, who was also heading out, followed by Kugo Kurachi.
"Haha!"
The two giants grinned at each other. They extended their fists in a
synchronized, lateral bump.
BOOM!
The sound of the collision was like a small firecracker. They began to walk
side-by-side toward the Central Plaza.
Along the way, they were spotted by local residents. Word of their upcoming
match had spread like wildfire. A random bystander hoisted a fist and let out a
roar of encouragement. Soon, others joined in.
"SEKIBAYASHI! SEKIBAYASHI! SEKIBAYASHI!" "REN! REN! REN!"
The chants echoed through the streets of Kure Village as the two warriors
approached the ring.
(End of Chapter)
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