Chapter 317: I Owe You My Thanks
A martial artist of any caliber possesses the intuition to read an opponent's
"State." For the high-level experts and masters present, that intuition was
currently screaming.
A small segment of the audience realized something chilling: Ren Shiroki's
condition was bordering on the divine.
It wasn't just "good." He was in a state of absolute peak performance, as if he
had spent months in a scientifically monitored training camp. There was not a
single trace of the fatigue or trauma one would expect from a man who had just
fought three consecutive battles against world-class titans.
"How is this even possible?!"
Jaku Kaioh's eyes were nearly bulging.
Fighting isn't just about avoiding injury; even if you don't take a hit, the
sheer mental and spiritual drainage of a high-stakes exchange is enough to
cripple a normal man. Even athletes with multi-million dollar support teams
don't dare engage in back-to-back matches for fear of permanently shortening
their careers.
The underground world is even bloodier. Jaku had watched Ren trade souls with a
Saint and an Angel only hours ago. He couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.
"The Ren Shiroki standing in that ring... he looks like he was just unboxed.
What the hell happened to him?!"
Jaku wasn't the only one. [HELL'S ANGEL] Jun Sekibayashi felt it too.
In the world of Pro-Wrestling, the body is the ultimate medium. Having traded
heavy blows with Ren only a day prior, Sekibayashi had personally "tasted" the
youth's muscular output.
Two days ago, Ren's body was a map of bruises and micro-tears. Now? He had not
only healed, but his muscles had evolved. They looked more supple, more
resilient, and more explosive than ever.
How do you change your entire biology in forty-eight hours?
Even the legendary Erio Kure arched an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.
Gouki Shibukawa adjusted his glasses, his voice dropping into a serious bass.
"The answer... is likely his Consciousness."
The old master had watched Ren's morning shadow-boxing. Comparing him to Baki
Hanma, he had arrived at a relatively logical theory.
"One day, a child learns that the charcoal in a brazier is hot. If a playful
adult touches that child's hand with a pair of cold tongs, the child—expecting
heat—will experience genuine pain. In some extreme psychosomatic cases, a
physical burn scar will actually manifest on the skin."
"That is the power of the 'Image'."
Shibukawa squinted at the ring. "Ren-kun's intense conscious will possesses a
hunger for recovery and strength that borders on the pathological. After the
drills, the battles, and the rest, his brain likely sent a high-voltage command
to his cells to 'Evolve' to match the image of the warrior he wants to be."
"Heh... hehe! A miracle of the mind. That's the only way an old man like me can
explain it!"
Ringside, Fusui Kure had returned to her seat next to Karura and Arisa.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ren Shiroki strolled to the center of the octagon. He stopped directly in front
of Raian Kure. His posture was deceptively relaxed, his arms spread wide as if
to show off his physique.
"Raian-kun, I owe you my thanks!"
Looking closely, one could see that Ren's right wrist—the one Sekibayashi had
"broken" with his reflective defense—was no longer swollen. It looked perfectly
functional, restored to its absolute prime.
"Look. My body couldn't stand the thought of missing this. It forcibly repaired
itself just so I could dance with you!"
"KUKAKAKA!"
Raian let out a jagged, manic laugh. His black-sclera eyes scanned Ren from head
to toe. He didn't answer with words, but his gaze was that of a predator
prepared to consume its prey whole—marrow, bone, and soul.
"And now, for our Finalists!" the announcer's voice boomed.
"187cm, 102kg—The [SOUL COMBATANT], REN SHIROKI!" "VS!" "188cm, 94kg—The
[DEVIL], RAIAN KURE!"
"The grand finale of this year's festival is officially underway!!"
Ren and Raian turned and walked to their respective corners, performing the
final rituals of the ring.
The spectators leaned in.
As Raian walked back to his mark, his grin grew wider, crossing the threshold
into the truly demonic. His facial muscles contorted, and his teeth seemed to
sharpen.
"GRAAAAAAH—!!"
A cloud of steam erupted from his lungs, his throat vibrating with a low,
guttural growl.
This was Raian's first appearance in a formal "Match" in years. The audience
only knew him by his terrifying reputation. But now, seeing him in the flesh,
his silhouette seemed to warp and flicker like a human-shaped forest fire.
Even the veterans of the Tokyo Pit felt a shiver down their spines. Is it
possible for a human to radiate this much killing intent?
In contrast, Ren Shiroki appeared remarkably "Normal." He strolled to his
corner, turned around, and slowly let his expression settle into a look of
absolute, lethal sincerity.
Raian dropped into a low crouch, the veins on his neck throbbing. Red streaks
began to bleed into his black eyes.
"It's a ring, brother," the Devil whispered. "Nothing matters now. Not the
family. Not the logic. Not who lives or dies—"
"What a beautiful sentiment," the Soul Combatant replied with a calm smile.
"You're doing me a hell of a favor, Raian-kun—"
Their voices dropped an octave, the pressure in the octagon turning the air into
thick, pressurized sludge. The announcer was too terrified to step between them.
She stood at the edge of the sand, raising her hand.
"READY!" "FIGHT—!!!"
Both men were bare-chested and barefoot.
The heartbeat the command was given, Raian's calves exploded with power. His
tendons coiled like high-tension springs as he prepared for a high-velocity
dash. He had seen Ren's Drive Rush and intended to meet it with his own raw
physical torque.
Simple trades are boring! Let's see who's faster, kid!
Raian held his breath, waiting for Ren to ignite.
But suddenly, he froze. His black eyes widened. Something was wrong.
Ren Shiroki hadn't lunged.
Ren hadn't even dropped into a guard. He was simply walking forward, his hands
low, as if he were taking a casual stroll through a park.
"—?"
Raian stood paralyzed for a second. He watched Ren close the distance, his mind
unable to categorize the movement. Is he looking for a clinch? A taunt?
Ren reached out with his left hand. He didn't punch. He clamped his palm onto
Raian's cheek in a reverse-grip and yanked it violently toward his own left
flank.
Zip!
Raian's neck was jerked off-axis.
Ren's left leg snapped forward in a lateral sweep, tracking straight for the
inside of Raian's right knee.
At this point, Raian's instincts finally caught up. A close-quarters throw
setup!
[DEE JAY'S STEPPING BEAT]!
What the hell?!
Raian let out a guttural snarl. He drove his lead foot into the sand to anchor
his weight while his left palm slammed upward. He swatted Ren's hand away,
shattering the leverage of the clinch.
"YOU DAMN—"
Raian prepared to curse, but before the words could leave his mouth, Ren
performed a high-speed lateral slide. He entered Raian's dead-zone—the gap the
Devil had left unguarded while breaking the clinch.
Stomp-pivot!
Ren's right elbow snapped upward in a vicious rising arc.
[SAGAT'S TIGER STONE]!
BANG!
The explosive Muay Thai elbow caught Raian flush on the jaw, drawing blood
instantly.
Ren didn't stop. His hands snapped forward, seizing both sides of Raian's head.
He pulled his arms back and delivered a brutal Headbutt.
CRACK!
This wasn't a standard strike to the bridge of the nose. It was a
"Crown-to-Crown" collision. A localized shockwave rippled through both their
skulls. Blood sprayed from both their nostrils.
"Brother... who exactly do you think I am?"
Ren Shiroki bared his teeth in a demonic grin, his bloodshot eyes locked inches
from Raian's.
"Don't go using that 'Bullying the Weak' routine on me. Let's have a real
dance!!"
(End of Chapter)
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