Chapter 322: The Understanding of Fists and Feet
"Hiss... haaa...!"
Raian Kure exhaled a cloud of hot steam. His voice no longer sounded human, but
like a predator driven to the edge of madness. Veins throbbed across his entire
body, and red streaks saturated the pitch-black sclera of his eyes. His pupils
radiated a cold, lethal light as he locked onto Ren Shiroki.
The spectators stared in awe.
"Ren Shiroki moved?!" "He stood up! He actually tanked that monstrous soccer
kick!" "His defensive timing is flawless!!"
Among the crowd, the true masters were re-evaluating the scene. Gouki Shibukawa,
the [Saint of War], adjusted his glasses, mentally replaying Ren's movement.
Was it a technical block? No. It wasn't something as "complex" as that.
Ren Shiroki wiped a smudge of blood from his lip and spat a crimson clot into
the sand. He looked at Raian.
"Your movements are so beautiful that I couldn't help but take a few extra hits
just to feel them. Truly... what a magnificent set of 'Techniques' you have."
Raian's brow furrowed. His black eyes widened in a mix of confusion and
irritation. He had been using raw, unrefined violence—zero "Waza." He couldn't
understand why this brat was calling it technical.
Ren squinted, feeling the warm summer breeze against his bruised skin. "Even
when it's fueled by pure savagery... the movement of a fist or a foot is a
technique. It has form. It has intent."
"..."
The crowd was bewildered by the statement. Shibukawa, however, let out a slow,
knowing cackle.
"Hahaha! I see. So that's how he's looking at it!"
The Master leaned forward, his voice dropping into a serious bass. "Ren-kun has
said it multiple times: raw power is a 'Technique.' And he claims to have 'seen
through' Raian's movements."
"The true meaning of that statement comes from Ren-kun's fundamental
understanding of... Combat!!"
Raian deactivated his [REMOVAL], choosing to conserve his stamina for the main
event.
Ren, in response, relaxed his posture. He didn't look like he was preparing to
attack; instead, he stood in the center of the ring and began to demonstrate the
logic behind his words.
He stood bladed. His right arm was tucked tight against his ribs, his fist near
his jaw. His left forearm was held low near his waist, his lead shoulder raised
slightly in a high-alert defensive posture. It was a compact, rock-solid stance.
The foundation of Master Ryu's Karate!
Ren stared ahead and fired a rapid-fire left jab.
Zip!
Immediately, he drove off his left foot, his right leg snapping into a low-level
scan-kick. The movement was light, agile, and efficient.
He didn't stop. He twisted his core, his lead shoulder providing the torque for
a horizontal left hook.
WHAM!
The range was tight, but the power behind the rotation was significantly higher
than the jab.
Finally, Ren pulled his right arm back to his hip and drove it forward, his
knuckles tracking through the empty air and creating a localized gust of wind.
FWOOSH!
He had fired his heaviest punch. Ren retracted the fist, pivoted on his left
foot, and performed a mid-air rotation, his right heel carving a high arc.
It was a perfect, technical execution. Even a layman found the sequence
aesthetically pleasing. To the martial artists in the stands, it was a display
of impeccable fundamentals.
"Is he performing a Kata?" "But those are just basic punches and kicks. There's
no specific 'Style' attached." "Something feels different about them..."
Ren accelerated. From a crouch to a vertical leap, he fired off a barrage of
strikes with varying levels of torque. Each movement was distinct, yet flowed
into the next.
"One day, a person decides they want to know 'What is Strength'," Ren mused. "So
they start walking. They start practicing. They start dueling others."
"They use violence. They use technical finesse. They use secret arts. They use
psychological traps."
"But at the end of the day... the goal is the same: to answer that one
question."
ZIP!
Ren threw a punch, feeling the air slide across his skin.
"Whether you use raw brutality or refined technicality... to me, it's all the
same. It all originates from the same source: the Human Consciousness!"
"The only thing that constitutes 'Existence' is that Will. Everything
else—muscles, bones, styles—is just a derivative!"
The bold declaration left the audience in a stunned silence. A few of the
top-tier masters shook their heads; while they didn't necessarily agree with the
philosophy, they couldn't find a reason to argue against the conviction in the
youth's voice.
"Maybe it's because I've been blessed with so many amazing Masters," Ren
laughed. "But at some point, I realized that even if the movements are
identical, if the 'Person' behind them is different, the combat itself is
fundamentally changed."
"And it's not just a matter of 'observing the details'!"
The heartbeat after the sentence finished—CLACK!
Ren dropped his arms. He bunched his fingers into half-closed claws, his
knuckles letting out a rhythmic pop. He adopted a swaying, "teacup" grip, his
posture becoming loose and unpredictable.
"What now?!" the announcer shrieked. "Ren Shiroki has shifted gears! Is he going
to use Drunken Boxing?!"
Zip-shash-shash!
Ren shifted his weight, his body swaying to a beat only he could hear. His feet
traced jagged, graceful lines in the sand.
But he wasn't finished.
THUD!
Ren suddenly anchored his heels. The "drunkenness" evaporated instantly. He
pointed a defiant finger at Raian and began rotating his right shoulder. It was
a blatant taunt.
He spread his arms wide and dropped his center of gravity into a low, arched
crouch.
Sekibayashi arched an eyebrow. "Oho? Pro-Wrestling? No... that's a pure
WRESTLING foundation!"
The younger Jose Kanzaki stared with wide eyes. "The 'State' shifted again—?!"
Ren pursed his lips, continuing his technical display. He looked focused and
light-hearted.
"My Masters told me not to just mimic them... but I can't help it. They're just
so damn cool!"
ZIP!
Ren performed a lateral roll toward the barricade. He popped up and pointed
toward the crowd with a flashy grin, a move completely separate from the
wrestling style of a second ago.
That was Rashid's signature entrance!
The next second, Ren was stationary again. He stared straight ahead as if a
massive training post stood before him.
He swung his right arm in a horizontal arc. A phantom BOOM seemed to echo as he
"pulverized" the imaginary target. He raised his arms, his lead foot tapping the
sand as he dropped into a high-guard Muay Thai stance.
Erio Kure's eyes narrowed. "That's Muay Thai... and the proficiency is elite."
CLAP!
Ren slammed his palms together. He raised his hands, mimicking a "pistol"
gesture with his fingers and firing off several phantom "pew-pew" shots at Raian
before resetting his guard once more.
He kept his arms raised, but his elbows were high and flared. The posture lacked
raw mass but was vibrating with technical mobility.
Jaku Kaioh swallowed hard. "That's the Kickboxing rhythm he used against me! The
one with a thousand feints!"
Bang-bang-bang!
Ren fired a rapid-fire 1-2-3 of hooks. The "vibe" of the impact shifted
again—modern, aggressive, and efficient. This was Luke Sullivan's MMA style.
The audience was dizzy from the constant shifting of archetypes. Technical
Drunken Boxing, heavy-handed Wrestling, disciplined Karate, savage Muay Thai...
Slowly, the Masters realized the truth. No matter how many "Colors" Ren
displayed, the reality was being projected by a single source: Ren Shiroki.
Erio Kure, a man who had survived a thousand battles, let out a soft sigh of
wonder. "To find that perspective at such a young age..."
He realized that what Ren was describing wasn't "Spirituality"—it was a tactical
evolution.
"He has mastered dozens of styles, yet he hasn't been lost in the noise. He has
seen past the 'Labels' to find the fundamental 'Truth' beneath them. No...
that's not right!"
Erio's tone shifted into a look of shock. "It's because he refuses to let go of
any of them! He wants it all! So he forced himself to master the fundamental
logic of human movement just to keep his brain from breaking!"
Gouki Shibukawa nudged his glasses. "From that perspective, Ren-kun isn't a
'Martial Artist' of any one school."
"If we have to label him... he is simply a man who has surrendered his soul to
the Way of Combat!"
Ren finished his technical parade. He was drenched in a thin layer of
comfortable sweat, his mood hitting a new high. He looked over at Raian.
"Once you reach this level of clarity, it doesn't matter if you use 'Violence'
or 'Technique.' To my eyes, they're just different responses to the same
question."
"Because I'm not fighting a 'Kure Art.' I'm fighting YOU!"
Ren bladed his body, resetting into his true foundation. It was a hybrid of
Ryu's focus, Zangief's pressure, and Luke's readiness. His left arm was low, his
right fist guarding his jaw, his fingers slightly splayed and relaxed.
"Fight however you want. It doesn't matter to me—"
Ren dropped his center of gravity, his voice a low, heavy growl.
"Alright. LET'S DECIDE THIS!"
(End of Chapter)
☆☆☆
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