Chapter 370: Inaba Style Assassination Fist
A deserted alleyway shrouded in the dead of night.
Two men squared off in the center of the path, while a third leaned against the
brick wall, watching with glassy, amused eyes.
Zip—!
Clack!
Ren Shiroki held his hands in half-clenched fists, his fingers hooked like
claws. Veins pulsed on the backs of his hands as he rolled his shoulders and
settled into a side-facing stance. He kept his hands slightly above his waist,
his body swaying with a rhythmic, unpredictable looseness.
The crisp beer he had just chugged felt like liquid fire in his veins, pushing
his Jamie Siu-inspired rhythm to its absolute peak.
"Come on. Let me see what you've got!"
Across from him, the petite fighter known as Ryo Inaba had completed his
transformation. He lowered his tiny frame until his chest almost touched the
pavement, his legs splayed wide in a predatory crawl. His arms dangled
naturally, mimicking the posture of a spider.
But his most striking feature was his hair. It was pitch-black and flowed far
past his own height, swaying in heavy, corded locks that reacted to the rhythm
of his breathing and the cool autumn breeze.
"Good. This is exactly what I needed. I'm in a hurry."
A few meters away, Mitsuyo Kureishi watched, his drunken state doing nothing to
dim his technical appreciation of the scene.
"Go for it, boys! Settle this quick before the MPD shows up to ruin the party~!"
He crossed his arms, looking Ryo Inaba up and down.
"It really is a curse. Every time I take Ren-chin out for a drink, we get
attacked by an assassin. I'm starting to feel a tiny bit guilty."
"Then again... I have zero interest in things that don't have bones to break.
That hair of his is a real mood-killer."
[STREET BRAWL] Ren Shiroki vs. Ryo Inaba
Staring at that unnatural mane of black hair, the data banks in Ren's mind
surged. He recognized the man standing before him.
Ryo Inaba. Nicknamed [THE GHOST OF THE BLACK CURSE].
The Inaba Style of Assassination Fist had served the founders of the Penasonic
Zaibatsu—the Urita family—for generations in the shadows of the underworld. Ryo
Inaba, the current head of the style, was no exception.
Since childhood, he had been the personal shadow and bodyguard of the current
CEO, Sukizo Urita. Their bond was unconventional; they were closer to best
friends than master and servant. Urita, believing that "assassination has no
place in the modern era," treated Ryo as an equal.
Yet, Ryo carried the blood of a killer. To him, a fighter only truly exists in
the moment of combat. It was for this reason that he had represented Penasonic
in the original Kengan Tournament, falling only after a brutal war against [THE
ASHURA] Ohma Tokita.
That was the intel Ren had. But something felt "off."
As a personal guard, Ryo was rarely seen without Urita. Why was he wandering the
streets alone? By the dim glow of the streetlamp, Ren noticed Inaba's clothes
were scuffed and dusty, and his joints bore fresh abrasions. He looked like a
man who had just finished a high-speed pursuit or a desperate escape.
Inaba had mentioned he had a "request." But regardless of the circumstances, the
immediate reality was clear: Ryo Inaba wanted to fight.
And Ren Shiroki never turned down a dance.
Seeing Ren's lack of hesitation, Inaba let out a tiny sigh of relief. "Perfect.
I wouldn't be able to trust you with my request if you weren't up to the task."
The next instant—Zip!
Inaba lunged. His small frame moved with terrifying velocity, his hand snapping
out in a knife-edge strike.
But he hadn't counted on one thing: Ren Shiroki, despite weighing 103kg, had a
startup speed that defied physics.
VROOM!
[DRIVE RUSH]!
Ren slid forward in a blur, his hands half-curled. He unleashed a three-hit
Drunken Boxing chain with reckless abandon.
Thud-thud-thud!
The strikes slammed into Inaba's face, chest, and stomach. Blood erupted from
the smaller man's nose, and his lip was split open against his teeth.
"Urgh—!?"
Inaba's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't expected a heavyweight to possess the
twitch-speed of a flyweight, and the weight behind Ren's punches was like being
hit by a sledgehammer.
Zip!
Inaba scrambled back, trying to reset the distance. But Ren had already leaned
into his momentum, closing the gap in a micro-second. He snapped two fingers
forward with surgical precision.
[JAMIE: TENSHIN]!
Snap!
The light flick to the jaw was enough. Inaba's brain rattled within his skull.
Instantly, his vision turned into a warped kaleidoscope of colors, his
equilibrium shattered.
"Ergh...!"
It's over, Inaba thought, bracing himself for the follow-up.
But the blow never came. Ren simply spread his arms, performed a
clumsy 360-degree spin, and collapsed onto his back in the middle of the alley,
looking like a man who had finally succumbed to the alcohol.
"—?"
Inaba stared with wide, bewildered eyes.
Ren lay flat on the pavement, his eyes clear and sharp despite his "drunken"
posture. "Is that enough? Inaba-kun, if we keep going, it won't be 'practice'
anymore."
Inaba realized the intent. He was young and small, but he was the head of an
assassination clan. He had seen as much blood as the Kure.
"No," Inaba said solemnly. "If it ends here, you're just a champion of the
arena. You aren't ready for the kind of 'struggle' I'm dealing with."
With that, Inaba moved.
He whipped his massive mane of hair around, utilizing the narrow walls of the
alley to anchor the strands. His hair expanded in every direction, weaving a
literal web of black silk that blocked off the path.
The scene was bordering on the supernatural. Even Kureishi couldn't help but
applaud. He might be a bone-breaker, but he respected high-level technical
insanity.
"I see! So the rumors about the Inaba Style were true... they really use their
'Hair' as a limb."
"Ren-chin, watch your neck!"
Kureishi grinned, launching into a "Freak" lecture. "Hair is the most resilient
material in the human body. A single strand can support about 150g. The average
human has 100,000 strands. Theoretically, a human scalp can support 15 tons of
weight."
"In 2009, a man in the UK pulled a double-decker bus 20 meters using nothing but
his hair. The Inaba Style takes that to the extreme. From early childhood, they
use specialized chemical baths to reinforce the keratin, resulting in hair that
is stronger than high-tension wire."
"They train for decades to control it at will. They can snare targets from
distance, strike like a whip, and even parry bullets."
Kureishi looked around the confined space. "In an open arena, the Inaba Style is
limited. But in a narrow alleyway? Ryo Inaba is at the absolute top of the food
chain!"
Inaba was ready.
Using the alley's geometry, he had spread his long, iron-tough hair into a
massive "Web" that spanned several times his own height. An eerie, cold killing
intent filled the air. With the hair sprawling across the walls and pavement,
Ryo Inaba no longer looked like a fighter.
He looked like a Human Spider waiting for its prey.
Ren, still on his back, tilted his head. "Nice. That's perfect!"
He performed a perfect kip-up, landing on his feet. He took a step toward Inaba,
reaching out to touch the "web."
The next second—Zip!
Inaba jerked his head. A thick cord of hair whipped around Ren's left wrist,
cinching tight. In an instant, Ren felt the pressure. It didn't feel like hair;
it felt like he had been handcuffed by an iron chain.
"Heh. This is your first time fighting a 'Living Web,' isn't it?"
Inaba gave a low, chilling laugh. "The roles are reversed now. Prepare
yourself—this is going to sting."
Snap!
Inaba exerted a violent yanking force, trying to shred Ren's balance and drag
him face-first into the pavement.
But the moment he pulled, Inaba realized the feedback on the line was "Wrong."
Ren's body stumbled, looking dazed and clumsy. He followed the direction of the
pull, letting his momentum drift forward while maintaining his internal rhythm.
THUD!
Ren's muscles flexed as he rooted his feet into the asphalt. He engaged a [DRIVE
PARRY], becoming an immovable anchor.
He looked at Inaba. "Is that so? You really want to make this a duel to the
death?"
"Fine by me. Fighters like us... we're pretty simple to understand once the
blood starts pumping."
"Let's go, then."
Ren stood side-on. His left ankle was now snared by another coil of hair. He
looked to be in a position of extreme disadvantage, yet he began to radiate a
jagged, ferocious aura.
"Duel start."
Even Inaba, a veteran of the assassination world, felt a chill crawl up his
spine. A bead of cold sweat formed on his brow.
[RELAXATION]!
The muscles in Ren's left arm suddenly went completely slack, offering zero
resistance to the hair's pull.
Then, he punched.
WHISH!
It was a lighting-fast jab, but it carried the torque of his entire redirected
momentum. The force of the strike was so great that the hair coiled around his
wrist snapped like brittle thread. Inaba didn't even have time to react.
"—?!"
He snapped the reinforced keratin like it was nothing?!
Before Inaba could process the feat, Ren was already on top of him. Sensing the
danger, Inaba frantically manipulated another section of his web to snare Ren's
left ankle again.
But this time, Ren didn't resist. He used the pull as a "Surf," jumping off the
ground and letting Inaba's own force accelerate him forward.
Zip!
In a heartbeat, Ren was chest-to-chest with the "Spider."
How is he this fast?! Inaba realized too late—it was the Footwork.
Inaba tried to retreat, but there was no time.
Ren's right arm swung in a massive arc. His palm slammed into Inaba's face,
engulfing it. He took total command of the smaller man's center of gravity and
drove him backward toward the wall.
"HAH—!"
☆☆☆
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