Chapter 372: A Will That Transcends the Body
[Koyo Girls' Academy — Classroom]
Clap!
Akemi Soryuin struck her palms together, her face lit with a determined smile.
"Then it's settled! Arisa-chan will handle the interview, and I'll take charge
of the equipment and logistics."
The girls nodded in unison, diving back into the finer details of their school
festival project. Once the meeting adjourned, the group filtered out of the
classroom.
Arisa, Karura, and Hina met up with Marco, who had been waiting outside the
gates. They planned to head to a newly opened dessert shop to celebrate the
start of the semester. As they walked, Arisa tapped out a text to King Rama
XIII, asking if he and Gaolang would be available for a video interview for the
school's boxing club exhibition.
It was a perfectly normal day for a group of high school girls.
However, as they turned into a quiet, sun-drenched alleyway just a few blocks
from the school, their path was blocked by several uninvited guests.
Delinquents.
They fanned out, cutting off the girls' exit, before their leader gestured for
Marco to step forward.
"Wait—me?"
Marco pointed at himself, a look of genuine confusion on his face. He stood
there for a moment, silently counting his opponents.
One, two, three... six in total.
Judging by their uniforms, they were from a rival technical school. They looked
disgruntled, and most were brandishing makeshift weapons—pipes and wooden bats.
They were clearly looking for trouble.
Marco suddenly remembered. Earlier that day in the park, a group of punks had
been harassing some Koyo students on their lunch break. Marco had intervened,
scaring them off without throwing a single punch.
It seemed they had come back to "save face."
"Uh-oh... I'm so scared!" Hina Hongo blinked, her star-shaped pupils shimmering
with a mischievous, mocking light as she assumed a pose of "weak and helpless"
girlhood.
One of the punks—the one with a bandana who had run away earlier—stepped
forward, his face contorted in a sneer.
"You big oaf! You think I'd just roll over? Don't think having big muscles from
some fancy gym means you can look down on us!"
"Don't even think about running! You're going to learn some respect!"
Marco didn't know how to respond. He simply looked up at the sky, his mind
wandering. This annoyed the bandana-wearing punk to no end. He wound up and
slammed a fist directly into Marco's left cheek.
THUD.
Marco didn't move an inch. He didn't even flinch. The punk, however, let out a
yelp of pain, his hand feeling as though he had just punched a boulder.
"Yaaaawn...!"
With the punk's fist still pressed against his face, Marco let out a massive,
bored yawn, a tiny tear pricking the corner of his eye.
He was conflicted. Ren-aniki, Baku-aniki, and Akagi-san had all told him the
same thing: If you meet an enemy, kick them before they take you down. But Marco
was 100% certain these six guys couldn't take him down even if he stood still
for an hour. So... did he still need to "kick" them?
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The bandana punk landed a few more desperate hits, but all he achieved was
making his own knuckles go numb. Marco remained a literal wall of meat.
"Enough."
A tall delinquent at the back barked the order. He shoved the bandana kid aside
and stepped forward, pulling a sharpened machete from his waistband.
The leader looked at Marco. "Kid, you've got a good face. Great build, too. If
this were a fair fight, you'd probably win. But only an idiot fights fair on the
street."
He leveled the blade at Marco's chest, arching an eyebrow. "I'm actually going
to cut you. Are we clear?"
Marco's inner conflict vanished instantly.
A duel?
"Oh... you want to have a Duel."
Marco's expression flattened. He clenched his massive fists, dropping into a
solid wrestling base. His eyes locked onto the leader. "Marco understands. Let's
have a Duel!"
In that heartbeat, the atmosphere in the alley turned glacial. The six
delinquents simultaneously felt a shiver run down their spines.
"—?!"
Delinquents survive on a specific instinct—the ability to instantly gauge the
lethality of an opponent. It's a survival trait shared with wild animals. Right
now, every one of them sensed that the "Giant Child" in front of them had just
transformed into a live, high-explosive bomb.
"You... you...!"
Overwhelmed by the pressure, the punks resorted to their final trump card. A
short delinquent at the rear pulled a handgun from his jacket, aiming it at
Marco with a shaking hand.
"Shut up and get on your knees!" he screamed, his voice cracking with terror.
Seeing that Marco didn't even blink at the sight of the barrel, his fear turned
to frantic rage. "Are you brain-dead?! I'll kill you!!"
Marco focused his mind, preparing to move.
In the middle of this standoff, the sound of rhythmic, steady footsteps echoed
from a side-path connecting to the alley.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A tall Black man emerged, his skin a deep, rich bronze. He was dressed in a
sleek black tracksuit and appeared to be in the middle of a long-distance run.
Marco and Arisa looked over. The newcomer looked remarkably like Alai Jr., but
older. Much older. He was an elder now; wrinkles mapped his forehead and the
corners of his eyes, and silver highlights streaked his hair.
Yet, his face was full and vibrant, lacking the gauntness usually associated
with age. In terms of raw physique and stamina, he was clearly past his prime
compared to his son, but his presence was something else entirely.
"Hah... hah..."
The senior took deep, controlled breaths as he slowed to a jog, stopping right
in the middle of the confrontation. He looked around, seemingly talking to
himself.
"I visited Tokyo during my active years, but I had to run at night to avoid the
paparazzi. I didn't realize the streets were this lively during the day."
The old man turned to the short delinquent with the gun and offered a calm,
paternal smile. "Hey, boy! You all agreed to a 'Duel', didn't you?"
"In that case, bringing a gun is a serious breach of etiquette."
The old man reached out his hand toward the gunman. "Give me the weapon."
The delinquent stood paralyzed. The senior's expression turned serious. "You can
feel it, can't you? At this distance, that gun is useless against me. If you
don't want to feel my fists, do as I say."
"—"
The senior's gaze held a clean, overwhelming authority. The delinquent's will
buckled; he sheepishly handed over the pistol like a scolded child.
The other punks didn't dare utter a word.
Only the leader, desperate to maintain his dignity, gritted his teeth and turned
to face the newcomer. He tried to summon a threat, but a sudden, terrifying
premonition hit him—a feeling that his head was about to be pulverized by a lead
weight.
"—!!"
The leader froze. Cold sweat poured down his face. He couldn't even lift his
machete.
The senior nodded understandingly. "I see. At least you have a little bit of a
fighter's heart in there."
He raised his hands into a guard. But as he did, everyone saw it—his hands were
trembling. It wasn't the tremor of fear, but a physiological, involuntary
shaking.
Is he sick?
The next micro-second—WHISH!
The old man fired a left jab. It moved at a velocity that defied belief, his
fist blurring past the leader's ear. In a flash, several strands of the punk's
hair were severed by the sheer air pressure, drifting to the ground in the wake
of the punch.
The leader didn't even see it happen.
The senior's expression hardened. He unleashed a high-speed barrage.
Whish-whish-whish-whish!
Unlike his trembling guard, his punches were surgical and lightning-fast. They
blurred around the punk's head, coming within millimeters of his skin without
leaving a scratch. The hand speed was at the absolute limit of human perception;
the punks could only see the "afterimage" of a hundred fists.
"AAAH... GAH!!"
The leader could feel the violent gusts of wind generated by the strikes. Each
one felt heavy enough to shatter his skull. The terror accumulated until his
spirit broke. His machete hit the pavement with a clang, and a dark stain spread
across the front of his pants.
"I-I'm sorry! We're sorry!!"
He spun around and sprinted for his life. The rest of the gang followed suit,
fleeing the alley in a blind panic.
With the delinquents gone, the senior leaned forward, bracing his hands on his
knees. He panted heavily, sweat dripping from his brow.
It was clear that the sudden explosion of "Flash Paws" had drained his physical
reserves. But neither the fleeing punks nor the girls watching would ever
question this man's "Strength."
Marco's eyes were wide. "Old man... you're incredible! Your will is so strong
it's actually breaking your body!"
The senior looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he smiled.
"Phew... thank you. That's a very high compliment."
He stood up straight as more footsteps echoed from the mouth of the alley. Four
or five powerfully built men in suits—clearly foreign bodyguards with high-end
comms—rushed in.
"Sir! Please, don't wander off like that. It's too dangerous," the lead guard
said, his face slick with sweat.
The senior looked satisfied. "It's fine. I told you to stay back. If I couldn't
handle a few street punks, then my recovery training would be a waste of time."
The guards could only remain silent, their faces pale with relief.
The old man turned to Marco and the girls. "Hello there. Forgive me, I haven't
introduced myself, have I?"
Marco nodded earnestly. The girls, however, remained speechless. They were all
part of the combat world. While it took a second to register, there was no way
they wouldn't recognize him now.
"Do you... really need an introduction?" Karura whispered, nodding respectfully.
"If my Grandpa were here, I think even he would insist on shaking your hand."
Karura was certain of it. There were very few men in this world Erioh Kure would
show genuine reverence for. This man was one of them.
He was one of the greatest athletes of the 20th century, the undisputed [GOD OF
BOXING]—Mohammad Alai.
The man himself!
The legendary father of Alai Jr., a man battling advanced Parkinson's disease,
was out on the streets of Tokyo doing cardio training?!
Alai shrugged, looking at the guard. "I came to see the 'Ogre' and check on my
son. I had to do some kind of warm-up..."
Alai handed the confiscated handgun to his guard and prepared to continue his
run.
But then, a car pulled up at the end of the alley. Two Thai men stepped out. One
was in casual wear—King Rama XIII. The other, in a sharp suit, was [THE GOD OF
WAR] Gaolang Wongsawat.
They had come to meet the girls after receiving Arisa's text. And there, they
saw him.
"—?!"
Even Rama XIII's eyes widened in shock. "This is... a truly indescribable
'coincidence'."
Old Alai didn't know the King, but he recognized the man beside him instantly. A
reigning heavyweight boxing champion who appeared on every sports broadcast and
newspaper. From Gaolang's presence, Rama's identity became obvious.
"A pleasure."
Alai shook hands with the King. Then, he turned to Gaolang, their hands locking
for a long, silent moment.
Two "Kings" of different eras were feeling each other's touch—the power, the
temperature, and the weight of each other's will.
Rama chuckled. "If a photo of this handshake were to get out, it would be the
front page of every paper tomorrow."
"That would be a shame," Alai mused. "The attention is exhausting."
Gaolang arched an eyebrow. "I agree."
Rama loved a good time. "Still, to part ways so soon would be a waste, wouldn't
it?"
"In that case—" Arisa chimed in. "How about we all go grab a coffee?"
While the girls' side was getting rowdy, the atmosphere inside the Soul Combat
Hub was much more serious.
Ren Shiroki had gathered his friends to investigate the "Secret Key Card" Ryo
Inaba had left behind.
The first to arrive was Akira Nishihinji, CEO of Nishihinji Security and Cosmo
Imai's employer. He was a childhood friend of Sukizo Urita (Penasonic CEO); he
and Inaba had grown up together.
Accompanying Nishihinji was Heihachi Furumi (Furumi Pharmaceuticals) and his
fighter, Takeshi Wakatsuki—[THE WILD TIGER].
The four of them quickly shared their intel. First, the key card Ren held wasn't
unique—Furumi Pharmaceuticals had received an identical one, though with a
different encryption code. It was currently being held by Wakatsuki for
safekeeping.
Second—
Akira Nishihinji's face turned grim. "I've been trying all day. I can't reach
Sukizo or Inaba-kun. They've both vanished."
☆☆☆
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