Chapter 405: Try Smiling a Bit!
Evening.
Ren Shiroki ran back to the Soul Combat Hub, framed against the burning orange
of the sunset.
He had worked up a satisfying layer of sweat, which he quickly addressed with a
thorough cool-down stretch and a hot shower. By the time he stepped out of the
bathroom, his body felt light and tuned—his condition was absolute peak.
"Phew!"
Ren stepped into the living room, catching the towel Fusui Kure tossed his way.
He began drying his hair as he looked at her.
The short-haired girl was already dressed for the night. She wore a black
tactical ensemble—cargo pants paired with a button-down shirt and a buckled
flight jacket.
"Ren-chin, your clothes are on the sofa~!"
Fusui offered her usual mischievous grin, her black-and-white eyes shimmering.
"We're heading out now. I'll take the bike; the timing is perfect."
Ren nodded. Since the Koyo Girls' Academy was hosting its festival prep, Arisa
and Marco were staying late at a classmate's house. Tonight, it was just Ren and
Fusui.
They were heading to the site of the clash between Mohammad Alai Jr. and Kanoh
Agito.
VROOOOM—!!
The heavy street bike roared through the twilight, heading straight toward a
construction site on the outskirts of the city.
Fusui handled the bike, Ren sitting behind her. Once they cleared the city
limits and the urban noise faded, Ren felt the autumn wind whip past them.
Fusui's short hair fluttered back, and Ren caught the faint, pleasant scent of
her shampoo.
The boy held the girl tight. It was a good feeling—the quiet security of a body
coming down from a day of high-torque training, a warmth that not even the
cooling autumn breeze could steal.
"Nice. That's perfect."
"I like it too!"
The two shared a laugh as they neared their destination.
The area was a residential block currently under development. It was desolate
and quiet—the perfect stage for a Street Brawl. There were no corporate stakes
like a Kengan match, and no roaring crowds like the Pit. It was a pure technical
exchange of lethality.
"Hmm~!"
Fusui swung her arms as they walked, her hand linked with Ren's. "Ren-chin, I
bet you aren't a fan of how quiet these streets are, right?"
Ren bared his teeth in a grin. "Right. The 'Street' is always better when it's
rowdy!"
As they walked, they bumped into two figures standing near the entrance of the
site.
It was the Chairman of the Kengan Association, Metsudo Katahara, and his
daughter Sayaka. They were accompanied by a single elite bodyguard in a black
suit.
The old man was dressed in a traditional kimono and leaned on a cane, wearing a
serene, smiling mask. Sayaka, having no professional duties tonight, was dressed
in a casual hoodie and joggers, her wheat-toned skin and pale-blonde hair giving
her a vibrant, athletic vibe.
Fusui and Sayaka immediately huddled together, chatting and laughing. Ren looked
around the site. "Agito-aniki isn't here? Did he head straight to the center?"
"Ho ho ho! Even I don't know!" Metsudo chuckled. "I told Agito to move freely
tonight. After all, Mohammad Alai Jr. requested a 'Real Fight'."
Ren nodded in understanding.
As they spoke, two more silhouettes emerged from the shadows of the nearby
scaffolding.
It was the Shinogi Brothers.
The elder, Kureha, had a mane of orange-red hair and a hulking, "Super-Physique"
frame. The younger, Kosho, was leaner but equally dense, his dark hair tied
back, his eyes and limbs looking as sharp as surgical steel.
They greeted the group, clearly there for the same reason.
"Haha! Tonight is getting crowded," Kureha laughed, scanning the group. "One,
two... we've got at least seven spectators already. Does it still count as a
'Street Fight' if there's an audience?"
Kosho didn't speak, but a faint, teasing smirk played on his lips.
Ren was about to chime in with his own street philosophy when the sound of
scuffing footsteps echoed from behind them.
"Ha... Hahaha!"
The group turned to see a small old man in a beige trench coat and square-rimmed
glasses—[THE SAINT OF WAR] Gouki Shibukawa.
"The 'Street' includes the city center, not just quiet corners," the old master
cackled. "The only reason we pick quiet spots to settle scores is because we
don't want to be bothered by the local precinct!"
Shibukawa laughed, looking at Kureha. "And besides, we aren't 'Spectators.' We
are simply innocent pedestrians who happened to be passing by on an evening
stroll."
"And if a pedestrian sees something interesting, they're allowed to stop and
watch, aren't they?"
The group was left speechless by the old man's logic. They stepped aside to let
the legendary master join their "walking party" as they moved deeper into the
construction site.
At the corner of the next block, they ran into more "Pedestrians."
It was the Orochi father and son from the Shinshinkai—[THE BUSHIN] Doppo and
[THE FINAL WEAPON] Katsumi.
They had just hopped out of a taxi at the intersection. They had intended to
head straight in, but hearing the laughter of the group, they waited for them to
catch up.
"Pedestrians, huh? You mean 'Voyeurs'!" Doppo squinted his one eye, a
mischievous grin appearing on his face. "Shibukawa-sensei, your ability to twist
logic is getting better with age!"
Shibukawa put his hands on his hips. "If you don't like it, kid, call the cops!"
Half a block further, the final "Passersby" of the night appeared.
Mitsunari Tokugawa and his security detail.
The street was so empty that their voices had carried for several hundred
meters. Tokugawa had heard the banter and decided to insert himself into the
formation.
"This is the magic of Combat!" Tokugawa beamed. "It doesn't matter where or
when—if two powerhouses are about to clash, they will naturally draw in those
who seek the apex."
"The real question is... can tonight's match keep the attention of us
'pedestrians'? Hahaha!"
Tokugawa took the lead. Including the guards, the group now numbered eleven
people. They rounded the corner of a building under construction, drawn by the
"Atmosphere" radiating from the center of the block.
They entered a large, level area of packed sand and dirt where the foundation
for a new skyscraper was being laid. The sky was still a dim twilight, but the
high-powered construction floodlights had been switched on, bathing the area in
a shadowless, artificial white light.
The eleven "passersby" took up positions around the edge of the cleared space,
the cooling evening air ruffling their clothes.
Five minutes passed.
From two different directions, two silhouettes appeared. They walked with the
casual gait of men out for a stroll, finally meeting in the center of the
illuminated sand.
The silence between them was heavy.
One was a massive young man in a black suit. His dense, explosive muscle outline
was visible even through the fabric. He had a sharp pompadour and a cold,
serious face. Height: 201cm. Weight: 128kg. [THE FANG OF METSUDO] Kanoh Agito.
The other was a tall Black man in a loose designer tracksuit. He had thick lips,
bronze skin, and a frame that radiated athletic grace. Height: 190cm.
Weight: 100kg. [THE ALAI STYLE] Mohammad Alai Jr.
Since it was a Street Fight, both were in their daily wear. Naturally, there was
no locker room ceremony.
Agito removed his suit jacket and yanked his tie loose. His pectorals were so
developed they threatened to pop the buttons of his dress shirt, so he simply
removed that as well. He kicked off his shoes, standing barefoot on the sand.
While his trousers were suit-cut, they were made of high-stretch fabric with an
elastic drawstring—they wouldn't hinder his movement.
Alai Jr., meanwhile, was shadowboxing in place. The whish-whish-whish of his
fists was sharp and rhythmic as he shuffled his feet in a series of high-speed
skips.
Alai Jr. glanced at the sidelines, noting the gathered legends.
"Quite a crowd!" he mused. "And every single one is a 'Heavyweight' in their own
right."
Looking at the familiar faces, Alai Jr. offered a confident smile. He raised an
eyebrow at Agito. "Are you getting nervous being watched by all these monsters?"
In professional boxing, the pre-fight taunt was a standard procedure. Alai Jr.
had been raised in that culture and enjoyed the psychological play. He was
trying to plant a seed of doubt, suggesting Agito was about to be humiliated in
front of his peers.
To his surprise, Agito looked at him with an expression of dead-seriousness.
"I am not," Agito replied simply. "It is only a dozen people. I am accustomed to
fighting under the gaze of thousands. There is no issue."
Alai Jr. blinked, his smile wavering. "Hmm..."
He rubbed his chin, looking genuinely puzzled by the literal response. "I see.
Well, it's not a problem for me either, but for you... well..."
He trailed off, leaving the threat hanging.
Agito didn't take the bait. "Is that so? I'm glad to hear it. I would not want
your condition to be compromised by the audience."
"—"
Alai Jr. stood frozen for a second, then covered his face and let out a helpless
laugh. "Man, you are way too serious! Do you ever stop being so stiff?"
The boxer clenched his fists, shifting into a weightless skip.
"Try smiling a bit! You'd be surprised—good things happen when you smile."
☆☆☆
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