Chapter 421: Stepping onto the Streets
[Hospital Tea Room]
"Now, I will never give up!"
Alai Jr. spoke with a solemnity that bordered on a sacred vow. Hearing this,
both Ohma Tokita and Ren Shiroki turned to look at him.
They were initially drawn by the boy's words, but their gazes involuntarily
shifted toward Alai Sr. The legend was currently sitting with his back to his
son to hide his expression. His lips were curled into a wide, toothy grin—he was
clearly fighting back a laugh, but the effort made his skin bunch up into a map
of crafty wrinkles.
He looked like a veteran gambler who had just fleeced a rookie.
Tokugawa squinted at the younger Alai. "Is that so? You still want to face the
Strongest Brat, Baki Hanma? Do you truly possess the courage to trade souls with
that monster?"
Before Alai Jr. could respond, his father cut in.
"No, forget it, Mr. Tokugawa," Alai Sr. said, turning around. The sly smirk was
gone, replaced by a mask of dead-seriousness as he doubled down on the
provocation. "This boy doesn't have that kind of spine."
"He'll probably sit down and calculate some elaborate, logical reason to
decline—a reason no one could possibly criticize. 'I'm too injured,' 'I have a
fever,' or 'The timing isn't right'—there are a thousand ways for a coward to
avoid a frame of combat."
On the other side of the table, Ohma and Ren watched the performance with
technical fascination.
Ohma leaned back, whispering to Ren, "The real Mohammad Alai is way more
interesting than the guys on the news..."
Kazuo Yamashita swallowed hard, his eyes darting between the two. "Haha... I
still respect him, but his 'Parenting Style' feels... aggressive."
Ren nodded. Stripped of his "God of Boxing" halo, Mohammad Alai was, at his
core, a high-level predator. As the founder of the Alai Style, he wanted his son
to go all-in against Baki Hanma. This was the completion of the promise he had
once made to the Ogre.
Alai Jr. likely knew his father was baiting him. But his resolve didn't flicker.
"I will avoid a reckless, mindless brawl, yes. But I will never hide behind an
excuse."
"Mr. Tokugawa, you came here looking for me. I intend to show you my sincerity.
I will prove to you that your expectations weren't misplaced."
Alai Jr. clenched his fist, his voice dropping to a resonant baritone. "I will
answer Baki Hanma with everything I am!"
"Because... that is what my father taught me."
Alai Sr. froze.
He had expected his son to fight Baki; that was the inevitable conclusion of
their bloodline. But he hadn't expected the boy to say, "That is what my father
taught me."
For a heartbeat, the "Predator" mask slipped, and a flicker of genuine fatherly
emotion touched the legend's eyes.
"The Kengan matches are over for me," Alai Jr. said, taking a deep breath. "The
next frame is a Street Brawl. Whether it's Baki Hanma or anyone else... I am
ready!"
[Four Days Later — Soul Combat Hub]
Ren Shiroki's eyes had recovered beautifully. He had discarded the bandages
entirely, and Dr. Hajo had informed him that by tomorrow, he wouldn't even need
the sunglasses for outdoor trips.
He had returned to his daily routine two days prior, steadily ramping up the
torque.
[Courtyard — Sand Arena]
Ren was bare-chested in his shorts and sunglasses. A 150kg heavy bag hung from a
reinforced iron frame, anchored by heavy-duty chains.
"Hah...!"
He took a sharp breath and exploded. His fists and feet blurred in a
high-frequency synthesis of styles, his footwork churning the sand as he worked
the bag.
BAM! THUD-THUD-BAM!
The rhythmic percussion of his strikes echoed through the Hub. The heavy bag
vibrated violently under the impact, the canvas warping into jagged craters.
Finally, Ren unleashed a massive right cross. The reinforced iron links of the
ceiling mount reached their failure point—SNAP!—and the chain shattered.
Zip!
The heavy bag began to fly backward. But the moment it tilted, Ren's left hand
snared the canvas. With a violent upward jerk, he converted the backward
momentum into vertical lift.
Fwoosh!
The massive 150kg cylinder was launched into the air, suspended horizontally
about two meters off the ground.
Ren anchored his left foot into the sand. He pivoted his hips with the explosive
flexibility of a world-class gymnast, his right leg whipping around in a perfect
aerial arc.
[JAMIE: SKY-CLEARING KICK]!
BOOM!
The bag was hammered even higher.
To execute a move like this required more than just "Power." It required a
perfect "Read" on gravity, timing, and weight distribution. Ren had been clumsy
when he first tried it, but now... the synthesis was becoming routine.
Ren looked up, his eyes tracking the floating bag as his [ENGINE] calculated the
descent. He was already contemplating the next stage of his pilgrimage.
The bag reached the apex and began to fall.
As it entered his kill-zone, Ren let out a low, guttural roar. He swung both
fists in a brutal, unrefined arc, targeting the center-mass of the falling
cylinder.
"SHAA—!"
BOOM!!!
The bag was blasted across the courtyard. It flew several meters before slamming
into the perimeter wall with a sound like a cannon blast, shaking a layer of
dust from the masonry.
"Phew!"
Ren pulled the towel from his neck to wipe the sweat from his brow.
On the porch, Fusui Kure had just stepped out to catch the breeze. She stretched
her arms over her head with a long, satisfied sigh before looking at Ren.
"That last move was pretty wild, Ren-chin!" She narrowed her black-and-white
eyes. "Are you practicing a new 'Savage' style?"
"Maybe?" Ren grinned. He couldn't quite put a finger on the sensation yet, but
he was enjoying the process. "It's fun, right?"
[Lunchtime]
"I'm stuffed!" Arisa chirped.
She set her chopsticks down and reached for her phone on the sofa, scrolling
through the "Koyo Girls' Circle" group chat. A specific bit of gossip caught her
eye.
"Alai Jr. tracked down Kozue-chan again."
"He's still fixated on Baki-aniki. He told her he's finally 'Ready' to take him
down. Apparently, he's made some kind of big preparation."
Arisa shrugged, her intuition flaring. "I don't know... I feel like something
happened. It sounds like Alai Jr. has leveled up."
Marco clenched his fists, nodding earnestly. "Marco has leveled up too!"
"Right you are!" Arisa laughed, but the conversation had triggered a thought in
Ren.
Effort? Leveling up?
Ren rubbed his chin. "No... that's not it."
"Becoming strong shouldn't be the result of 'effort.' It should be something
much more mundane."
"If you fight with the naive belief that 'hard work' guarantees a win... you've
already lost the frame. That kind of thinking is a shackle."
"Strength is... Routine."
Ren's power lived within his daily travels. By reflecting on the mundane, he
often found the most profound technical insights.
"If I look at it from that angle..." he muttered to himself, lost in thought.
[That Afternoon]
After his nap, Ren decided to head out for a solo walk. He wanted to clear his
head in the city's back-alleys. Before leaving, he checked the time.
"Tonight is the Baki vs. Alai Jr. match at the Underground Arena. If you guys
want to see the show, you should head down to Suidobashi early."
With that, Ren stepped out onto the street.
At the same time, across town.
Mohammad Alai Jr. stepped out of his hotel lobby. He was dressed in a sleek
black tracksuit and carried a gear bag, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
Waiting for him at the curb was a luxury sedan. The driver was a middle-aged
gentleman in a tuxedo—one of Tokugawa's elite receptionists.
The driver bowed. "I am here to escort you to the Arena, sir."
"I appreciate the gesture, but it won't be necessary," Alai Jr. replied. He
looked toward the distant skyline of the city. "The Tokyo Dome isn't that far.
I've decided to walk."
"I'm going to walk to the Pit in a 'Combat State.' I'm going to experience the
city as a warrior until the moment I face Baki Hanma."
The driver nodded. "As you wish. My card is in your bag if you require a
pickup."
The gentleman offered a small, respectful smile. "But if I may say... you
possess incredible courage."
"To choose to exist on the 'Street' in a state of constant battle... I have
great respect for you as a man."
Alai Jr. paused. "Is the street really that terrifying?"
The driver gave a thin, knowing laugh. "To turn your peaceful, daily life into a
never-ending war—to accept that every shadow is an enemy... the thought alone is
enough to break most men."
"Is that so...?"
Alai Jr. bid the driver farewell and began his trek.
But the man's words stayed with him, echoing in his mind with a heavy,
persistent resonance.
What exactly am I doing? Real-world combat...?
I'm walking down a public sidewalk... and I have to assume that at any second,
from any angle, I might be murdered? And I have to be ready to counter it?
Is this the life I'm chasing?
Walking... eating... sleeping... drinking... dates...
Even when I'm chasing a girl, or right after I've survived a death-match... the
frames never stop. There are no rounds. There are no referees.
The next corner. The next stranger. The next blink of an eye.
The moment we lock eyes, the war is live. It could be a formal challenge... or a
knife in the dark.
Am I really going to live every second of the rest of my life like this?!
Alai Jr. stopped. He looked around at the perfectly ordinary, busy Tokyo street.
For the first time, he saw the "Bystanders" not as scenery, but as potential
killers. A wave of bone-deep, primitive terror washed over him.
Cold sweat soaked his shirt.
The Street... since when was it this terrifying?!
☆☆☆
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