Chapter 445: The Old Fisherman
Jun Guevara's singular objective in entering The Inside was to challenge the
original [MR. UNCHAINED], Biscuit Oliva.
Ten Tokita, the sector where Oliva had breached the Ward, sat in the southwest,
sharing borders with Seven Ohma, One Dragon, and Two Tigers. Guevara had punched
his way through Seven Ohma, cut across One Dragon, and annexed Two Tigers,
effectively encircling Oliva's playground on three sides.
That was Mr. 2's grand strategy. He had zero interest in meddling in anyone
else's turf wars.
Unfortunately for him, the powers lurking in the shadows had no intention of
letting him monopolize three contiguous sectors. They had dispatched a
challenger to check his momentum.
"Four Turtles... That's the only district where our intel is completely blank,
right?"
Ren Shiroki rubbed his chin, going over the tactical map with Fusui Kure.
"If Toyo Electric, IDEAL, and the Worm have established their base of operations
inside the Ward, that's the only place they could be."
"So this challenger from Four Turtles was sent specifically to probe Guevara's
depth?"
Whatever the conspiracy behind it, Guevara's response was as straightforward as
it got.
He hadn't finished his breakfast yet, so he casually strolled toward the
courtyard gate with bowl and spoon in hand.
Ren, Fusui, Himuro, Wakatsuki, and the rest of the camp's outlaws followed
behind, stepping out into the open dirt lot.
There, the challenger from Four Turtles stood waiting.
He was a colossus.
A clean-shaven scalp framed by a thick, bristling white beard that jutted
outward like wire needles. His skin was rough and cratered, not with clean knife
scars, but with the weathered, craggy texture of tidal reefs hammered by decades
of salt and gale. A wide, broad nose, thick lips, and small, deep-set eyes that
burned with a quiet, flinty resolve.
He wore heavy canvas fisherman's overalls with the straps hitched over bare,
tree-trunk shoulders. His muscular mass was immense, reinforced by a dense layer
of subcutaneous fat that functioned like organic ballistic armor.
Height: 206 cm (6'9"). Weight: roughly 165 kg (364 lbs).
An authentic titan of the sea.
"First time meeting you," the giant rumbled, his voice low, steady, and
saturated with killing intent. "Name's Yoshinari Karo. Just another outsider in
the Ward."
Guevara, by contrast, remained completely disarming. He casually took another
bite of his stew before speaking.
"Oho. A ship captain? You smell like tobacco smoke and mackerel."
Guevara's nose twitched, his lips curling into an easy grin. "The scent of the
open ocean. Thanks for bringing it inland. I love that smell."
A short distance away, the spectators watched.
Ren stood near the front, eyeing the bearded giant. His memories clicked into
place.
Yoshinari Karo. Moniker: [THE UMIBOZU]. Profession: Fisherman.
The fleet he worked for belonged to Kandai Fisheries, one of the top commercial
fishing conglomerates in the nation. Among seafaring men, Karo was a living
myth.
He had strangled an eight-meter great white shark bare-handed in open water. He
had dived into the teeth of a typhoon to manually haul a capsized trawler's crew
to safety. He had single-handedly broken an armed syndicate of international
smugglers operating off the coast, subduing the entire crew without firing a
shot.
In the original timeline of the Kengan Annihilation Tournament, Kandai Fisheries
had been blackmailed by Toyo Electric, threatening to raze their fishing harbor
for industrial development unless they entered Karo to throw a fixed match. But
knowing Hayami had no intention of honoring the deal, Karo had fought with his
life on the line against Saw Paing in round one—a war between the sea titan and
the roaring spirit.
Karo wasn't a professional cage fighter. He was an iron-willed sea captain
driven by wild instinct, fighting to defend the waters he loved.
Now it makes sense, Ren thought.
Four Turtles was definitely the infiltration hub for Toyo Electric, IDEAL, and
the Worm. To map out the territorial situation, they needed expendable battering
rams to test the other invaders, and coerced fighters like Karo were the easiest
pawns to mobilize.
"The crest on his gear... is that Kandai Fisheries?" Fusui whispered, her
analytical eyes narrowing behind her dark shades. "Figures. Every other outsider
has a profile, but Guevara is an unknown variable. They sent Karo to draw out
his frame data."
Ren crossed his arms. "Too bad for them. Against Mr. 2, an assessment like this
won't even register as a warm-up."
Himuro and Wakatsuki nodded in silent agreement. Seasoned assassins and
underground veterans possessed a radar for apex predators; they could scent the
aura of a monster from a mile away.
Karo, however, operated on different hardware.
He wasn't an arena combatant. His entire life had been spent wrestling the
Pacific Ocean. He was accustomed to surviving monstrous forces of nature, and
his desperation to protect his harbor blinded him to the subtle danger radiating
off the young man in the bandana.
In Karo's mind, to save his home, he simply had to fulfill Toyo's contract and
smash the boy in front of him!
"Talk is cheap."
Karo inhaled deeply. He balled his massive right fist, turned toward the
reinforced concrete wall beside the gate, and drove a bare-knuckle punch
straight into the masonry.
BOOM—!!
A thunderous shockwave split the air as the concrete wall shattered into a
crater of powder and rubble.
There was zero technical flourish in the strike—merely the terrifying biological
yield forged by fifty years of hauling heavy drift-nets through freezing salt
spray!
Karo lowered his fist, glaring at Guevara. "No room to retreat. I'm taking you
down!"
"Oho!"
Guevara hadn't even paused his breakfast; the bowl was only half empty. He
looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Karo's. His expression softened with
genuine respect.
"Haha. I see. I know that look in your eyes, old man."
"The gaze of a man fighting for his home."
Then, Guevara's tone shifted.
"But a man truly fighting for his soil has a much cleaner focus. His eyes are
purer than yours... Tell me, why punch the wall? Are your hands trembling with
doubt?"
Guevara twirled the stainless-steel soup spoon between his thumb and forefinger,
smiling faintly.
"Captain... with that kind of anxious static in your head, you wouldn't be able
to keep your food down on open water."
"You need to find your sea legs. Relax. Keep it mundane."
As he spoke, Guevara pinched the handle of the spoon between his fingers,
shaking it rapidly up and down.
It was an optical illusion children play—waving a rigid pen so fast that the
persistence of vision makes it look like it's made of rubber.
Except Guevara suddenly snapped his wrist.
SNAP!
The spectators gasped.
The solid, heavy-gauge steel spoon had been violently warped in mid-air, twisted
into a jagged S-curve like a mountain switchback! Any grown man could bend a
spoon with leverage and two hands, but Guevara had done it with a single,
high-frequency flick of one wrist!
The required startup acceleration and grip torque were staggering!
Zip!
Before the crowd could process the feat, Guevara casually tossed the ruined
spoon toward the wall.
THWACK!
The spoon's bowl pierced the mortar like a throwing knife, sinking deep into the
brickwork. The twisted handle jutted out at a perfect ninety-degree angle,
forming a makeshift bracket.
Guevara strolled over, balanced his half-empty bowl of stew neatly onto the
metal bracket, stretched his arms toward the sky, and let out an enormous, lazy
yawn.
Karo looked down at the younger man.
Guevara didn't look overly bulky; his frame was lean and proportional. Yet the
longer Karo stared into those dark eyes, the more he felt an unnatural,
suffocating dread—a presence far more terrifying than a great white shark
circling beneath the hull!
"...Doesn't matter," Karo growled, steeling his resolve.
Guevara looked up, his tone calm and paternal. "Who's holding the knife to your
throat, Captain? And even if you manage to knock me down... what's your next
move?"
"When dealing with hyenas who threaten your livelihood, do you honestly expect
them to honor a gentleman's agreement?"
"The moment you leave the leverage in someone else's hands, hoping for 'an end
to the trouble' is pure, childish delusion."
Guevara took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance.
His words drove straight into the cracks of Karo's resolve.
"Whether you're in this lawless Ward, on the open ocean, or anywhere else under
the sun... men have an absolute sovereign freedom to defend their soil without
asking for permission."
"Any 'protection' that relies on the charity of a tyrant is a counterfeit lie.
There is no freedom in it."
"Place your faith in cowards, and your soul will never know peace."
Guevara offered a brilliant, toothy grin.
"—That's just how the world works."
SWOOSH!
Before the last syllable faded, Guevara's right foot whipped through a low sweep
while his left hand clamped onto Karo's lead arm, redirecting the giant's
balance with terrifying speed!
THUD!
The 165-kilogram sea titan was swept completely off his feet before he could
even register the startup, his massive frame slamming flat onto the dirt!
"—?!"
Karo gritted his teeth, bracing his core for the inevitable ground-and-pound
follow-up.
Instead, a hand appeared in his field of vision.
Guevara reached down, gripped the giant's wrist, and with an effortless pull of
his back muscles, hoisted the 165kg colossus straight back onto his feet, even
reaching out to dust off the man's canvas overalls.
"You're off course, Captain. Let me recalibrate your compass."
Guevara stood in front of Karo, tilting his chin upward with a wild, infectious
confidence.
"Come at me with everything you've got!"
"It's a good day to die—"
☆☆☆
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