Chapter 465: A Five-Star Feast!
The standoff between Gensai Kuroki and Raian Kure—as their conversation made
clear—was never going to erupt into violence. Kuroki had no intention of
fighting, and Raian wasn't the type to recklessly force the issue without an
opening.
The two fighters arriving after them, however, were an entirely different story.
[The Second] pushed through the crowd, cradling his jar against his waist with a
calm, composed smile.
And the [Soul Combatant] he had just punted into the plaza lay flat on his back
in the dirt, wearing an air of unbothered leisure as he took in the sky above.
Both men radiated the exact same blinding radiance! Both carried the exact same
commanding, larger-than-life aura!
"The President's here!"
"Mr. 2!"
"The Soul Combatant ticked off the Second! They're about to tear into each
other!"
"..."
The roaring tide of voices completely ignited the atmosphere. The fighting
spirit surging between Ren and Guevara burned with a heat so intense it felt as
though it could raise the ambient temperature of the autumn air.
That energy was so overwhelming that everyone else naturally stepped back,
automatically relegation-bound to the role of "spectators."
Even Gensai Kuroki and Raian Kure, standing not far away, shared the exact same
realization.
"Tch!"
A vein throbbed on Raian's temple as he turned his head away with an impatient
spit.
Kuroki grunted a low "Hmm" and cast a sideways glance at Raian. "Kure brat,
you're running on fumes right now. You're in no shape to play the opponent to
Gensai Kuroki."
"However... I eagerly await that 'violence beyond violence' you spoke of."
With that, Kuroki turned on his heel and walked away, taking up a vantage point
at the edge of the clearing.
Though reluctant, Raian knew his current physical state was far from peak
performance; he needed time to process the gains from his recent rampages.
Gritting his teeth, he was forced to step down as well.
Thus, the vast, open plaza was left to only two men—
Ren Shiroki and J. Guevara.
Lying flat on his back in the dirt, Ren suddenly tucked his hands into his
pockets. His core locked tight, snapping his body upright into a crisp,
weightless aerial backflip.
Swish-swish—tap!
Ren touched down softly on the balls of his feet before settling his heels
firmly into the earth, narrowing his eyes as he tuned into the friction of the
air sliding across his skin.
At the exact same time—
Guevara gently placed his jar on the ground, slowly unbuttoning his work shirt
and stripping it off to reveal his densely packed, hyper-compressed physique.
He caught the collar in his right hand, draping the shirt casually over his
right shoulder while clutching the jar in his left.
Whoosh—!
A crisp autumn breeze swept across the open ground, fluttering the fabric of the
shirt hanging from his shoulder.
Though Guevara stood only 178cm tall, facing Ren's 187cm frame, his presence
didn't yield an inch.
In fact, the moment the two men locked into a genuine mutual gaze, their
perceived physical statures seemed to expand infinitely!
As they stared into each other's eyes, the air between them warped in varying
degrees of distortion.
To the surrounding onlookers, their respective presences ballooned outward,
filling the entire plaza until it felt as though no one else could step forward
even half a step!
Gradually, the thugs lingering further down the street stopped their own
skirmishes, drawn entirely to the open plaza.
The crowd swelled rapidly, numbering several hundred strong.
Yet, the space they left open for the duel was remarkably, disproportionately
vast.
It was as if an instinctive intuition whispered to them that ordinary boundaries
couldn't contain this fight; the arena had to be massive, wide, and boundless,
otherwise the sheer pressure would blow the walls to pieces!
Ultimately, within the chaos of the Conflict Zone, all other "struggles" were
compressed to the absolute periphery, leaving this single arena as the
undisputed focal point of the world.
Everything else became utterly inconsequential.
Thugs and mercenaries from different districts and rival syndicates clustered
around the perimeter, chattering excitedly as they settled into their seats as
an audience.
Fusui Kure, having tailed the pair the entire way, squeezed her way into the
front row of the spectators. She waved hello to her cousin Raian and offered a
polite nod to Gensai Kuroki standing nearby.
Kuroki acknowledged her with a curt nod.
Raian crossed his arms, his face locked in a scowl. "How annoying... more and
more trash keeps gathering. Sooner or later, I'll slaughter the whole lot of
'em!"
Fusui offered a nervous, dry laugh, sweating slightly as she gestured with her
finger. "Um... I actually brought a few more people with me."
Raian: "————"
Raian: "————Huh?"
He whipped his head around just in time to see four more figures
arriving—Takeshi Wakatsuki, Ryo Inaba, Yoshinari Karo, and Tokita Niko.
Trudging over to join Fusui's group, the four newcomers squeezed in, instantly
driving Raian's blood-pressure meter into the red zone as fresh veins bulged
across his forehead.
"You bastards—"
Before Raian could launch into a tirade, another massive shadow cut him off.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen~!"
Following the voice, a towering, rugged Cuban giant ambled into view—[Mr.
Unchained] Biscuit Oliva.
Dressed in a casual floral beach shirt paired with a matching jacket, dark
glasses, and a sunhat, Oliva looked like he was dressed for a tropical vacation
rather than a death match.
"Haha!"
Oliva extended a massive hand, giving a heavy, jovial pat to the shoulders of
Fusui and Raian standing right at the front.
"Ugh..."
Kuroki's dark eyes narrowed slightly as he appraised Oliva. "As expected of the
[Unchained]... that muscle density is the real deal."
Oliva blinked. "Naturally! This is the power of love."
He bared a blinding set of white teeth, turning his attention to the open plaza
ahead. "Oh! Have those two already started?"
The spectators were fully in position, the murmur of anticipation rising to a
steady hum.
Guevara looked around the perimeter, offering a wry, appreciative smile. "Hmph,
what a lively crowd."
"Naturally."
Ren tilted his head upward slightly, sweeping his eyes over Guevara's physique
as Master Marisa's advice echoed in his mind.
——
——
"Fighting is just like tasting fine cuisine."
"The nourishment of combat, the feast of battle—from that perspective, Mr.
Guevara, you bastards are definitely five-star!"
With that, Ren stripped off his own shirt, revealing a heavily scarred yet
finely sculpted muscular frame where every single line flowed with seamless
efficiency, balancing explosive power and supple flexibility.
He kicked off his sneakers, stripping down to a simple pair of trousers and
standing barefoot against the dirt.
Whish-whish!
—Swish!
Ren began shadow-boxing, lashing out with rapid-fire combinations of punches and
kicks.
His warm-up routine was entirely unpretentious, so mundane that the spectators
watching couldn't help but inwardly muse—
Wait...
If someone were to sit around at a bar drinking years from now, talking about
this legendary bout between the Second and the Soul Combatant, how would they
even describe his opening moves?
There was one thing anyone could agree on: it was terrifyingly solid.
Solid enough to make anyone watching feel with absolute, unshakable certainty
that a man named Ren Shiroki had to throw his punches and kick his legs
precisely like that, and any other way would be fundamentally wrong!
That was the sheer level of mastery Ren had carved out for his striking!
Guevara watched the display quietly, a leisurely smile touching his lips. "Looks
like your fighting spirit is through the roof. You're really looking to throw
down with me for real, huh?"
Ren clenched his fists into tight seals. "Sorry, Mr. Guevara. Your main target
is Oliva, but before that happens, I wanted to trade blows with you no matter
what."
"Thank you... for giving me this match."
"..."
"..."
"No worries at all. After all, I accepted your 'challenge,' so a proper brawl is
only natural."
Guevara arched an eyebrow. "Whether it's Oliva—the strongest brawler in
America—or a street-tough martial artist like you, it's all the same to me."
"I don't intend to lose a fight to anyone."
Seeing Guevara's fighting spirit steadily climbing to a boil, Ren felt a surge
of pure delight. "The Dao of martial arts is all about confronting difficulty
and facing the strong. Everything else is just window dressing!"
Guevara gently lifted the jar he had set on the ground. "Everyone's fighting
motivation is different, and I'm no exception—"
With that, he reached up and plucked the wooden stopper right out of the
bottle's neck.
The exact next instant—
From inside that little jar containing violent rain, howling gales, raging seas,
and cracking thunder, something truly burst forth with a deafening roar!
It morphed into a storm of torrential rain, transformed into a gale of howling
winds, turned into crashing ocean waves, and finally condensed into an endless
reservoir of pure Courage, washing straight over Guevara's face.
"..."
The kinetic backdraft was so violent it momentarily staggered Guevara, blowing
the shirt draped over his shoulder and the bandana tied around his head
completely off into the air.
Appearing right before Guevara's eyes in that brief illusion was the towering,
apocalyptic swell of a hurricane-night ocean wave!
Click—
Guevara jammed the wooden stopper back into the neck of the jar.
Instantly, the hallucination vanished without a trace. His bandana was still
tied securely around his forehead, and the shirt remained draped across his
shoulder, completely undisturbed.
"That's enough..."
Guevara drew in a deep breath, walking over to Yoshinari Karo standing at the
edge of the crowd to hand the jar over for safe-keeping.
Turning back around, he casually shrugged his shoulder, letting the shirt slide
off and stripping his upper body entirely bare.
"Alright, let's begin."
The moment those words left Guevara's lips, the crowd erupted into a thunderous
roar of cheers.
The Inside was about to host its final battle of the day!
[THE SOUL COMBATANT] VS. [THE SECOND]!
Ren Shiroki versus J. Guevara—!
☆☆☆
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