Chapter 96: Kid, You Need Some Discipline
"Takumi-san, we've arrived. You're really jumping out here?"
"Yeah. I've always wanted to try that feeling from Just Cause?—leaping straight out of a helicopter."
Even though the pilot didn't quite catch what Takumi was referencing, he still slid open the side door. This little dragonfly chopper was only built for two anyway. Takumi, already wearing a compact parachute pack, didn't hesitate—he just jumped.
Parachutes are simple to operate. The real challenge in skydiving is having the guts to actually step off.
The moment he left the chopper, razor-sharp cold wind slammed into him, whipping his hair wildly. That sudden loss of gravity—the same rush he'd felt back in high school—sent his blood pounding straight to his heart. Thump-thump-thump.
"Ahhh, no way—!"
His shout scattered into the wind. He yanked the cord. With a sharp snap the canopy burst open behind him. His shoulders jerked as the terrifying downward pull of the earth suddenly eased. Takumi let out a long breath.
"Skydiving is insane… but nature's power is terrifying. Under this gravity, no one can resist. Even an invincible superman can run across water like crazy, but he still can't fly. This is probably the absolute limit of strength in a bronze-rank world. Same with Ki —in Dragon Ball, Master Roshi could fly, though."
The parachute glided slowly downward. Its massive surface area effortlessly countered the deadly acceleration of gravity. A thought flickered through Takumi's mind—maybe this principle could be turned into a defensive technique.
Finally the ground rushed up. He reached for the release buckles on his harness—when an ice-cold voice laced with murderous intent cut through the air.
"Don't move! Or I shoot!"
"Wait—don't misunderstand! I'm with the Keishi-chō Special Operations Team. I've got temporary credentials right here—you can check."
Takumi had come prepared. Knowing he'd be entering a search zone with police and JSDF, he wore clear identification patches and carried stamped papers to avoid friendly fire.
"Special Operations from Keishi-chō…? So they hired one of those martial-arts hotshots, huh? Ha… looks like Gen Motoyama got lucky today."
The words hit Takumi like a brick. He'd expected to team up with the ground search teams, comb the mountain for hours, maybe days. Instead—he'd literally dropped right on top of the criminal's hideout!
"Turn around. Let me see what kind of so-called 'master' the useless cops hired this time."
Takumi slowly raised both hands and pivoted. Their eyes met.
The fugitive was a man in his thirties, clothes filthy from days on the run. In his grip was a standard Japanese police revolver—a snub-nosed five-shooter. Short barrel, but still plenty lethal. Only about twenty meters separated them—prime range for that gun. Takumi didn't dare twitch.
"Ha! I was expecting some legendary expert. Turns out it's just a brat who looks like he's still in high school. Have all the local martial artists died out or something? Hahahaha!"
Takumi stayed silent. Motoyama sneered.
"Don't even think about struggling. No matter how high your kung-fu is, with that parachute tangled on you, you can't possibly close the distance in one leap. Compared to my marksmanship, my martial arts aren't even worth mentioning. Within twenty meters I can put a bullet straight through your eye in an instant. Know why I made you turn around? My nickname is Poison Scorpion. My specialty is shooting a man's eyes from fifty meters. I once dropped a guy who'd reached the pinnacle of Ki —right on the verge of becoming a true master—with a single shot."
Takumi knew he was telling the truth. With the movement techniques Shigure had drilled into him, he could cover twenty meters in a single breath—anywhere in the man's field of vision. But with the parachute still strapped to his back, even the most masterful footwork was useless.
Bang!
Motoyama fired without warning—mid-brag, no hesitation. Utterly cunning and vicious!
Is this really how my first real job ends—dying right off the bat?!
Takumi's fists clenched hard. Eyes wide, pupils blown. Teeth grinding. His mind blanked out completely. Every ounce of focus zeroed in. The world around him—the sounds, the scenery—rushed backward and away until only the gun barrel and the empty space between them existed.
Between life and death lies ultimate terror.
In that abyss of fear, Takumi's willpower surged to a new height. The Hypnotic Demon Eye activated automatically, greedily drinking in demonic power and the still Ki he'd painstakingly trained. His eyes burned with excruciating pain. Amid the terror shaking his spirit, he saw it—a muzzle flash, and a phantom streak slicing through the air. He could almost perceive the shockwaves parting the atmosphere, the chaotic eddies, the piercing sonic crack of air being torn apart. But the bullet itself… his eyes could barely track its form.
"Left eye!"
He poured every scrap of demonic energy and Ki into his left hand, slamming it over his left eye just as—
Pain exploded through his palm.
Takumi roared like a tiger bursting from a ravine. In a blink he crossed dozens of steps—speed beyond measure. Motoyama's eyes bulged in stunned disbelief; he couldn't react at all.
No surprises. Takumi's right palm slammed dead-center into the man's chest.
The fugitive's shirt ballooned like an overinflated balloon—then ruptured. A black palm imprint bloomed across his back. Thin threads of blue ki shot outward like electric arcs!
Blood poured from all seven orifices. Motoyama collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Takumi had burned every last drop of strength and potential. His legs gave out and he dropped to his knees, limp. It took a long while before he could even breathe properly again.
"That was way too close… I almost died just like that. Even at my level of skill, a single gun can still force me into a corner and nearly kill me. No wonder nobody bothers training martial arts in the real world anymore."
The searing pain in his left hand reminded him—he'd been shot. Looking down, he saw the bullet had punched clean through his palm, lodged between front and back. The heat of the round had scorched the edges black. The agony was indescribable—far worse than any training bruise back at Ryōzanpaku.
Gritting his teeth, he focused his intent on his dantian, birthing a thread of Ki. Then he executed Ryūkei Kigō Tashinkō. With a sharp expulsion of ki, the bullet shot out like a needle, embedding itself deep in a distant tree trunk.
"Instant Recovery!"
He channeled demonic power into his Ki, triggering a weakened version of the invincible superman's core secret art. Flesh began knitting together at visible speed. Soon only a faint scar remained.
But it was only surface-level healing—not the full, perfect restoration of the true technique. The wound in his palm still throbbed dully. When he experimentally clenched his fist, fresh blood welled up again.
Just then a fragrant breeze brushed past him.
The next instant a woman in black appeared—high ponytail, expressionless face.
Takumi blinked.
"Shigure-nee…? Why are you here?"
Shigure Kōsaka said nothing. She glanced at the dead criminal, then at his injured hand. Silently she produced a small pouch of medicinal powder from her robes and sprinkled it over the wound. A cooling sensation spread. Combined with another burst of bootleg Instant Recovery powered by demonic energy, the skin finally sealed over.
"Thank you… really, thank you, Shigure-nee."
Takumi exhaled in relief—only for Shigure's face to frost over completely. Her sheathed sword whipped forward and cracked hard against his forehead.
"Kid. You need some serious discipline."
She pulled out a length of cord and swiftly bound him up. Then, hoisting him like an eagle snatching a chick, she carried him away from the mountain forest.
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