CHAPTER 7: THE FUNDAMENTAL ERROR
Fusui Kure observed the man across the table.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but his hair was a striking, natural silver-white. Despite being a middle-aged man, his eyes were unnervingly clear and pure, hiding a level of genius that was impossible to measure.
He was a freak of nature—a man whose existence defied logic.
In the rumors Fusui had heard, this man was a legend on the same level as Metsudo Katahara. In the underworld, where disputes and debts were often settled over a mahjong table, he was the one man who never lost.
Shigeru Akagi. The man they called the "Man of the Divine Realm." For decades, he had navigated the deadliest gambles in the world without a single defeat.
"..."
Karura didn't know much about the underground mahjong scene, but she felt the same weight coming from him.
"He's incredible," she whispered. "And compared to Grandpa and Great-Grandpa, Akagi-san is a completely different 'type' of person..."
Seeing the sisters mesmerized by his drinking buddy, Metsudo laughed heartily. "Ho ho! My friend is quite the lady-killer, isn't he?"
Fusui and Karura snapped out of it.
Metsudo's tone shifted, his eyes sharpening behind his wrinkled lids. "By the way... what are two daughters of the Kure Clan doing here? Is there someone you're supposed to be killing?"
"Don't tease us, old man," Fusui sighed, waving a hand.
She knew Metsudo was a restless spirit who loved a good story, so before he could start a formal investigation, she gave him a quick summary of Ren Shiroki's situation.
"...I see."
"Fighting a registered Kengan warrior just to keep his family's land?"
Metsudo turned to look at Arisa. His expression suddenly went cold, and his voice dropped to a low, gravelly whisper. "Little girl... your brother is very likely going to die tonight."
As he spoke, an invisible pressure exploded from him.
Metsudo Katahara—this man over ninety years old, looking like a withered piece of driftwood—suddenly radiated the energy of an erupting volcano. His presence was overwhelming, a crushing weight that filled the entire room.
Normally, even CEOs of multinational corporations would break into a cold sweat or collapse under this "Killing Intent."
But Metsudo's two bodyguards were stunned. The four people in front of them—Karura, Fusui, Akagi, and even Arisa—didn't even flinch.
The first three were understandable. But this ordinary high school girl?
"Aha! This girl has some real spirit!"
Metsudo laughed, tapping his cane on the floor. The terrifying aura vanished, and he went back to being a frail, smiling old man. "It's good to be young. But tell me, little girl, are you really not worried about your brother?"
Arisa sighed. "Of course I am. I'm worried sick."
Metsudo tilted his head. "And yet, you didn't react to my words at all?"
"My brother told me something," Arisa replied seriously. "He said that if you can't change the situation, don't let other people's emotions pull you by the nose. Besides, Fusui-nee and Karura-chan know you, and you seem to be worried about my brother too. Why should I be scared?"
"..."
The bodyguards traded looks of disbelief. On paper, her logic made sense. but in practice, facing "The Chairman" with that much composure was almost unheard of.
Metsudo clapped his hands. "Ho ho ho! What a fascinating perspective! I'm looking forward to seeing how your brother performs!"
He glanced at Fusui and whispered, "I've always had a soft spot for 'pure' fights without all the corporate red tape..."
Fusui understood immediately. The Chairman hadn't come to this dump by accident. He had sniffed out that there was a "hidden motive" involving the Kengan Association here.
Whether he was here to stop it, watch it, or was just bored, nobody knew. Metsudo's mind was a maze that even the Kure Patriarch struggled to navigate.
"Ah... in that case," Fusui said, seeing an opportunity. She pulled out the intel sheet she had tried to sell to Ren. "Chairman, would you like to buy some intel I gathered? It might fill in some blanks for you. I'll give you a discount!"
Metsudo knew she was joking, but he enjoyed playing along with the youth. "Fusui, my allowance is a bit tight lately. How about a trade? I'll buy you girls a round of sodas!"
As Komada entered the ring, the fever pitch of the casino reached its boiling point.
SNAP!
The lights in the room dimmed, and a single, powerful spotlight illuminated the center of the casino. The "ring" was an octagonal area cordoned off by waist-high wooden boards, with a floor of packed, level dirt.
There was no walk-out music, no ring girls, and no fancy gear. It was a raw underground bout. An amateur referee stepped into the center to maintain some semblance of order.
Ren Shiroki vs. Shigeru "Nioh" Komada.
The two men stood at opposite ends of the dirt floor, warming up. Every eye in the building was locked on them.
"Oi, is that the Nogi Group's Komada? Look at the size of him!"
"Who's the pretty boy? Is he even a fighter?"
"Hurry up and double the bets on Komada! This is easy money!"
"SMASH HIM, NIOH!"
It was obvious: Komada, the undefeated rising star, was the overwhelming favorite. The cheers for him drowned out everything else.
Arisa and the Kure sisters stood in Ren's corner, their occasional cheers serving as a small, isolated pocket of support.
"Are you ready? Fighters, center!" the referee shouted.
Once Ren and Komada were face-to-face, the referee raised his hand, took a deep breath, and chopped it down.
"Ready—"
"FIGHT!"
WHOOSH!
The instant the word left the ref's mouth, Ren's core muscles exploded. He dropped into a low dash, moving so fast he seemed to blur.
[DRIVE IMPACT]!
In a heartbeat, he covered the distance. He lunged forward, his right hand snapping out in a straight punch that connected squarely with Komada's face.
CRACK!
Komada stumbled back half a step. But only half a step.
A wave of pure, instinctive terror washed over Ren, forcing him to scramble backward, hopping to reset his distance.
He looked up. Komada had his fist clenched, mere inches from where Ren's head had been a millisecond ago.
"...Fast. But that's all you've got."
Komada's voice was nasal and wet. Ren's punch had shattered his nose. It was twisted to the side, leaking thick, dark blood.
He uncurled his fist and, without a flinch, grabbed his own nose and snapped it back into place with a sickening crunch.
The crowd of thugs gasped. This wasn't a street brawl. This was the raw, terrifying grit of a professional Kengan fighter.
Next second—
Zip-Zip!
Komada lunged. He threw two lightning-fast left hooks—feints designed to force Ren's movement.
The real attack was the follow-up: a heavy, committed right straight.
BOOM!
For a big man, his combination speed was terrifying. The fist whistled through the air, aimed directly at Ren's jaw.
Ren tried to slip the punch, but a spark of static fired through his brain. His vision warped. For a split second, Komada blurred into the phantom of Ryu, who was throwing the exact same punch.
Ren wasn't in "Overdrive," but he had less than half a second to react. He was facing the "perfection" of Ryu and the "brutality" of Komada at the same time.
He couldn't dodge. He twisted his neck at the last moment to roll with the impact.
WHAM!
The blow sent Ren reeling. He stumbled back several paces before catching his balance, his head hanging low, body trembling.
"Pfft..."
He ran his tongue over his teeth—none were missing. He spat a glob of blood onto the dirt, his voice coming out as a raspy growl.
"If I can't dodge it... I can't win?"
He looked up, his eyes bloodshot, staring intensely at the approaching Komada and the overlapping phantom of Ryu.
"Something's wrong. Something is missing..."
Ren felt a deep, nagging awkwardness in his movements. It wasn't just the rust from five years of being sick. It was something more dangerous.
A Fundamental Error in his form.
The dizziness, the confusion, and the searing pain from the punch merged into a violent surge of frustration.
"Come on!" he roared like a wounded beast, baring his bloody teeth. "Hit me again! Show me where I'm going wrong!"