CHAPTER 10: BEWARE THE DIAMOND
Ren Shiroki's fist shot upward, his entire body's rotational kinetic energy twisting through his knuckles.
His fist buried itself into Komada's torso, the sheer force of the spiraling impact tearing through the giant's chest muscles and spraying a dark red arc of blood into the air.
SHING!
The blow was so powerful that Komada's feet actually left the ground. He was launched backward, crashing into the dirt. A deep, jagged diagonal gash ran from the center of his chest up to his shoulder blade, exposing raw muscle fibers. Blood began to pool rapidly beneath him.
"..."
For a long moment, the casino was deathly silent. Even the amateur referee stood frozen for a heartbeat before rushing over to check Komada's vitals. He stood up and chopped his hand through the air.
"Match... Match is over! The winner—Ren Shiroki!"
"..."
Ren stood in the center of the ring, his face a mask of sweat and gore. He raised his right fist high into the spotlight. Yet, the silence persisted. An eerie, hollow atmosphere filled the underground den.
Just as Akagi had predicted, these spectators weren't there for the beauty of the sport. Now that the "guaranteed" outcome had been shattered, the mob of thugs and gamblers didn't know how to react. They were paralyzed by their own lost wagers.
Suddenly, a single voice pierced the gloom.
"WOO-HOO!"
Arisa jumped into the air, cheering for her brother at the top of her lungs, her face filled with pure relief.
The sudden outburst drew dozens of glares from the disgruntled losers. Arisa flinched slightly, feeling the weight of their gaze, and ducked behind Karura for cover.
"Heh. Don't worry about those people," Akagi said, his voice calm as he took a drag of his cigarette. He gave Arisa a small, rare smile. "The idea that you have to act a certain way at a certain time is just a scam. If you feel like cheering, cheer. It doesn't matter if you're the only one doing it."
"Ho ho! Akagi-kun is right! This is exactly the time for a celebration!"
Metsudo nodded vigorously, clapping his hands together. He began to do a little jig, looking far more energetic than a man his age had any right to be.
Under the cover of Metsudo and the Kure girls' applause, the frozen tension in the room began to thaw.
Medics rushed into the ring to stabilize the unconscious Komada. They loaded him onto a stretcher and hurried him out to a Yakuza-affiliated hospital. In Tokyo, even the syndicates had to worry about the "Anti-Boryokudan Act"—killing a high-profile fighter like a Kengan pro would bring too much heat.
Ren, while looking like he'd been through a meat grinder, was in much better shape than Komada. He didn't need a stretcher, but the adrenaline was fading fast. The strain of the [Drive Impact] and the final [Shoryuken] had drained his gas tank. His legs felt like jelly.
"..."
He swayed on his feet. Arisa and Fusui were there instantly, grabbing him by the shoulders and guiding him to a bench at the edge of the ring.
Arisa began dabbing his face with a handkerchief. Fusui, acting surprisingly domestic, held a water bottle to his lips.
"That was incredible!"
Fusui's mismatched eyes were wide with excitement. "What style was that? Where did you learn those technical transitions?"
Ren found it hard to answer. Between the system-like "Mental Overdrive" and the phantom of Ryu, his training was... unconventional.
Fusui didn't push it. She just grinned. "I want to see more. I'll be dropping by your place to 'investigate' further. Don't forget, you still owe me that favor~!"
"Fine... sure," Ren muttered. He felt a bit uneasy under Fusui's intense gaze, so he shifted his focus to the two heavyweights standing nearby.
Metsudo Katahara and Shigeru Akagi. Truly, two of the most dangerous men in Japan.
Ren took a ragged breath and nodded toward Akagi. "Thank you."
If it hadn't been for the silver-haired man's cryptic advice, Ren might have stayed trapped in his "evasive" mindset. He wouldn't have leaned into the pain to find the winning strike. Akagi's genius for seeing through the "flow" of a gamble was truly god-like.
Akagi shook his head with a faint smile. "No. I should be the one thanking you."
He blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "Mahjong has been a bore lately. No interesting opponents, no real stakes. I was thinking about retiring from the tables in a year or two... but if there are more fights like that to be seen, maybe I'll stick around a little longer."
"Yes... that was genuinely interesting."
Akagi finished his cigarette and gave a casual wave to the group. "Thanks for the show. I'll take my leave now. Maybe we'll meet again if fate allows."
With that, he turned and walked out of the building alone, his silver hair disappearing into the darkness.
The Kure sisters watched him go with a sense of awe. Even for them, Akagi was a legendary figure—the only man who could sit across from Metsudo and look bored.
"Ah!"
Fusui snapped out of her trance. She realized she hadn't introduced everyone properly, which was quite a breach of etiquette.
But Metsudo didn't care. He gave a mischievous chuckle and pointed a gnarled finger toward the far side of the room. "I'm in no rush,Fusui. But it looks like someone else is having a bit of a crisis!"
The group followed his gaze. There sat Inoue, the Zanshi-gumi sub-boss.
He was slumped on a folding chair, clutching his phone with trembling hands. He was drenched in sweat, his face pale as a ghost. Because the casino was emptying out, they could hear the voice screaming from the other end of the line.
"YOU ABSOLUTE MORON! A bottom-feeder like the Zanshi-gumi should be grateful just to host a street fight! Who gave you the right to mess with official Kengan business? You're delusional!"
"This match was your 'private initiative.' Now you've sent a Nogi Group fighter to the ICU, you've pissed off the Teiai Group, and the Kengan Association is looking for someone to blame. The Jinwa Group isn't taking the fall for you! You're on your own, Inoue! Deal with it yourself!"
CLICK.
The line went dead. Inoue stared at the phone in his hand, his eyes glazed over.
He had never imagined "Nioh" Komada could lose. Now, he was in a nightmare. He had offended the gamblers, he had to settle a debt reduction with Teiai for a winner he hated, he had crippled a star fighter for the powerful Nogi Group, and his own superiors had disowned him.
He was a dead man walking.
Inoue stood up, not even looking toward Ren, and wandered out of the building like a zombie.
"Hmm," Metsudo hummed, tapping his chin. "Young people today lack 'mettle.' Being told to 'deal with it yourself' is actually a grand opportunity for a total takeover, if you have the guts for it."
As a man who had clawed his way from the gutters to the top of the financial world, Metsudo's definition of a "problem" was very different from a small-time thug's.
"Oh, that reminds me..."
Metsudo's expression shifted. He pulled Fusui aside, his voice dropping to a serious whisper.
"Fusui, since you've already started sniffing around the 'hidden hand' behind this match, I have a message for Erioh (the Kure Patriarch)."
Fusui blinked. "Of course, Chairman. What is it?"
Metsudo sighed, a rare look of weariness crossing his face. "It's been a long time... but it seems a certain 'organized crime' element has set its sights on the Kengan Association."
Fusui looked confused. "Is it the Teiai Group?"
"No. Much deeper," Metsudo shook his head. "There is a 'Criminal Syndicate' active in the global underworld that intends to swallow the Kengan Association whole..."
"Tell Erioh: things are about to get very interesting."
Metsudo patted Fusui on the shoulder. Then, his face went stone-cold.
"One more thing, Fusui. If you decide to keep digging into this... you must be careful of 'Diamonds.'"
Fusui tilted her head. "Diamonds?"
Metsudo leaned in close. "Specifically, the kind that have been cut to their most 'perfect' form. IDEAL."