CHAPTER 40: INDIVIDUAL WILL
The meeting with Kaede Akiyama had been efficient.
By the time she left, it was late afternoon. the sky was painted in a pale, dusty gold. Arisa had taken Marco to a nearby park to burn off some of his "giant baby" energy, leaving the Shiroki yard unusually quiet.
Ren, having no other plans, treated Fusui to a couple of canned colas. The two of them sat on the low perimeter wall, feet dangling, watching the sun dip toward the skyline.
Fusui tilted her head. "So, Ren-chin... what's the plan now?"
Ren took a sip of his soda, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Wait for Nogi to call. Keep up the daily grind. Fix up the dojo. Wander the city. Look for a way to bridge the gap between where I am and where I need to be..."
He listed his goals casually, but then he paused. He clenched his fist, feeling the calluses on his knuckles.
"I want to know the answer to the question: 'What does it mean to be strong?' And once I know... I want to be the strongest one there is."
Fusui wasn't surprised. Every true "Fighter" she had ever met shared that same, singular obsession. It was a stupid dream, a reckless dream, but they all chased it—the desire to stand at the absolute apex of the world.
"Strength, huh?" Fusui sighed. "If you ask my brother, Raian, that psychopath would probably just say: 'Strength is the power to kill anyone who annoys me.'"
"If you ask the others—Karura, the Patriarch, the masters of the Association—everyone has a different answer. I even heard the old man mention a monster nicknamed 'The Ogre.' He says strength is the only pure thing in this world, and everything else is just static."
She looked at Ren. "What about you? What's your take?"
"..."
Ren stared into the bubbles of his cola. "Consciousness," he murmured.
Fusui blinked. "Eh?"
"I feel like my 'Will' is the most important part of the equation," Ren said, tapping his forehead. "If I lose my individual will—if I'm forced to change because the world tells me it's the 'right' thing to do—then I've already lost the fight."
Fusui looked confused. "You mean you're just stubborn?"
"No. It's not about refusing to change," Ren shook his head. "It's about choosing the change. I want my actions to be mine. I want to move because I decided to, not because I'm following a script of a 'Successful Life' or an 'Efficient Career Path.'"
"I want to stand on my own two feet, by my own choice. If I just wanted money and comfort, I have a dozen ways to get that now, right? But if I take the 'Correct' path just to maximize my profit... is that really me living? Or am I just a passenger in a well-built car?"
Ren squinted into the evening breeze. "I want to know what it feels like to be strong enough to dictate my own reality."
Fusui liked the vibe. Since it was just a casual chat, she let the conversation drift.
"Nogi will probably take a few days to set up the match," she noted. "What are you doing with your ten million yen in the meantime?"
"Spending it," Ren said simply.
"What!?"
"I need to fix this place up," Ren gestured to the crumbling dojo and the corrugated shacks. "First priority is making sure Arisa has a real roof over her head. She's dealt with enough of my mess."
He rubbed his chin. "The main hall is a lost cause. I'll have to tear it down and rebuild. But I'm trying to figure out how to design it."
Fusui thought about it. "Just build a regular gym? You need space to train."
"Not that much space. Rebuilding a whole traditional dojo just for me and Arisa seems like a waste of the land's potential. I should utilize the space better."
Ren knew why the Teiai Group had been so hungry for this plot. Unlike the Kujo Building, which was a derelict island, this land was a goldmine. It was centrally located, had great infrastructure, and was surrounded by high-traffic areas.
Even in ancient times, the legendary warriors weren't just loners in the woods; they were backed by powerful clans. A warrior requires capital to survive. High-quality food, medical care, and specialized equipment aren't cheap.
So, how should he invest that ten million?
Seeing Ren lost in thought, Fusui waved a hand dismissively. "Look, if the money is such a headache, just marry into the Kure Clan! We've got more cash than we know what to do with."
Ren: "Hahaha!"
Fusui: "Hahaha!"
The tension broke, and the laughter echoed through the empty yard.
Since the conversation was over, they naturally fell back into their rhythm. Fusui, having learned from her earlier defeat, stopped trying to trade blows with Ren. Instead, she stayed low, moving with the agility of a cat, trying to clinch and drag him to the ground.
At this range, Ryu's striking techniques were neutralized. Ren shifted into Zangief's mindset.
"Ren-chin, your wrestling is solid..."
Fusui grunted as she dove for his lead leg. "But wrestling is about the takedown! You don't have a 'Ground Game'!"
She managed to lock Ren's right leg, her body coiled to transition into a kneebar or a heel hook.
But Ren didn't scramble to escape. He anchored his weight, used his monstrous leg strength to lift her entire body off the ground with just his right quad, and prepared to stomp his free foot down to break the hold.
ZIP!
Fusui let go instantly, back-dashing to a safe distance. She was panting, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and frustration.
"Man! The 'Mass' difference is just too much!"
"Heh. You were close," Ren complimented.
He could feel the burn in his leg. If she had finished that lock, he'd be limping for a week.
How do I deal with that kind of agility? Ren wondered.
Ryu was balanced and disciplined. Zangief was heavy and unstoppable. But against an opponent who moved like a ghost, he needed something... faster. Something lighter.
Ren stood in the middle of the yard, lost in thought again. Fusui saw the "Training Glaze" in his eyes, gave a casual wave, and headed for her bike.
Ren sat in the yard for a while after she left. It felt a bit stifling.
Arisa and Marco were still out, and the house felt hollow. Driven by a restless energy, Ren decided to head out for a walk. He wanted to see the "New Tokyo," hoping to find a spark of inspiration for a third style.
He walked for a long time, the city lights eventually swallowing the sunset.
He found himself in a bustling entertainment district. Neon signs flickered in a dozen colors, music poured out of basement clubs, and the air was a cocktail of street food and expensive perfume.
As Ren stood at a crosswalk, two men stepped out of an alley to block his path. They were local punks—thugs who saw a tall, "spaced-out" guy and thought he looked like an easy target for a shakedown.
One punk stepped in front of him while the other slung a heavy arm over Ren's shoulder.
"Hey, big guy. We're a bit short on change. Why don't you lend us a few thousand? We'll pay you back... eventually."
Ren didn't even look at them. He had just had a breakthrough in his mental simulation.
He grabbed the punk's wrist and hooked his right leg behind the man's heel.
SHING!
In one fluid motion, the punk was flipped. He spun 360 degrees in the air like a circus acrobat before crashing back onto the pavement.
"Wait... no, that's still not quite right," Ren muttered to himself.
He walked away without saying another word to the stunned thugs. The punk on the ground let out a delayed scream of agony as he realized his wrist was dislocated.
Ren kept walking, following his instincts.
He turned down a side street, went down a flight of concrete stairs, and pushed open the door to what looked like a quiet, low-key bar.
Wait...
He heard the sound of a crowd. It wasn't the sound of people drinking; it was a rhythmic, high-pitched roar of excitement.
He followed the noise into a massive warehouse space behind the bar.
Nearly a hundred people were gathered around a central ring. The atmosphere was electric, filled with shouting and the sound of flesh hitting flesh.
An underground arena.
But something was different. The grunts of effort and the battle cries coming from the ring were higher in pitch.
Ren moved to the edge of the crowd and looked over the heads of the spectators. His eyes widened.
It was an Underground Female Combat circuit.