CHAPTER 45: THE SENSE OF RHYTHM
Ichika Iori's plan was transparent.
Ren Shiroki had a heavy pocket, and they had the connections. If they played their cards right and made a solid impression tonight, any future underground business Ren started would naturally have a seat for them.
But Ren wasn't thinking about a standard "business" yet.
He considered his options. Should he invest in Nozomi's future venture? A female underground circuit? It was a possibility, but it felt too narrow. Ren didn't just want to make money; he wanted to create an environment that satisfied his own needs as a martial artist while leveraging his ties to the Kengan Association.
"..."
He set the thought aside for a moment. It was time for another round.
Since Yuzuha Li was at the table, Ren spent the next hour picking her brain about Kung Fu. He was fascinated by the technical theory behind her "Six Harmonies" style.
Yuzuha was pleasantly surprised. "In the underground world, you don't find many people who actually want to talk about why a punch works."
It was true. Most fighters in the pits—especially the heavyweights—were driven by ego and aggression. They didn't care about the philosophy; they just wanted to see who could take more punishment.
But for Ren, the dialogue was essential.
"In a fight, it looks like the 'Weak' can overcome the 'Strong' through sheer will," Ren analyzed, staring at his beer. "But the reality is conviction backed by technique. If the loser survives and refines their art, they reclaim the victory. That's how the level of combat evolves. That's how you reach the peak."
Yuzuha, a true martial artist at heart, nodded in agreement. She was the living proof of that theory. Standing at 160cm (5'3") and 45kg (99 lbs), she was a featherweight in a world of giants.
Her "Six Harmonies" style relied on internal energy and breath control. Her go-to winning formula? Blind the opponent, disrupt their balance, and finish them before they can reset.
"..."
Disrupt the rhythm.
Ren's earlier observation was confirmed. Against a superior physical force, the core objective isn't to trade blows; it's to break the opponent's "Song" and force them into your own tempo.
Yuzuha enjoyed the chat. Feeling a sense of kinship (and still guilty about the Mapo Tofu incident), she handed Ren her card.
"Here. If you ever want to spar or just trade ideas, hit me up. Just make sure there's good food involved."
By the time the group finished, they were all feeling the effects of the alcohol.
Ren and Nozomi were on their "Second Shift," having double the intake of the others. Even with their elite physiques, the night air was starting to feel a bit wavy.
"Ugh..."
They stumbled out of the restaurant, heading toward the main street to catch the breeze.
Hana and Ichika were still brainstorming for Nozomi. Since they weren't exactly "Model Citizens," their job suggestions for the unemployed fighter ranged from "High-end Hostess" to "Cargo Smuggler" to "Back-alley Enforcer."
"You guys are going to get arrested one of these days," Nozomi groaned.
She looked at Ren. As a fellow undergrounder, his ideas would probably be more her speed. But the guy currently looked like he was vibrating on a different frequency, lost in his own world.
"Guess I'll just wait and see," Nozomi muttered, checking her phone.
Suddenly, a roar of shouting erupted from a nearby corner.
The group stopped. At the end of the block, two rival girl-gangs had clashed. What started as a screaming match had devolved into a full-blown brawl. Beer bottles were being smashed over heads, and hair was being yanked with reckless abandon.
"Believ it! I'll end you, bitch!"
"Go to hell! You're dead!"
A dozen delinquents were tangled in a messy, violent heap.
"..."
Yuzuha stood on her tiptoes to see. "What's the deal with them?"
Ichika lit a cigarette, her eyes dull with boredom. "Just local brats with too much energy. Not 'Organization' types. Just bored punks looking for a thrill."
Nozomi tilted her head toward Ichika. "Isn't your new department—the Juvenile Division—supposed to handle exactly this kind of thing?"
"Yeah," Ichika sighed. "But they're a nightmare. They don't follow Yakuza rules, and standard police procedure doesn't scare them. They're like feral cats. I wish they'd all just disappear."
Yuzuha whispered to Ren, "This cop is absolutely useless."
"Hah?" Ichika snapped, her sharp shark-teeth bared. "You're an illegal fighter. Your gym is unlicensed and your medical bills are off-the-books. You want me to haul you in for forty-eight hours of questioning?"
Yuzuha sighed. "See? Useless."
Hana, ever the peacemaker, slung her arms around her friends. "Now, now! Should we call it a night? Or does anyone want to hit that jazz bar in the 5th District?"
Before anyone could answer, Nozomi's eyes sharpened. "Wait. Are those guys coming for us?"
A group of five male punks was marching directly toward them. A few of them had suspiciously lumpy jackets—likely carrying lead pipes or wooden bats.
"Think you can mess with a cop?" Ichika began, reaching for her badge before remembering. "Crap. I left my ID at the station."
Hana tried to be optimistic. "Maybe they're just passing through?"
The punks' goal was unmistakably clear. They headed straight for Ren Shiroki.
Among them was the tall thug Ren had dislocated earlier. His arm was in a sling, and his face was twisted with a thirst for revenge.
"That's him, Boss!" the injured punk hissed. "That's the guy who broke my wrist!"
"..."
Ren was quite drunk. He blinked, trying to focus his eyes, but his brain felt like it was floating in a cloud. The rest of the group wasn't much better. Nozomi was swaying, and Yuzuha was clutching her stomach, still dealing with the massive Mapo Tofu intake.
"Hah... bad timing," Nozomi muttered.
Usually, this would be a five-second fight. But in their current state, with the punks armed and outnumbering them, it was a recipe for a messy, annoying injury.
"Let's just bolt," Nozomi whispered. "It's not worth the headache."
"..."
Ren didn't bolt. He bumped into Nozomi's shoulder as he stumbled forward, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
"Let's... try... something..."
Ren faced the punks, his feet planted wide but his torso swaying rhythmically. After talking with Yuzuha and watching the matches, a dozen chaotic ideas were swirling in his mind. These punks were the perfect test subjects.
"Come... get some!" Ren slurred, beckoning with a hand.
The punks didn't hesitate. Two of them pulled baseball bats and swung for Ren's head.
SHING!
The bats hit nothing but air.
"!?"
The punks stared at the empty space. Ren had suddenly dropped flat to the ground, as if he'd passed out mid-fight.
But before they could laugh, Ren's palms slammed into the pavement. He executed a perfect Thomas Flare—a breakdance spin that turned his heavy legs into a pair of high-speed scythes.
WHAM! WHAM!
Two punks were swept off their feet, their ribs cracking as they were launched into the air.
The lead punk roared and lunged, but Ren snapped back to his feet, swaying like a reed in the wind. He stayed inches outside the man's vision, moving in a blur of unpredictable, "drunken" steps.
Ren took a deep breath, channeling a sudden surge of heat into his fists. He fired three rapid-fire jabs: Philtrum. Solar Plexus. Groin.
BAP-BAP-BAP!
The lead punk's face literally "blossomed." He spat blood and a molar before collapsing into a heap.
The remaining thugs didn't wait to see more. They turned tail and vanished into the night, screaming in terror.
Ren watched them go, but he didn't give chase. They were amateurs—no different from the brawling girls at the corner. There was nothing more to learn from them.
But the "Rhythm" was there.
In Ren's peripheral vision, a new shadow was watching from the end of the alley.
It was a lean, muscular youth with his hair tied back. A single lock of hair fell over his forehead. He had a mischievous, confident smirk, and a massive wooden liquor gourd was slung over his hip.
The phantom raised the gourd in a toast to Ren.
Disrupting the rhythm feels good, doesn't it?
"Yeah... incredible!" Ren whispered, swaying on his feet until Yuzuha caught him by the arm.
Two paths had opened in his mind. One: the "Drunken" style of combat. Two: a concrete plan for his ten million yen.
"Wait! That's it!" Nozomi shouted, her eyes lighting up. "Ren-kun! I just figured out how to solve all our problems! You were thinking it too, weren't you?"
She looked at the group with manic excitement. "Look at all these punks on the street with too much energy! We should start an underground league! We'll round up all the delinquents and start with a 'Female Division' to capture the market!"
Hana and Ichika's eyes widened. They saw the profit potential immediately.
But Ren wasn't even listening to her. He was staring at the crumbling dojo in his mind's eye, muttering to himself.
"The underground scene is too disorganized. I'll use the ten million to rebuild the dojo into a world-class 'Combat Hub.'"
"Training facilities. Medical support. High-stakes sparring. A nursery for rising talent."
"If I get enough members, the 'Hub' becomes self-sustaining. It'll attract the real monsters of the city."
"And for staff... Marco! Marco needs a job. He'll be the perfect head of security. And then... maybe more will come."
Ren finished his mutterings and finally looked back at the women. "Wait, did you guys say something?"