CHAPTER 54: THE MASTER OF THE BRAWL
Nozomi Tenma had heard Ichika Iori talk about the "Old Ways" of the Yakuza.
In short: Brawling.
To the old-school syndicates, life was a series of fights. Whether they were eating, sleeping, or entertaining women, a conflict could erupt at any second. High-tension living was their baseline.
With the crackdown from the Anti-Gang Laws, these open-street skirmishes had become a rarity. Nozomi never imagined that on a simple walk between two bars—a distance of barely two blocks—she would find herself in the middle of a war zone.
Is this just a Tuesday for Kaoru Hanayama?!
Vroom... chug-chug-chug...
The two vehicles—the Jeep and the Cadillac—didn't turn off their engines. Their high beams cut through the Shinjuku night, illuminating the group like actors on a stage.
A dozen Yakuza enforcers, armed with brass knuckles, lead pipes, and tactical knives, closed in. Passersby vanished into the shadows, wanting no part of the coming slaughter.
"Haha... how nostalgic."
Kizaki stepped in front of Nozomi, rolling up his sleeves.
"Because of those damn laws, our 'internal disputes' have changed. Usually, it's a one-on-one duel behind a warehouse to settle things quietly."
"But this? A full-blown ambush in the middle of the street? It's got a nice retro feel to it, doesn't it?"
Kizaki's eyes swept the crowd, locking onto a middle-aged man holding a katana. He looked like a mess—greasy hair, cold sweat, and a manic, desperate light in his eyes.
"Yamamoto!" Kizaki barked. As Hanayama's right hand, his voice carried the authority of a king. "We just saw you yesterday. Did you overdose on something tonight, or are you just feeling suicidal?"
"It's... it's all your fault!" Yamamoto shrieked, his grip tightening on the sword. "You told us no new groups! I put every cent I had into that new club! How am I supposed to pay my debts if I can't operate?!"
"Heh... hehe! We can't collect, so we can't pay the loan sharks! My whole family is going to end up as forced labor on a freighter! I won't have it!"
Yamamoto pointed his sword at the white suit in the center of the group. "Hanayama Kaoru! There's a one-million-dollar bounty on your head! Tonight, we collect!"
Yamamoto was clearly at his breaking point. He was rambling, his logic fueled by terror and debt.
Kizaki didn't look intimidated. He turned to Ren Shiroki, treating the situation like a tour guide.
"That's Yamamoto of the Yanagawa-gumi. He's underwater with gambling debts and high-interest loans. He tried to open a human-trafficking 'soapland' to flip his luck, but our Boss shut him down before he could even open the doors."
Kizaki shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "I mean, we don't allow that kind of filth in our territory even on a good day. Now the Yanagawa-gumi is officially bankrupt."
Ren let out a genuine burst of laughter.
Kizaki looked at him, surprised. "Ren-kun? What's so funny?"
Ren wiped a tear from his eye. "I met an old man named Akagi—well, Yagyo-san mentioned it too. He said: 'If you can't afford to pay the stake, don't play the game.' It's a simple rule, yet it's amazing how many idiots think they're the exception."
Kizaki slapped his thigh. "Right?! My family runs the biggest gambling dens in the city, and we see guys like this every single hour!"
The two of them laughing together was the final insult for Yamamoto. His face turned a deep, bruised purple. "KILL THEM! Kill Hanayama! Bring me his head!"
The Yanagawa thugs lunged.
One man charged with a short spear, aiming not for Hanayama, but for Kizaki. He figured a hostage would give them leverage against the "Monster."
Kizaki didn't panic. He was a "Brain" for the family, but he was still a veteran of a hundred street fights. He stepped back, preparing a counter—
SHING!
Ren Shiroki beat him to it. He lunged forward, leading with a driving knee that transitioned into a heavy elbow strike.
THUD!
The elbow caught the thug squarely in the sternum. His chest cavity buckled inward as he sprayed a mist of foam, collapsing instantly.
Ren frowned, looking at his arm. Still not enough... the transition from the Russian style back to the Hado rhythm is still clunky. I need to feel the 'War' more clearly.
Before the fallen thug could even hit the pavement, a massive hand reached out from behind Ren. It clamped onto the back of the man's skull.
Kaoru Hanayama lifted the grown man off the ground with one hand, his grip so powerful the man's scalp began to bleed. He held the thug like a basketball.
WHOOSH!
Hanayama tossed the man aside like a piece of trash. He stepped up beside Ren. He noticed Ren was "spacing out" again—the "Training Trance."
Hanayama's lips curled into a tiny, rare smirk. "So... it's true."
"Hmm?" Ren snapped out of it. "What is, Hanayama-kun?"
"I was wandering near the Zanshi-gumi's old turf. I passed your house," Hanayama said, his voice low and rhythmic. "I saw a boy who called himself Marco. I knew the second I saw him—he belongs to 'Our Side' of the world. He has the eyes of a warrior, even if his heart is currently sleeping."
"He smelled like the Demon of the Kujo Building. But he was at your home."
The Yanagawa thugs were still attacking, but the two men ignored them, chatting as if they were in a café. Ren slipped a knife strike with a casual tilt of his head.
"How did you know it was my house?" Ren asked.
Hanayama's expression remained stoic. "A Dojo that looks like a war-torn ruin? It wasn't hard to identify."
Ren: "..."
"Anyway," Hanayama continued, "I heard the Demon of the Building was defeated. Was it you?"
Ren executed a palm-strike that sent a thug flying into a telephone pole. "No. I beat Marco. The Demon... Rodem... was defeated by Marco himself."
Hanayama gave a slow, ponderous nod. He lazily slapped a thug, the force of the "slap" shattering the man's jaw and sending him spinning like a top. "...I see."
Ren grinned. He dodged a pipe and caught a thug in a sleeper hold, shaking the man until his eyes rolled back, before finishing with a kick to the groin.
CRACK!
"Hanayama-kun," Ren teased. "Why are you being so bashful? You've been making all these excuses about 'Requests' and 'Protecting Hana-san.' You just want a reason to scrap, don't you? But since you're trying to be a responsible 'Uncle' for the first time, you're overthinking it."
Ren threw his arms wide, laughing into the night. "Come on! We can just make up a reason later! Let's just call this a 'Technical Exchange' and get on with it!"
"...Hahaha!"
Hanayama finally let out a loud, resonant laugh. "My apologies. I was being unsightly."
The instant the laugh ended, the atmosphere around Hanayama changed. The air became heavy, as if the gravity on the street had suddenly tripled.
Kizaki watched from the sidelines. "Boss is only nineteen. Being asked to play 'Elder' to a friend's daughter has had him all twisted up inside. But Shiroki-kun just popped the bubble."
"The Boss has the same look he had the night before he went to the mountains to train," Kizaki whispered, his eyes gleaming. "He's... excited."
Nozomi felt her skin crawl. If he wasn't serious before... how terrifying is he when he is?!
Yamamoto, realizing his men were being dismantled like children, scrambled into the Cadillac. He threw it into gear and slammed his foot onto the gas, aiming the luxury tank directly at Hanayama.
VROOOOOOM!
The engine roared as the car accelerated.
Hanayama didn't move. He stood in the middle of the street, a faint smile on his face, exhaling a long plume of heat.
"EEEEEIIII—!" Yamamoto shrieked as he closed the distance.
He never hit the brakes. He didn't have to.
Hanayama raised his left fist. He didn't use a "Martial Art." He simply punched the hood of the car.
BOOM!
Under the impact of that prehistoric fist, the reinforced steel of the Cadillac's hood crumpled like wet tissue paper. The shockwave was so immense it traveled through the chassis, causing the entire engine block to seize and die instantly.
Hanayama didn't stop. He lashed out with a kick, tearing the mangled hood off its hinges and tossing it into the air.
He then drove his right fist into the exposed engine internals.
CRASH-SHATTER!
The heavy machinery was reduced to a pile of scrap and leaking oil.
Hanayama stepped forward. He bent down, digging his massive fingers into the front chassis. With a guttural roar and a surge of "Absolute Might," he heaved upward.
THOOM!
The entire Cadillac—a two-ton luxury vehicle—was flipped over, landing on its roof with a thunderous crash that shattered every window on the block.
The car lay there, wheels spinning uselessly in the air, with a terrified Yamamoto trapped inside the wreckage.
"Hah. I knew he couldn't hold back anymore," Kizaki muttered.
He turned to the stunned Nozomi, Ichika, and the others.
"Ever since the tournament at the Tokyo Dome—since he fought the Karate masters and saw Baki take the crown—the Boss has been starving for a real fight."
"It looks like the appetizers are over."
Kizaki sighed, a look of genuine concern crossing his face as he looked at Ren.
"Ren-kun... you've successfully caught the Boss's eye. Whether that makes you the luckiest man in Tokyo or the most unfortunate... I honestly don't know."