CHAPTER 60: THE IMPERFECT PROOF OF EXISTENCE
SHING!
Hanayama's massive hand snaked out, clamping onto Ren Shiroki's bicep.
A collective gasp erupted from the second-floor windows. "He caught him again! It's over!"
But this time, the geometry was different. Hanayama was half-kneeling, his balance compromised by the previous exchange. Ren didn't try to pull away. Instead, he raised his right leg—the one Hanayama had just mangled with his Vice Grip—and drove his heel straight into the giant's face.
BANG!
The impact sent Hanayama sprawling backward onto the pavement. A fresh cocktail of their combined blood sprayed across the alley.
"..."
Ren stood on the balls of his feet, his weight mostly on his left. The muscle fibers of his right calf were exposed, leaking a steady, rhythmic stream of crimson that began to pool around his boot.
"It hurts..."
Ren's expression was strangely serene. Or perhaps, his body was so deep in the "Redline" that he no longer had the spare energy to move his facial muscles.
How's the leg?
He flexed his toes. They gripped the concrete. He rotated the ankle. It held. The nerves were still connected. The "Might" was still there.
But there was no time for relief.
In front of him, the colossus known as Kaoru Hanayama was already rising. He settled back into his wide-open, defenseless brawling stance, his eyes fixed on Ren with a terrifying clarity.
"Come... on..."
Ren wheezed out the words, his mind barely registering their meaning.
Simultaneously, both men pulled their right arms back. They were winding up for a total-commitment exchange. A collision of pure power.
The crowd above cried out in horror.
"They're going to trade?!"
"Shiroki can't take another direct hit! He's committing suicide!"
"He's given up!"
Nozomi Tenma gripped the railing so hard her knuckles turned white. Her eyes were locked on Ren. If they trade, Ren dies. Hanayama's mass is too high.
Is this the end?!
NO.
Just as their fists were about to cross the point of no return, Ren's rhythm shifted. He didn't throw the punch. He pivoted his entire body, using the torque to launch a high-velocity spinning heel kick.
[RYU: TORNADO KICK]!
THUD!
The kick caught Hanayama in the side of the neck. The giant's head snapped to the side, his entire frame entering a state of high-magnitude vibration. His nervous system hitched.
Ren didn't stop. He seized the "Stiffness." He fired a mid-level straight punch, followed by a low-line snap-kick, and finished with a devastating spinning back-kick to the solar plexus. All three strikes landed in a perfect, geometric line.
[RYU: UNBROKEN TRIPLE STRIKE]!
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Hanayama sprayed blood from his nose and mouth, reeling backward once again.
The flurry was so fast and so technical that it left the spectators in a daze. Even Ren felt a sense of vertigo.
I—
Why am I still moving?
His stamina was gone. His muscles were screaming. Yet his body was acting on a sub-conscious level, executing forms with a purity he had never achieved in the dojo.
And why... why am I smiling?
Broken ribs. A cracked jaw. A mangled leg. Countless lacerations. He was a walking medical emergency. Any sane person would have yielded minutes ago and been hailed as a hero for lasting this long.
But Ren Shiroki didn't want to yield.
He realized then that "Success" in the normal world—money, status, power—was just a set of ornaments. They were things you could hang on anyone. They weren't life.
What Ren was feeling right now—this heat, this agonizing struggle, this absolute focus—this was his Existence. He was happy because he was doing.
The first word written, the first punch thrown, the millimeter of progress during a workout... it didn't matter if it was clumsy or "imperfect." The Process was the only thing that belonged to him.
"HANAYAMA!"
Ren let out a soul-piercing roar. As Hanayama tightened his fist for a counter-charge, Ren leaped into the air, driving his knee forward like a battering ram.
[ZANGIEF: KNEE HAMMER]!
THOOM!
Hanayama's head snapped back as blood erupted from his nose. But as he fell, the giant pushed his massive palms forward, catching Ren mid-air and launching him away.
SHIIIING!
Both men hit the ground. Both men stood up three seconds later.
Splash...
Hanayama grabbed two more bottles of high-proof spirits. Ren managed to kick a small keg of beer into his own hands. They chugged. They drank like men trying to put out a fire in their own souls.
The onlookers were trembling. The amount of alcohol and trauma involved in this "Brawl" was beyond human comprehension. It was a clash of mythic proportions.
CRACK!
The containers hit the pavement.
Hanayama moved first. He lunged with a heavy straight punch. Ren didn't dodge; he used his left arm as a "rail," guiding the iron fist past his head while accepting the jagged friction that tore his skin open.
SHING!
The punch missed, but the wind pressure sliced a fresh gash across Ren's chest.
Ren didn't flinch. He delivered three rapid-fire hooks to Hanayama's jaw, then snaked his right hand under Hanayama's armpit, yanking the giant's massive frame toward him.
"Hanayama-kun... I can't take many more of those..."
Ren exhaled a cloud of blood-tinged steam. He splayed his left thumb and index finger, clamping them horizontally around Hanayama's Adam's apple.
Drunken Style: Modified—
[CELESTIAL SERVING WINE: THROAT LOCK]!
Ren's fingers dug in. He contracted his massive latissimus dorsi muscles, using his entire body weight to rip outward!
CRACK-SNAP!
The 160kg giant was hoisted off his feet and slammed into the pavement. His throat was visibly deformed, his windpipe crushed by the impossible leverage.
"GAH!"
The crowd shrieked. Even Kizaki broke into a cold sweat.
Nozomi's eyes were wide. She saw the mechanics: Ren had used his intellect to predict the trajectory, his "Might" to deflect the blow, and then targeted the single weakest point in Hanayama's prehistoric biology.
The Throat.
Hanayama was clutching his neck, his face turning a dark shade of blue. He couldn't breathe.
"Oi! This is enough! He's going to die!" Nozomi screamed at Kizaki. "Stop your Boss! Ren-kun is going to die too!"
"...No," Kizaki whispered, his voice trembling with reverence. "It's not over."
He pointed a shaky finger. "The Boss is a true Otokodachi. He will take his last breath and forge it into one final 'Cannonball'!"
Down in the alley, Hanayama rose from the wreckage of the beer crates. He couldn't inhale. His eyes were bloodshot, the stars above reflecting in his narrow pupils. He balled his fist, condensing every remaining spark of his life force into a single strike.
"Of course you would..."
Ren's arms hung limp. Blood traced red rivers down his face. He began to walk forward, his steps shaky and uneven. He was stumbling, but his velocity was increasing with every second. He was a falling star heading straight for the giant.
Does he have nothing left? Is he just charging to his death?
"Wait!" Nozomi gasped.
She noticed Ren's right fist. He wasn't clenching it.
A single finger—his index finger—was extended, pointing straight at Hanayama's heart.