CHAPTER 64: THE DOCKS AND THE CRUISE SHIP
Two weeks later, the day of the Kengan Challenger Match arrived.
Ren Shiroki woke up before dawn, following his now-cemented routine. He started with a long-distance run through the city, the cool morning air filling his lungs. On his way back, he stopped at a local market for fresh ingredients. By the time the sun began to peek over the horizon, he had finished cooking breakfast for himself and Arisa, as well as packing a balanced bento for her lunch.
His day didn't truly begin until the chores were done.
In a corner of the yard stood a massive, brand-new heavy bag. It weighed 150kg (330 lbs)—a high-spec model recommended by Mitsuyo Kureishi. It had cost a small fortune, but the texture was perfect for high-impact training.
BOOM!
ZIP—BANG!
Ren delivered a heavy cross, immediately followed by a rapid-fire sliding adjustment and a flurry of jabs, finishing with a crushing roundhouse kick.
His movements carried the grounded stability of Ryu, but they were now infused with the erratic, flowing elegance of Jamie.
It wasn't a "technique" yet, just a drill—conditioning his body to accept the transition between different styles of "Might." After thirty minutes of non-stop exertion, Ren was steaming with sweat. He stopped, resting his forehead against the bag.
"Hoo..."
He checked the time. Arisa was up and eating breakfast. Ren sat on the grass, stretching his limbs as his internal temperature began to drop. He headed for the washroom, the hot water of the shower feeling like a benediction as it washed away the salt and grime.
Standing before the mirror, Ren inspected his progress.
Broken bones don't knit in a fortnight, but his healing factor was working overtime. His ribs were tender but stable, and his range of motion was nearly back to 100%.
The lacerations from the Hanayama fight—mostly from the glass and metal racks—had closed up, leaving behind a new collection of jagged white scars. His right leg, which had been burst open by Hanayama's Vice Grip, was still pink and sensitive, but the muscle had reattached perfectly.
Physically, he was stronger than he had ever been.
Between the diet, the rest, and the high-intensity training, his frame had thickened. He had jumped from 94kg to 97kg (214 lbs) of pure functional muscle.
After dressing, he ate a quiet breakfast and picked up a book. Following Zangief's advice, he was trying to sharpen his mind as much as his fists.
His three "Masters"—Ryu, Zangief, and Jamie—all had wildly different philosophies on how a warrior should live. They didn't command him; they expressed their Wills, leaving the final decision to Ren. They knew that a "Strong" person isn't a puppet. To reach the apex, Ren had to find his own path.
Morning turned to afternoon. Ren's current training project was... unique.
Demolition.
The construction materials for the Hub were still being delivered, and the blueprints were being finalized by specialists. In the meantime, Ren decided to handle the removal of the old ruined dojo himself.
Using nothing but basic hand tools and his bare hands, he was dismantling the structure. Striking the rotted beams helped him practice power generation (Fa-jin), and hauling the heavy debris across the lot was the best functional strength training he could ask for.
By 2:00 PM, half the dojo was gone, and the yard felt significantly more open.
Just then, a batch of new equipment arrived—mats, squat racks, and specialized grappling dummies recommended by Kureishi. As Ren was unboxing the gear, a familiar motorcycle pulled up.
"Yo, Ren-chin! Is today the big day?"
Fusui Kure hopped off her bike, looking for excitement.
Even though a "Challenger Match" lacked the prestige of a main-line Kengan circuit bout, it was still high-stakes underworld business. Fusui wasn't about to miss the "Flavor" of the event.
"Perfect timing," Ren said, tossing her a pair of focus mitts. "Help me sharpen up."
"You bet!"
Fusui slipped the mitts on, snapping them together. "Ooh, brand new. These are going to feel great to hit."
"You get what you pay for," Ren grunted. "Kureishi-san doesn't have cheap taste."
"Kureishi?" Fusui recalled the BBQ party. "Oh, the bone-setting pervert?"
Ren nodded. "How did you know he was a pervert?"
"He has that 'Unsatisfied' smell. He's a dangerous guy, even by Kure standards."
Fusui settled into a stance and raised the pads. "Come on then! Show me what you've learned!"
WHOOSH!
Ren exploded forward. His dash was a blur of speed that forced Fusui to trigger a micro-burst of her dynamic vision just to track him.
She recognized the move: [DRIVE IMPACT].
It was a terrifyingly fast lunge, but it had a weakness: the start-up frame was distinct. Like a whip, no matter how fast the tip moved, the "handle" stayed still. A top-tier master could read the intent before the foot even left the ground.
But today, Ren did something different. He used the [DRIVE IMPACT] as a propellant, but halfway through the dash, his rhythm shifted. He didn't commit to the big strike. Instead, he channeled the momentum into a rapid-fire forward shuffle.
[DRIVE RUSH]!
He closed the final inch of distance instantly, appearing in Fusui's face before her brain could reset.
BAP! BAP!
Two crisp uppercuts hit the mitts. They weren't "Kill Shots," but the sheer suddenness of the arrival was overwhelming.
"!"
Fusui staggered back, her eyes wide. "What was that?!"
"[DRIVE RUSH]," Ren said, bouncing on his toes as he replayed the sensation. "I'm still working on the friction. The mitts feel good."
"Where's the old ones?" Fusui joked.
"Scrap," Ren replied.
As Ren finished his warm-up, another visitor arrived.
Kaede Akiyama, the Nogi Group secretary, stepped through the gate. She looked professional as always, but she was carrying a heavy, reinforced briefcase. Inside was 100 million yen—the entry fee for the match.
She looked Ren over, her eyes lingering on the new scars crossing his torso.
"Ren-san... your recent activities haven't exactly been 'peaceful.' Are you in any condition to fight? We can petition for a delay."
WHAM!
Ren delivered one final punch that sent one of Fusui's mitts flying across the yard.
"No need. I feel incredible. Better than ever."
He thanked Fusui and went to do a final rinse, calling back to Kaede. "What's the plan for tonight?"
"The match takes place on a Cruise Ship at the docks," Kaede explained.
"This is an irregular bout. It's not on Association grounds. I don't have many details on the venue, but I'll be accompanying you as the corporate observer."
"I'm in your hands tonight."
Kaede drove her sedan to the industrial docks, with Ren and Fusui in the back.
By the time they arrived, the sun had vanished. The piers were a maze of shipping containers and heavy cranes, shrouded in a thick, salt-tinged darkness. Most of the streetlights were out.
Kaede frowned as they picked their way through the shadows. "This is unprofessional even for an underground circuit."
"The member putting up the stake is from a third-rate firm," she explained. "The CEO is a sycophant who values 'Spectacle' over etiquette. He's a fool, but rumor has it he's found a new fighter. A real beast."
Suddenly, Fusui's head snapped around. "Movement."
The three of them turned.
Emerging from behind a stack of rusted containers was a young man with long, messy hair and a worn-out jumpsuit. He was panting heavily, looking around the dark pier with a face full of frantic desperation.
"You! Hey, you lot!"
The youth was gasping for air, his eyes wide with panic. "Are you looking for the ship too?! We have to find it! If it sails without us, I'm dead! We're all dead!"
He saw them staring and tried to compose himself, though he was still shaking.
"My name is... Kaiji Itou. You're here for the Espoir, right? Tell me you know where the pier is!"