CHAPTER 75: THE FLAWLESS STANCE
Lower Deck. Main Hall.
Inside the cavernous room, the atmosphere was a volatile mix of frozen violence and confusion. Aside from the Teiai "Stranger" enforcers and the IDEAL mercenaries locked in a standoff, dozens of "debtors" remained trapped. Only a few had managed to scramble out during the initial smoke-cloud chaos.
These men weren't warriors; they were casualties of their own greed. They couldn't wrap their heads around the rapid escalation.
"Oi, what is this? Why do they have real guns?!"
"Are those two seriously starting a match right now?"
"That throw with the briefcase... that was a dirty trick!"
"Wait—is there really a hundred million yen in that box?!"
The debtors whispered frantically, their eyes darting between the armed men and the two fighters. They were trapped in a cage with wolves, and they knew it.
Upper Deck. VIP Monitoring Room.
In the luxury observation lounge, the "Elite Four"—Chairman Hyodo, Atsushi Suedo, Kaede Akiyama, and the official Kengan Referee—watched the high-definition feed. Their perspectives were vastly more sophisticated.
"This is reckless!"
Kaede's eyes were glued to the screen, tracking Ren and Mepu.
"In the public world, a top-tier MMA fighter averages 1.6 matches per year. Even in the Kengan Association, where the combat frequency is high, a fighter usually only participates in 8.5 matches annually."
Kaede gripped the armrest of her chair. "Ren-san is already injured. To fight two Kengan-level matches in a single day... the physical and mental strain is astronomical. His body will redline before the second round!"
Hearing Kaede's analysis, Atsushi Suedo let out a short, sharp laugh.
He rubbed his bruised jaw, a glint of respect in his eyes. "Redlining? Please. He 'one-shotted' me. Dealing with a 'rookie' like me probably didn't even make him break a sweat, right?"
"Suedo-san, do not mistake me for a layman," Kaede snapped, her icy gaze shifting to him. "I can see your value. You are a national champion, a true predator. To achieve a knockout against you in seconds required Ren-san to expend an incredible amount of mental focus and timing."
"He fought a real Kengan match against you. His tank isn't full."
Kaede looked back at the monitor. "He shouldn't have accepted a second challenge—at least not immediately. He should have used the Kakerou rules to negotiate. There were a dozen ways to break Mepu's momentum without throwing a punch."
Suedo dug a finger into his ear. "Yeah, yeah. That's the 'Corporate Logic.' You definitely look like you work for a big firm, lady."
"I don't know how to argue with spreadsheets, but my Master—Doppo Orochi, the founder of the Shinshinkai—once told us a very different truth."
Suedo's expression turned somber as he recalled the lesson.
"He said: 'In the world of the Strong, the rules are simple. If an opponent stands before you, you knock them down. Period.'"
"'If you aren't in peak condition, that isn't the opponent being dirty. It's you being ill-prepared for life.'"
"'In this world, you have to eat, you have to drink, you get injured, and you get sick. To expect your enemies to wait for you to be at 100% is the ultimate arrogance. A warrior is always ready, or he is a corpse.'"
Kaede went silent. She had to admit that the "Master of Karate" had a perspective that transcended business. But the physical reality remained unchanged.
"Look," Suedo pointed at the screen. "Mepu is moving in."
Lower Deck Hall.
The crowd instinctively widened the circle, creating a makeshift arena for the two monsters.
Mepu Kiro moved on the balls of his feet, his steps light and rhythmic. His blonde hair swayed as he executed a high-speed "Butterfly Step." His eyes were fixed on Ren, glowing with a sinister, manic light.
"You said... you could 'defend' against me? Your first victory must have clouded your judgment. You've miscalculated your opponent."
"More specifically... you've miscalculated the 'Craft' of my fists."
Mepu tightened his grip. His stance was a variation of Peek-a-Boo boxing, but his hands were held differently. He began to close the distance inch by inch.
The moment he entered Ren's reach, Mepu's lead hand snapped forward.
BAM! BAM!
Two rapid-fire straight punches hit Ren's guard. The sound was heavy, a dull thud that vibrated through the air.
Ren maintained a high, tight guard. He used his biceps to shield his ribs and his forearms to cover his face, absorbing the heavy impact.
"Hoo... huff..."
Mepu took a sharp, shallow breath and accelerated. He launched a flurry of straights and hooks, his speed increasing with every rotation. Each blow was heavier than the last.
BAP! BAP! BAM! THUD!
No matter how Mepu attacked, Ren remained a defensive wall. It wasn't the "Iron Pillar" style Hanayama had used; Ren was actively adjusting. He would lean into some strikes to jam the leverage and retreat from others to bleed off the momentum. He was catching every punch on the "Shield" of his forearms.
The debtors in the crowd began to mumble.
"Is this it?"
"It looks like a sparring drill."
"Is he just a human punching bag?"
They were laymen. They saw the lack of blood and assumed the fight was a dud. But the next second—
SHING!
Mepu threw a wide hook. It didn't hit Ren's guard directly; it grazed the side of Ren's forearm as Mepu rotated past. Mepu's fist slammed into a nearby wooden gambling table.
CRASH!
The solid mahogany table didn't just break; a clean, jagged hole was punched through the two-inch thick wood.
When Ren lowered his guard slightly, the spectators gasped. Across his forearm was a straight, horizontal laceration. It looked like he had been struck with a rasp or a serrated blade. Blood began to bead along the "Burn."
"What happened?!" someone cried.
"It's the Grip," a Teiai enforcer noted. He was a mercenary who understood the dark side of Karate.
"Mepu isn't clenching a standard fist. He's using a specialized Knuckle Projection. He tucks his thumb and slightly extends the middle knuckle of his index finger—the Ippon-ken."
The enforcer demonstrated with his own hand. "Combine that 'Blade-point' with the high-velocity Fa-jin energy of his style... if he grazes you, he's not hitting you. He's 'Sanding' your skin off. At full speed, he can shred a man's defense just by touching it."
Mepu reset his stance, but his expression was one of confusion.
Why?
He had landed a "Scrape Shot," but it hadn't demoralized his opponent. Ren Shiroki was already settling back into a guard.
A wave of unease hit Mepu. He couldn't stop. He had to keep the pressure high. He lunged back into the fray, unleashing a "Gale" of rapid-fire strikes.
Why is this sandbag still standing?!
As the seconds ticked by, the impossible happened. Ren began to adapt to the "Rhythm." His forearms began to sway in a subtle, counter-rotational pattern. He was no longer just absorbing the scrapes; he was timing his movements to meet Mepu's knuckles at angles that neutralized the "Sanding" effect.
Mepu's eyes widened.
Impossible! He's reading the micro-vibrations of my Fa-jin?!
"DAAH!"
Frustrated, Mepu broke the rhythm. He launched a high-line roundhouse kick, his leg whistling through the air with enough force to decapitate a horse.
Ren caught it on his lead bicep. THUD.
"RAAAGH!"
Mepu ground his teeth, channeling every muscle in his torso into a lunging mid-level straight.
BOOM!
The strike was heavy enough to finally force Ren back. Ren skidded three paces, his boots smoking against the carpet.
Ren exhaled a cloud of heat. He rotated his shoulders, looking at his red, swollen forearms. He ignored the blood dripping from the scrapes and looked at Mepu.
Ren dropped his center of gravity. He didn't just crouch; he entered a deep, grounded stance, his weight perfectly distributed. His arms were no longer in a high guard; they were open, his palms facing Mepu like a predator ready to pounce.
Mepu retreated a step, his breath hitching. His manic grin vanished.
He looked at the youth and felt a crushing weight in his chest.
Why?! Why does he look so... solid? He's just standing there... but there isn't a single opening! It's a Flawless Stance!