CHAPTER 77: BORN OF INSTINCT
SHING!
As Mepu threw his jacket to blind the camera, Ren Shiroki's consciousness entered a state of terminal velocity.
He could feel it.
Standing beside him was a massive soldier with a golden flattop. He had his thick, corded arms raised in a perfect, immovable guard. His eyes were cold, professional, and entirely devoid of fear.
The ink-wash phantom solidified.
His name was GUILE.
A veteran of the Air Force, a man who had refined traditional martial arts into a lethal system of Military CQC. He possessed a defensive range that was physically oppressive, and in close quarters, he used high-speed, calculated strikes to dismantle any offense.
In the art of the "Counter-Trap," he was the absolute Professional.
Guile stared straight ahead, his gaze an unblinking line of resolve.
Ren tried to mimic the form, but his movements were too flowery. Guile offered a silent correction, his will flowing into Ren's nervous system.
Watch your habits. Don't waste energy on the wind-up.
Do not look away! The window to counter opens for a single frame. You must be calm enough to step through it.
Ren's posture shifted. The "Drunken" sway vanished, replaced by a rigid, economical efficiency.
Guile's phantom gave a sharp nod. He looked at Mepu, then up at the ballistic knife Ren had just batted away.
Good. Real combat is the best teacher. Now, take the initiative.
There are no rules on the battlefield. The situation is a shifting ocean. You must adapt, you must flow, and you must never fear the change—that is what it means to be a professional!
Mepu's black suit jacket drifted slowly to the carpet.
The debtors in the hall looked up, staring at the handle-less blade buried in the ceiling. A frantic whisper rippled through the crowd. "Oi... did that guy just pull a knife? He shot it out of a handle and the kid kicked it into the roof?!"
Upstairs, the VIP room was in a state of confusion.
Kaede Akiyama gripped the table. "Mepu just obscured the lens! He's cheating!"
The Association Referee, however, remained silent.
"Referee!" Kaede urged. "Ren-san just kicked something into the ceiling! It's right outside the frame!"
"Miss Akiyama, please don't take me for a fool. I know exactly what's happening," the Referee said, his voice dropping into a low, competitive register.
"But if I call the match now, I'm letting a man who insulted the Association walk away with a slap on the wrist. More importantly... our 'New Member' doesn't look like he's done yet."
The Referee let out a small, wicked smirk. "I've been doing this a long time. I'm not about to ruin the 'Flavor' of a match this good."
Mepu Kiro was still reeling from the failure of his "Sure-Kill" strike.
He had abandoned his pride, his rank, and his sanity to deliver that one cowardly blow. And Ren Shiroki had swatted it aside like a fly.
"Mepu-san... you looked like you had a lot of 'Resolve' behind that move. But at the end of the day, it was just one trick."
Ren stalked forward, his eyes locking onto Mepu's. "If the trick fails, you throw a punch. That's combat. Waiting for the 'Perfect Setup' is a death sentence in the real world."
"Now... I'm moving."
ZIP!
Ren lunged.
[DRIVE RUSH]!
The speed was supernatural. Mepu didn't even have time to raise his hands before Ren was in his face.
Ren fired a mid-level straight punch with the speed of a piston.
[GUILE: BURNING STRAIGHT]!
BANG!
Mepu's face took the full force of the blow. His nose exploded, and several teeth were launched into the back of his throat.
"!?"
Mepu swung a desperate, wild hook, but his arm hit nothing but air.
Ren had already dropped into a low sweep, his boot clipping Mepu's ankle. As Mepu stumbled, Ren snapped back upright and delivered a second straight to the man's solar plexus.
[GUILE: DRAGON FANG BARRAGE]!
Mepu's chest buckled. He felt the air leave his lungs in a pained wheeze. He couldn't move; his nervous system was short-circuiting. He could only watch, eyes wide with horror.
In his vision, Ren's fists were no longer hands. They were twin scythes. Ren pulled his arms back, his back muscles contracting to their limit, his elbows bent at perfect 90-degree angles.
For a second, Mepu had a hallucination. He saw two curved, shimmering blades where Ren's forearms should be.
It was the same "Blade-point" logic Mepu used, but refined to a level of terminal perfection.
"I can't match my Master's speed yet," Ren growled. "But I think I've found the 'Edge'!"
"MEPU! STAND FIRM!"
SHING!
Ren's chest muscles exploded with power, pulling his arms forward in a rapid, overlapping X-strike.
[GUILE: SONIC HAND-BLADE]!
The edges of Ren's fists slashed through the air.
SLICING-THUD!
Mepu's dress shirt was shredded. Two deep, horizontal furrows were carved into his chest. The skin was peeled back, exposing the dark red muscle fibers beneath. Blood geysered from the wounds.
Agony flooded Mepu's brain. His mouth fell open, but he couldn't even find the strength to scream.
Ren pivoted. He slammed his foot into the deck and launched into a backflip. As his body inverted, his right leg whipped upward in a high-tension arc.
[GUILE: FLASH KICK]!
THOOM!
The heel-blade traveled from Mepu's groin to his chin, slicing through the centerline of his torso before the impact launched the Referee into the air.
THUD-SPLASH!
Mepu traveled in a wide arc before crashing onto the carpet. His jaw was shattered, and the three vertical gashes on his chest were leaking a river of blood. He was out.
The lower deck went silent. The debtors stared at the ruin of the Kakerou Referee, unable to comprehend how a "God" could be broken so easily.
The silence was broken by the crackle of the intercom.
"MATCH... MATCH IS DECIDED! THE WINNER—REN SHIROKI!"
Ren rolled his shoulders, exhaling a cloud of steam. He walked over to a nearby decorative curtain and wiped the blood from his arms.
Just then, the "corpse" of Mepu stirred. He managed to push himself up on one arm, his broken jaw hanging at an angle. "It's... it's not over... yet..."
Ren raised an eyebrow, curious.
"Master Sadakuni... he won't... lose..." Mepu wheezed.
Ren's interest vanished. "You're still talking about other people. Boring."
He turned to leave, but his instincts suddenly screamed. He back-dashed, vaulting over a gambling table.
Next second—
BOOM!
The main entrance to the hall exploded.
A heavy, muscular silhouette was launched through the doorway, flying across the room and crashing into the pile of wood and fabric covering Mepu.
CRUNCH.
Mepu was buried under the door and the newcomer, his remaining light finally going out.
The person who had been "thrown" through the door was Marco. He was clutching his abdomen, retching and coughing up blood.
Ren frowned. Marco had slipped away during the chaos earlier. Baku and Kaji were also missing. Who was strong enough to hit Marco that hard?
Ren looked toward the shattered doorway.
A tall man stepped through the dust. He wore a high-end suit that struggled to contain his massive, corded physique. He had a short, tight afro and eyes that burned with a savage intelligence. A jagged chemical burn scar covered his left eye socket.
"You've got decent moves, kid," the man said. His Japanese was accented but clear. "And you're the Lie Eater's little errand boy? Is this the 'Demon' Rodem I've heard so much about?"
The man let out a chilling, resonant laugh as he scanned the hall.
"Just a pack of sheep with fragile 'Might.'"
He locked his gaze on Ren, a playful smirk touching his lips. "Though... you look like you might be worth a few minutes of my time. Want to play?"
Ren didn't answer. He began flexing his fingers, his eyes narrowing.
Just as he prepared to step forward, a shadow rose from the debris. Marco forced himself to his feet, blocking the path between Ren and the stranger.
"No... you're wrong!"
Marco was clutching his stomach, a mixture of blood and saliva leaking from his mask. He stared at the afro-haired man with a look of pure, stubborn defiance.
"Marco is Marco! Not Rodem!"
"And Marco isn't the Big Brother's errand boy! I am his Friend!"
Marco was covered in bruises. He had clearly been on the receiving end of a one-sided beating. His chin was raw where the skin had been scraped away, but he didn't budge.
"Marco wants to pay for what Rodem did! Marco wants to help his friends!"
"Marco won't kill anymore! But... MARCO WON'T LOSE!"
The giant took a deep, pained breath and looked back at Ren. His expression was a mixture of childlike innocence and a warrior's resolve.
"Ren-nii... please. This is Marco's fight!"
The man in the doorway watched the scene, his smirk widening.
"Saying you won't kill... yet your 'Killing Intent' hasn't faded an inch. You aren't lying, though. You're trying to carry the weight of your crimes while embracing your nature. You're finding your 'Battle-Spirit.'"
The stranger rubbed his chin, intrigued.
"Marco... Rodem... whoever you are. Who taught you to speak like that?"
The man's eyes shifted to Ren, studying the "Big Brother" with a fresh perspective.
"Was it you, Shiroki Ren?"