CHAPTER 91: INTERSECTION
Splash... thud...
Ren Shiroki was launched backward. He skidded across the steel deck for several meters, his body leaving a trail of friction-burnt blood.
His nasal membranes were torn. His teeth had sliced through the interior of his cheeks. Blood geysered from his mouth and nose, painting his entire face in a gruesome, wet mask.
"Gah... cough... ah!"
Ren felt his head throbbing with a dull, heavy ache. The world was spinning. He tried to stand, but the deck seemed to rise up and "smack" him in the face before he could find his footing.
THUD.
Ren hit the metal again, his senses dissolving into a chaotic static.
What the hell happened?
He forced his muscles to fire, baring his bloody teeth as he scrambled back to his feet, only to stumble and collapse onto his rear.
Ah.
The agony in his mandible and the violent vertigo in his brain finally connected. He understood.
It was a perfect strike to the "Button"—the jaw.
Katsumi Orochi remained in his follow-through position.
Upon closer inspection, his fist wasn't a standard ball of knuckles. His pinky, ring, and middle fingers were curled tight into his palm. His thumb was pressed firmly against the second joint of his index finger, forcing the knuckle to protrude slightly. It was a "Piercing Fist"—the Ippon-ken.
"THAT—THAT IS...!!"
Atsushi Suedo stared in total disbelief. "That's not a Karate strike! There's no such 'Grip' in our school's curriculum!"
He recalled Kyara's words from a moment ago. "A Kung Fu grip? Is the General really changing the fundamentals of our Karate?!"
"Again?"
Madarame Baku caught the word. "It sounds like the Shinshinkai is quite the 'Progressive' organization. You don't look like the traditional, stick-in-the-mud dojo types from the movies."
"Indeed," Suedo grunted, his arms crossed. "Master Doppo... the General's father... was a man of evolution. He once stood before a thousand disciples and told them his fist-grip of forty years was 'Incorrect.' It nearly caused a riot."
"But Master taught us that 'Technique' is a living thing. If it stops evolving, it's just a museum piece."
Suedo looked at Katsumi. "Wait... did he learn that new grip from the Old Man?"
Hearing Suedo, Katsumi Orochi let out a short, sharp laugh.
"Oi, Suedo. You really need to pay more attention during demonstrations!"
"Master Doppo's grip is based on the 'Primal State'—the way a human infant clenches its fist. It's a strike without killing intent, meant to represent the purity of Karate."
"But look at me," Katsumi's eyes flared. "My killing intent is a goddamn hurricane. I could never use the Old Man's grip."
Katsumi looked at his own knuckles, his voice dropping to a low rumble.
"After the tournament at the Dome, my father... the Great Doppo... felt that Modern Karate had lost its way. He felt he had no right to teach after being humbled by 'Ancient' styles. So he exiled himself from the school."
"But I have a different interpretation!"
Katsumi tightened his fist again.
"I am going to Plagiarize four thousand years of Chinese history! I am going to devour every master, every secret, and every 'Fist' until I forge the Ultimate Modern Karate!"
The spectators stood in stunned silence. Even Suedo scratched his jaw, his face turning a light shade of red. "General... you're being a bit too blunt about the 'Stealing' part..."
Katsumi didn't care. "Can you believe it? Before the Kanto Plain even existed, Kung Fu masters were already slaughtering each other. Why ignore that data?"
"I've already invited Retsu Kaioh to the Shinshinkai HQ as a guest instructor," Katsumi added, glancing at Suedo with a smirk. "Once we're done with this boat trip, make sure you show up for his lectures. You might actually learn something!"
Suedo sighed. "Understood, General. But... you're technically still in a match."
"I know that. That's why I'm 'Waiting.'"
Katsumi wiped a smear of blood from his nose. He scanned the deck and picked up a broken table leg, tossing it at the prone Ren Shiroki.
ZIP!
Ren, lying on his back, suddenly arched into a bridge. He launched a high-speed rising kick that batted the wooden leg into the darkness of the harbor.
[JAMIE: LUMINOUS KICK]!
If Katsumi had moved in for the finish, it wouldn't have been a table leg he hit; it would have been his own skull.
"See?" Katsumi grinned at the crowd. "This guy isn't going down after one hit."
Ren Shiroki swayed as he forced himself to stand.
The concussion was a heavy fog in his mind, the vertigo pulling at his balance like an invisible tide. Blood continued to drip from his chin, staining the steel deck.
"This... what kind of match is this?"
Kaiji Itou stammered, his eyes wide with confusion. "One guy runs away, the other guy walks into a counter-hit on purpose... is this even a fight?!"
"Heh... of course... it is."
Ren's steps were shaky, but he looked at Kaiji with a manic grin.
"Kaiji-kun... if you had the chance to be hit by Muhammad Ali or Iron Mike... would you really say no?"
"That's a multi-million dollar punch! You take that hit just to see what it feels like! You take it to see if your soul is strong enough to survive it!"
The pain was real. The dizziness was nauseating. But Ren didn't try to hide it. Instead of retreating to recover like Katsumi had, Ren decided to Incorporate the vertigo.
He settled into Jamie's Drunken Stance. His steps became erratic, flowing with the spin of his own head. His fingers splayed, his body swaying like a reed in a storm.
"Nice! Simply perfect! I can work with this rhythm!"
Katsumi Orochi accepted the challenge. He tightened his fists and launched into a high-speed sliding dash.
At the range of a single pace, Katsumi leaped. He aimed a flying kick straight for Ren's throat.
Simultaneously, Ren dropped into a side-crouch. He slammed his palm into the deck and launched a spinning low-sweep, his body skidding across the steel.
[JAMIE: BREAKIN' SWEEP]!
The high-speed Thomas Flare, infused with the chaotic rhythm of the Drunken Fist, lacked the raw power of Katsumi's jump, but its speed and multi-hit capability were superior.
SHING—SHING!
The two warriors crossed paths—one high, one low. They both missed the "Kill Shot" by millimeters.
As they reset, visible red welts appeared on Ren's thigh and Katsumi's forearm. The friction alone was enough to draw blood.
They didn't stop. They turned and charged again. Their movements were mirror images—both settled into a Karate Straight Punch.
Katsumi's move was a total-body explosion, utilizing every muscle group in a massive wind-up. Ren's was a "Lead-Step" lunge, emphasizing the torque of his rear leg and the precision of his reach.
[DRIVE IMPACT: SHOCK STRIKE]!
THOOM!
They crossed again. The punches whistled past each other's ears, the wind pressure alone opening fresh cuts on their skin.
It was a razor's edge. The mental strain of maintaining this level of concentration was physical. Beads of sweat broke out on both of their foreheads.
They reset their stances, their breathing heavy and synchronized as they searched for the final opening.
"Hoo—!"
Katsumi let out a long, steaming breath. "Grappling, CQC, Kung Fu, and Karate... Shiroki-san, you're an impressive puzzle."
"I have to thank you. You've let me see so many beautiful things tonight."
"But because I can see them... I can see your weakness."
Katsumi lowered his lead arm, his right fist chambered deep at his waist. He let out a low, authoritative shout.
"Shiroki-kun! You have too many 'Masters'! Your style lacks a Main Pillar! Because you have no 'Core,' you will never overcome a man who has perfected his path!"
"Tonight... I WIN!"