CHAPTER 140: YOU'RE INCREDIBLE!
Two days had passed since the Shinogi brothers' visit.
Ren Shiroki was still waiting for the formal invitation from Kureha. In the meantime, the construction of the Soul Combat Hub continued at an accelerated pace. The primary training floor was already becoming a functional sanctuary.
In the yard, Ren was training alongside the ink-wash phantom of Zangief. They were performing high-intensity Pistol Squats (single-leg squats).
To pull off a perfect rep at Ren's current mass required massive quadricep strength and elite-level core stability. Zangief, standing at 214cm and 181kg, performed them with the grace of a ballerina, alternating legs in a rhythmic, leaping cycle.
Ren was on his second-to-last set. His muscles were screaming. His legs were shaking so violently that on his next descent, he lost his balance, nearly tumbling into the dirt.
Seeing his disciple falter, Zangief stopped. He loomed over Ren, his phantom eyes fixed on the youth's quads.
[Do not yield, Little Comrade! You have the iron! You just need the spirit!]
Ren gritted his teeth and tried again. He spread his arms for balance, but his right knee buckled. He was stuck at the bottom of the rep, unable to find the drive to rise.
ZIP!
Zangief lunged forward, slamming his palm into the dirt with a roar.
[POWER! USE THE POWER!]
Ren struggled, his face turning purple from the exertion. Zangief leaned in, his voice a thunderous encouragement in Ren's mind.
[SQUEEZE! Feel the earth! Rise up! Rise like the Red Cyclone!]
SNAP!
Ren's muscles found a hidden reservoir. He let out a sharp "HRAAGH!" and drove his heel into the dirt, rising into a perfect standing position.
Zangief roared with delight. He delivered a massive "Ghost-Slap" to Ren's back. [MAGNIFICENT!]
The force of the phantom-blow sent Ren stumbling forward, but his body felt incredibly light. He had bypassed his physical limit. He prepared to start his final set, but Zangief gestured to a pair of heavy dumbbells on the grass.
[The next set... you do it with the 'Gifts'!]
Ren: "..."
Under the Master's hungry gaze, Ren picked up the weights. He began his final set: Maximum-Load Weighted Pistol Squats.
Zangief clapped his hands, the vibrations clearing Ren's mind.
Watching the "Hell-Training" from the porch, Jamie Siu raised his liquor gourd in a toast. He took a massive swig and let out a satisfied "Hah!"
Beside him, Ryu stood with his arms crossed, his eyes dark and thoughtful.
[Aren't you going to offer him a pointer, Ryu?] Jamie asked.
Ryu shook his head slowly. [Zangief is building the foundation. We have already taught him the forms. That is enough. How he chooses to weave them together in the ring... that must be his choice.]
[He is our disciple, not a copy. I want to see him throw his own punch.]
The training session ended.
Ren was exhausted, his mind a thick fog of lactic acid and confusion. Sensing his disciple needed a change of scenery, Zangief gave him a final, heavy pat on the back and gestured toward the gate.
Ren decided to take a walk. He wandered the quiet streets of Toshima, eventually finding himself near a dark, concrete bridge over a drainage canal. It was a well-known spot for local delinquents.
Under the bridge, a group of five or six punks were lounging against the graffiti-covered walls, smoking and laughing. When they saw the tall, "spaced-out" Ren walking by, they decided to have some fun.
"Oi, big guy! You look like you've got a sturdy body! You got a sturdy wallet to match?"
Ren stopped. He looked at the punks. He was still processing his masters' lessons on "The Reality of Combat."
"I have a question for you," Ren said, his voice flat. "Do you know how to fight?"
"Hah?"
The leader of the group—a youth with a pompadour and a cheap track jacket—stepped forward. "Listen, kid. Asking a question like that is a dangerous move. You want to see how we 'handle' people?"
"I suppose I do," Ren nodded. "Tell me... if you encountered an enemy several times your size, a monster with absolute mass... how would you fight him?"
The punk's eye twitched. "You mocking me, bastard?!"
He launched a wild, looping haymaker.
THUD.
The sound of the impact was followed by a sharp cry of pain.
The punk had hit Ren squarely in the chest. But it felt like hitting a structural steel beam. Ren didn't even blink. The punk, however, was clutching his wrist, his face turning pale from the shock.
He tried to kick Ren's leg, but Ren's stance was rooted like an old oak. The punk bounced off Ren's shin and fell onto his rear, staring up at the giant in total bewilderment.
"Don't just hit people," Ren advised, rubbing his chin. "It hurts. So... answer the question. Between you and me, the mass difference is significant. How would you win?"
The punk didn't hesitate. He scrambled to his feet and shrieked:
"RUN FOR IT!!!"
He bolted into the night, his crew right behind him.
Ren: "..."
Ren: "Hmm."
The answer was logical. A normal organism doesn't challenge an apex predator. They flee. Only a "Monster"—a fighter—chooses to close the distance against a superior force.
Ren turned to leave, but the sound of engines approached.
The punks had returned. This time, they had brought friends—a dozen armed delinquents on motorbikes, brandishing wooden bats and chains.
"You're dead, pretty boy!" the leader screamed, holding a knife. "I don't care how hard your chest is! Let's see how you handle steel!"
Ren leaned against the bridge pillar. He felt no excitement. Fighting these kids offered zero "Flavor." He was about to dismantle them when a voice boomed from the road above.
"OI! YOU LITTLE BRATS! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON MY TURF?!"
The group looked up. Standing on the bridge railing was a lean, wiry man in a white Tokko-fuku (delinquent attack uniform). He had bandages wrapped around his calves and torso, and a cigarette was dangling from his lip.
The punks recognized him instantly. Their bravado evaporated.
"It's... it's the Captain! Chiharu Shiba!"
Ren recognized him too. Since the prison breaks, the Hanayama-gumi had increased their patrols. Chiharu Shiba, the Boss's most loyal lieutenant and a legendary street-fighter in his own right, had been overseeing the Toshima sector.
"Brawling is fine, brats. but pulling a knife? That's for cowards!"
Chiharu jumped from the three-meter-high bridge. He didn't tuck or roll; he landed flat-footed on the concrete with a thunderous THUD. His knees groaned, and he stood there for a second, his face turning a pained shade of red, but he didn't yield. He used his "Guts" (Konjou) to overwrite the shock.
He kicked the lead punk in the chest, sending him rolling. "Get lost! Before I tell the Boss you're embarrassing the neighborhood!"
The punks fled for the second time that night.
"Sorry about that, Shiroki-kun," Chiharu said, lighting a fresh cigarette. "The Boss told me to keep an eye on your Hub. I didn't think I'd find you playing with these toddlers."
"It's fine," Ren said. He looked at Chiharu with a sudden, sharp interest. "Shiba-san... I have a question. If you faced an opponent with a 'Perfect Body'—a man who was physically superior to you in every way—how would you fight?"
"Hah?"
Chiharu blinked. He didn't overthink it. "I'd just keep hitting him until one of us died. Obviously."
"Even if it's Iron Mike Tyson? You'd just walk in and swing?"
"Especially then!" Chiharu grinned, his eyes wide and wild. "That's what a brawl is! You show up, you bring your guts, and you hit 'em until they break! If you're worried about 'Winning' or 'Losing,' you've already lost the fight!"
Ren stared at the delinquent.
The simplicity of the answer struck a chord. He felt a phantom "Rhythm" beginning to hum in his chest—a feeling of unyielding, reckless Guts.
"Nice! Simply perfect!"
Ren grabbed Chiharu's shoulders, a broad grin on his face. "You're incredible, Chiharu-san!"
Chiharu: "...Eh?"
Chiharu: "Hah... well... I guess I am! Hahaha!"
The delinquent captain blushed, looking both confused and intensely proud.
Ren returned home that evening, his spirit finally clear.
He had the foundation of Ryu. The mass of Zangief. The rhythm of Jamie. The tactics of Guile. The aggression of Luke.
And now... he had the Guts of the street.
As he walked onto his porch, his phone buzzed. He picked up to hear the smooth, clinical voice of Kureha Shinogi.
"Ren-kun. Your body should be at 94.7% optimal recovery. The venue is finalized."
"The match is scheduled for forty-eight hours from now."
"Location: The Underground Arena of the Tokyo Dome."
☆☆☆
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