CHAPTER 159: THE GRUDGE
Ren Shiroki's introductory [KATA] was born from an intense cerebral
consciousness—a singular "common wish" projected onto the 36 trillion cells of
his body.
This superhuman level of focused awareness allowed Ren to execute his movements
with 100% biological efficiency. The resulting kinetic force was the [STRIKE AT
THE APEX].
And if that focus were applied to daily life—like, say, climbing and
balancing—the results were equally spectacular.
"..."
Ren stood atop a wooden stool. The stool was balanced on a single leg on the
surface of a table. The table itself was balanced on a single leg on the porch
deck.
The three of them swayed in the breeze, yet Ren maintained a state of perfect,
impossible equilibrium that would have made a world-class circus acrobat weep
with envy.
Achieving cellular-level focus combined with a fighter's elite physique allowed
for this kind of "Impossible" physics.
"This feeling..."
{That feeling of total control... it feels like becoming the wind itself,
doesn't it?}
A vibrant, crisp voice echoed in Ren's ear.
He looked toward the sound, and the ink-wash lines of his mind swirled.
A silhouette suddenly leaped away, performing a series of fluid, high-speed
vaults. The figure scrambled up to the roof of the Hub in three light steps,
intentionally staying just at the edge of Ren's vision. But the more the phantom
teased him, the more Ren wanted to see.
His gaze followed the blur left-to-right. Suddenly, his mind wavered. The focus
snapped. His lead foot tilted.
CRASH!
The table, the stool, and Ren Shiroki all tumbled to the deck in a chaotic,
ungraceful heap.
{Haha! Your mind needs to be even more flexible if you want to chase the wind!}
The ink-wash phantom stood on the peak of the roof, giving a stylish wave of his
hand before dissolving into mist.
"..."
Ren sat on the deck, rubbing his sore rear. He felt a wave of irritation. The
table and stool were broken, Doppo Orochi was leaning against a pillar nearby
covering his mouth to hide his giggles, and Arisa was sighing from the doorway.
"Onii-chan, are you five years old? Stop breaking the furniture."
Ren sighed. The first day of the Soul Combat Hub's official operation passed
like any other.
There was no grand ceremony. Just the quiet grind of a warrior's routine. It was
simple. It was normal. It was satisfying.
Nightfall.
The "Ordinary Sunlit Fighter," Mitsuyo Kureishi, strolled up the street toward
the Hub.
He wasn't here to scavenge a meal tonight. He had brought a housewarming gift
for Ren to celebrate the Hub's opening—and, if the stars aligned, he hoped to
scavenge a late-night snack afterward.
"Ren-kun... Ren-kun... I can hear your bones go snap-crackle-pop~"
Humming a deeply unsettling song, Kureishi turned into the yard. He spotted Ren
immediately. The youth was in the training area, performing shadow-boxing.
"..."
Kureishi was a professional; he knew when to be silent. He stood at the edge of
the dirt, watching Ren work.
But as he watched, Kureishi's brow furrowed.
He knew Ren's mental processing power and "Imaging" ability were off the charts.
Even in a simple drill, Ren could make it look like a real opponent was in front
of him. An experienced eye could see the "Ghost" just by watching the way Ren
slipped a punch or winced at an impact.
But this time, the "Ghost" wasn't singular.
One... two... wait, are there four of them?
Ren was facing multiple phantoms. Some were massive, others lean and wiry.
Soldiers.
Based on Ren's reactions, these weren't fighters in a ring. They were fully
armed mercenaries. He was slipping past knives, parrying machetes, and ducking
beneath the muzzles of pistols and submachine guns.
The "Ghosts" were vivid. Ren was in a war zone.
SHING!
The mercenaries fanned out into a tactical wedge, trying to suppress him with
overlapping fields of fire.
But just as the muzzles rose, Ren exploded. He lunged into the center of the
formation.
WHOOSH!
Ren leaped into the air, executing a 360-degree mid-air sweep.
[RYU: TORNADO KICK]!
CLACK-CLATTER!
Ren's boot caught the barrel of the phantom SMG, kicking it aside. He followed
through, his heel clipping the wrist of the pistol-wielder, forcing the aim
wide.
"!?!"
One mercenary lunged with a heavy machete. Ren didn't retreat. He caught the
man's shoulder, his arm snaking under the bicep to jam the joint. The machete
was pinned, useless.
"Haha..."
Ren spun, his boot slamming into the chest of the pistol-merc. He hooked his leg
back, tripping the man, and then drove a heavy heel into his jaw.
BANG!
One down.
Ren's core muscles twisted. He caught the machete-merc in a headlock and
executed a high-velocity single-arm shoulder throw.
SHING!
The mercenary was launched, crashing into the partner who had just lost his SMG.
Before they could recover, Ren jumped, driving both feet into their chests.
[ZANGIEF: SIBERIAN SOUR-PUNCH KICK]!
THUD!
Two more vanished into the mental fog.
Only the leader remained. He was the least threatened, holding only a tactical
knife.
Next second—
CLICK.
The knife-merc pressed a button on the handle. With a metallic pop, the blade
was launched like a bullet.
A Spetsnaz Ballistic Knife.
Ren had predicted it. He performed a microscopic side-slip, the blade whistling
past his ear without leaving a scratch.
The mercenary discarded the empty handle. He bared his teeth, tightening his
fists for a final, desperate stand.
But in that heartbeat—
WHOOSH!
Ren triggered his [DRIVE RUSH]. His expression was even more terrifying than the
mercenary's. He looked possessed by a massive, internal rage that needed an
outlet.
"HEI—YA!"
SHING!
Ren delivered a heavy right straight. His fist buried itself into the
mercenary's solar plexus, lifting the man off the ground. The phantom's face
was a mask of agony.
In the mercenary's other hand was a final "Secret Weapon." He had been a second
away from pulling the pin.
"..."
Kureishi blinked. "What was that last part?"
"A grenade," Ren panted, ending the session. He turned to find a towel to wipe
the sweat from his neck.
Kureishi recalled the reports he'd heard about the "Tunnel War" involving IDEAL
and the police. Two grenades had been detonated in a public subway. Ren had been
right in the middle of it.
"Heh. Ren-kun looks pissed," Kureishi noted. "He's got a real Grudge against the
'Grenade-Escape' technique, doesn't he?"
Ren finished drying his hair. "So... what brings you here this late, Senpai?"
"The Grand Opening Celebration, obviously!"
Kureishi slung a friendly arm around Ren's shoulder. "My friend's Hub is finally
live. We should go out for drinks and late-night snacks! My treat!"
Arisa was staying the night at Karura's estate, and Marco had been invited out
by some of the local delinquent crews who worshipped him. Ren was home alone.
He couldn't find a reason to say no. He changed into his street clothes and
followed Kureishi out.
They ended up at a local Yakitori shop that Kureishi frequented. The food was
excellent, the beer was cold, and the atmosphere was lively.
After several rounds of chicken skewers and draft beer, Kureishi's tongue
loosened.
"Ren-kun, you really are an outlier. Using mercenaries for imaging training?
Imagining hand grenades in a parking garage? That's intense."
Ren chewed on a skewer. "It's part of 'Real Combat' now. I have to be ready for
anything."
"I don't have much interest in that stuff," Kureishi said, a bit buzzed. "Guns
and bombs don't have skeletons. You can't hear them snap. It's no fun at all."
CLINK.
They toasted and sipped their beers.
Just then, a man wearing a beanie and a sleeveless denim vest stepped out of the
shadows behind their booth.
"Oi, oi. The 'Street Brawl' has been live for three days now," the man said, his
voice a low, aggressive rasp. "But looking at you two? You don't have nearly
enough 'Sense of Crisis' for this city."
Ren and Kureishi, currently enjoying their high, turned their heads slowly.
Next microsecond—
SHING!
A heavy concrete brick whistled through the air, aimed directly at Ren's head.
☆☆☆
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