CHAPTER 161: THE IMPOSED LOAD SIMULATION
The Back Alley.
"Hmm. He probably won't die. Just relax, buddy. I'll call an ambulance for you
in a bit."
"But since you're the one who jumped me, I'm not paying your medical bills.
Thanks for the cooperation~!"
Mitsuyo Kureishi let out a long, satisfied stretch. The flush of the alcohol was
still on his cheeks, but his eyes were bright with a post-violence glow.
"Hoo! Much better. I really need to do that once in a while. Though... I can't
let Cosmo see me like this. A Master has to maintain his dignity, after all."
Kureishi was in a magnificent mood. He turned around, expecting to find Ren
finished with his opponent so they could head to the next bar.
But to his surprise, Ren's fight was still going.
"?"
Kureishi's buzz faded slightly. He was genuinely confused. "Is Ren-kun's alcohol
tolerance that low? Why is he still dancing with this guy?"
He leaned against the brick wall, squinting through the dim alley light at the
man in the beanie.
He recognized him. The face was in the higher tiers of the police "Most Wanted"
archives.
The Hitman—Agnostic Front. Real Name: Akuhujio.
He was a textbook "Deep Underworld Contractor." For the right price, he would
accept any job, from simple intimidation to high-profile liquidation. His
nicknames—The Vicious Madman, The Cold-Blooded Violence Device—were badges of
honor in the dark world.
So... total human trash, Kureishi summarized mentally.
A bottom-tier enforcer who specialized in bullying Yakuza thugs shouldn't be
able to last ten seconds against Ren Shiroki.
But the "Match" wasn't following the logic of the scale. It was taking a very...
Special direction.
ZIP!
Akuhujio swung his stun baton. Ren Shiroki executed a perfect side-slip.
Akuhujio followed up with a heavy straight punch, forcing Ren to execute a
high-tension back-step.
Kureishi watched closely.
Ren's footwork was at terminal velocity. His expression was one of absolute,
soul-deep focus. He had already triggered his [ENGINE].
This wasn't a drunken post-dinner scrap. He was fighting for his life.
But he wasn't fighting Akuhujio. He was fighting a "Powerful Enemy."
"Ren-kun... what are you doing?"
"!?!"
Kureishi's eyes widened. He felt a shiver of realization.
Hearing the sound from behind, Ren Shiroki glanced over his shoulder. Sweat was
pouring down his face, and he was gasping for air as if he had been running a
marathon.
"Oho? You can feel it too, Senpai?"
Ren gestured to the hitman with a bloody grin. "As you can see... I've decided
that he's Strong."
Kureishi bit his lip, the question marks in his head finally forming a coherent
theory.
Ren wasn't fighting the "Actual" Akuhujio. He was fighting a "Super-Akuhujio."
[DRIVE RUSH]!
Ren exploded forward, closing the gap to the hitman in a heartbeat. He fired a
straight punch.
Akuhujio froze, his brain unable to track the speed. But then Ren's fist
stopped. He retracted the strike as if it had been parried by an invisible
shield.
He... he missed? No.
The 'Enemy' dodged!
Kureishi's theory was confirmed. He could no longer doubt what he was seeing.
In Ren Shiroki's mind, the man in the beanie wasn't a low-level hitman. He was a
monster.
Ren was using his elite analytical mind to construct a "High-Stakes Mental
Simulation." He was using the hitman's physical presence as a base, but then
manually buffing the opponent's stats to the absolute limit.
Through Ren's footwork, his guard, and his shifting weight, Kureishi could see
the "Ghost."
Ren was fighting an enemy with: The tactical speed of Seishu Akoya. The mass of
Kaoru Hanayama. The coordination of Katsumi Orochi. And the malice of The
Caracal.
Ren was effectively performing a "Weighted Training Session" in the middle of a
street brawl. He was intentionally making his own life difficult to push his
limits.
SHING!
Akuhujio swung a heavy hook.
Ren twisted his waist to slip the blow, retreating to a safe distance. "If I
tanked that hit... it would have shattered my ribs. What should my counter be?"
"JUST DIE ALREADY!" Akuhujio shrieked, swinging his stun baton frantically. Ren
moved like a ghost, the electrical arc missing him by millimeters every time.
Kureishi watched, mesmerized. It reminded him of a game he'd played as a
child—tossing a paper ball into a bin and telling himself, "If I miss, the
world ends."
Ren was playing that game with his soul.
If this guy is a Master of the Short-Stick, how do I enter the pocket? If he's
an expert in dirty battlefield tactics, how do I maintain my rhythm?
"..."
To Ren, Akuhujio had been overwritten.
The stun baton was moving with the terminal velocity of an Akoya strike. The
punches carried the mountain-shattering weight of the Otokodachi. The tactical
positioning was as devious as the CIA Secretary.
The "Mental Load" was so heavy that even Kureishi, the spectator, felt a cold
sweat. How do you win against a perfect enemy you created yourself?
"SEI!"
Akuhujio fired a combination of punches and stick-swings, pinning Ren against
the alley wall. The baton hit the bricks, and Akuhujio followed through with a
heavy back-fist that caught Ren's forearm.
"WAAGH!"
Ren let out a scream of absolute agony. He was launched sideways, crashing into
the dirt as if his arm had been struck by a falling anvil.
"!?!"
Akuhujio stood there, baffled.
Ren was clutching his left forearm, his body trembling with a realistic, pained
shock. But there was no blood. There wasn't even a bruise. Physically, the hit
had been light.
"Oho!" Kureishi leaned in. "He's roleplaying a broken arm?! Ren-kun, you
masochist! So, how are you going to finish this? Are you using the [APEX]?"
"Not for this level," Ren panted, his left arm hanging limp.
He tightened his right fist, a cloud of hot steam escaping his lips. "I've found
the rhythm. No problem."
Akuhujio let out a hidden, icy smirk. His hand moved toward his waistband.
He didn't just have a stun baton. He was carrying a police-issue High-Voltage
Tazer.
As a professional, he had researched his target. He knew Ren Shiroki was a
"Counter-Striker." Ren liked to play a defensive game to analyze the opponent's
rhythm before ending the match.
Arrogant brat, the hitman thought. In the street, 'Rhythm' is a luxury you can't
afford.
He prepared to fire the tazer the moment Ren took a defensive stance.
"COME ON!" Akuhujio lunged.
ZIP!
He swung the baton. As expected, Ren slipped the strike, his movement slow and
testing—the classic bait for a counter.
NOW!
Akuhujio reached for the tazer, his eyes scanning the space for Ren's chest.
But Ren wasn't there.
The youth had vanished from his field of vision as if he'd turned into smoke.
"!?!"
Akuhujio's brain short-circuited. WHERE IS HE?!
Next second—
SHING!
A sound came from above.
Akuhujio looked up. Ren Shiroki had run up the vertical surface of the alley
wall in three high-speed steps. He was currently crouched atop the brick ledge,
hovering over the hitman like a predatory bird.
"HEI—YA!"
Ren leaped from the wall, launching a flying kick.
Vertical movement. A vector that doesn't exist in a sanctioned ring.
Even in Ren's "Super-Simulation," the hitman's logic couldn't account for the
parkour-style entry. The "Might" was too erratic.
BOOM!
Ren's boot connected squarely with Akuhujio's face. The hitman was flipped off
his feet, his head smashing into the opposite wall with a sickening crunch.
He slid to the pavement, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
Ren bounced on his toes, his eyes glowing. "Come on! Get up! Evolve again! Be
stronger!"
"..."
No one answered.
Akuhujio's face was a mask of blood. He was out of the game permanently.
"Tch. Too weak. The simulation collapsed," Ren muttered, his [ENGINE] powering down.
He shrugged at Kureishi. "Anyway, I tried incorporating the 'Street Environment' into my logic. It felt... pretty good!"
☆☆☆
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