CHAPTER 163: AAAAAAGGGGHHHH!
Cosmo Imai (171cm) looked up, staring into the face of the 230cm (7'6") giant.
The intruder radiated pure malice. He wore a tattered tracksuit and clutched a
filthy, blood-stained woven bag. His face was a map of deep creases and high-set
brow ridges, looking every bit of his fifty-odd years.
He was smiling. But there was no warmth in his eyes. His facial muscles were
bunched into hard, irregular lumps, giving him the appearance of a demon wearing
a human mask.
"..."
As a Kengan fighter, Cosmo had memorized the dossiers from the night at the
Dome. He recognized the bald freak instantly.
SPECK. One of the five death-row convicts "seeking defeat."
"Hmm. The air in here is nice and dry," Speck mused. He set the heavy bag down
at his feet, his bulging eyes scanning the Dojo.
"I'm looking for the strongest man in this building."
"I met him once... just a glance from a distance. But I never forget a 'Scent.'"
Speck put his hands on his hips and chuckled. "I never had a proper education.
But when it comes to this world, my eyes are surgical."
"That man with the pink hair... he looks refined, doesn't he? But beneath the
suit, he's just like me. He's a lunatic."
"Is his name Mitsuyo Kureishi?"
"I wanted to sample all the masters before I went to hunt Baki Hanma. I figured
he'd be a perfect appetizer."
Speck picked up the bag, a wide, toothy grin splitting his face. "I even brought
a gift! Like Santa Claus!"
Cosmo's eye twitched.
Speck's words were the standard "Dojo Challenge" script, but his delivery was
drenched in blood. Cosmo had no doubt: if a normal citizen were standing here,
they would have lost control of their bladder by now.
"So..." Speck asked, his smile widening. "Where is Mitsuyo Kureishi?"
Cosmo took a breath. "My Master is out on business. He isn't here tonight."
"Is that so? What a shame."
Speck didn't linger. He turned to leave, but as his hand reached the door, he
stopped.
He felt it. The sudden spike of Battle-Spirit.
He turned his head, his eyes glowing with a savage light. "Hmm? You want to
fight me?"
"You realize the disparity, don't you, little boy? I am Leagues above you. You
couldn't let me taste 'Defeat' if I gave you a head-start."
Cosmo dropped into a low crouch, splaying his hands in his signature Jiu-Jitsu
stance.
"I can't just let someone walk into my Master's home and threaten him," Cosmo
said, his voice steadying. "Besides... I was at the Dome too. I'm a combatant!"
Even facing a 230cm monster, Cosmo showed no fear. As a lightweight, he had
spent his entire career refining the art of "Giant Slaying." He had a thousand
strategies for weight gaps.
I can do this! Cosmo thought.
Seeing the boy's resolve, Speck let out a roar of delight. The muscles in his
face swelled with blood.
"Hehe! You've got spirit! But I really don't feel like fighting a child... so,
take the gift instead."
Speck turned the bag upside down and gave it a violent shake.
THUD. SLAP. SQUELCH.
A pile of objects hit the wooden floorboards, the sound heavy and wet.
Cosmo looked down. His pupils contracted into pinpricks.
Hands.
Four... no, five severed human hands lay scattered across the mat. The cuts were
jagged and fresh, blood still weeping from the stumps.
"!!!—"
Cosmo staggered back, a cold sweat drenching his shirt.
Speck barked with laughter, slapping his thigh. "Hahaha! These are my 'Trophies'
from the night! There are so many Dojos in this neighborhood! So many 'Masters'
who were eager to show me their moves! Hahaha!"
Cosmo stood paralyzed.
The transition from "Sport" to "War" was too sudden. His brain was caught in a
chaotic loop, unable to process the sight of the blood.
Whose hands are those? What happened to them? Are they... people I know?
His lack of "Real-World Resolve" was his undoing. He froze.
In that heartbeat of hesitation, Speck lunged. He didn't punch; he launched a
full-power front-kick that connected squarely with Cosmo's solar plexus.
BOOM!
Cosmo was launched across the Dojo. He crashed through a wooden equipment rack,
the timber splintering around him, and landed face-first in the wreckage.
"Aha! Why are you... ZONING OUT?!"
ZIP!
Speck blurred across the floor. He caught Cosmo by the back of the head and
slammed the youth's face into the floorboards. He began to rub Cosmo's face into
the jagged wood splinters with the force of a construction sander.
"What's wrong?! You said you wanted to fight! Does my 'Might' not interest you
anymore?!"
"COME ON! ENJOY THE STRUGGLE! BE GRATEFUL FOR THE PAIN!"
SCRAAAPE! SCRAAAPE!
Speck used Cosmo's face like a wire brush, leaving streaks of blood across the
polished floor. It was a display of barbaric cruelty that Speck performed for
his own amusement.
"HAHAHAHA!"
When the floor was sufficiently painted, Speck finally let go. He stood up,
looking refreshed.
"Well, the introduction is over. I hope your Master is less boring than you."
Speck began to stroll toward the porch, intending to head back to the precinct
for a nap. But as he reached the threshold, he stopped. He sensed a shadow.
"Hehe...?"
The giggle had barely left his lips when—
CRASH!
The heavy wooden front door was kicked clean off its hinges.
Two massive boots flew through the air, catching Speck squarely in the face. The
giant was launched backward, flying across the training hall and smashing into
the 150kg heavy bag.
Speck hit the floor on his back, the sandbag and its steel rack collapsing on
top of him.
"BAD PERSON!"
Marco stood in the doorway, a roar of pure, innocent fury echoing through the
Dojo.
He had actually left fifty yen on the mat earlier—an amount he believed gave him
the right to "do anything." He had turned around to retrieve it, only to find
the "Bad Man" hurting his friend.
Ren and Baku had taught him the most important rule: If the bad man is moving,
kick him first!
Speck lay under the sandbag, motionless.
Marco scrambled over to Cosmo, lifting the youth gently. Cosmo's face was a
ruin—shredded by wood splinters and swollen with bruises.
"Oi..." Marco's voice trembled. He was panicked.
Cosmo groaned, forcing his blood-soaked eyes to open. He looked at the giant
under the bag and then back at Marco. He reached out, his hand shaking, and
grabbed Marco's arm, pulling him toward his chest.
TAP.
Cosmo pointed a finger behind Marco.
Marco turned. Speck was already standing up. He casually wiped the shoe-dust
from his forehead. He wasn't just uninjured; he was still smiling.
"Haha! What a kick."
Speck analyzed Marco. "Hmm? I saw you at the Dome. You've killed people, haven't
you? You have the beautiful scent of a murderer."
Marco set Cosmo down. He stood up and took a heavy striking stance.
"Marco has killed. But Marco won't kill again!"
"BUT!"
Marco tightened his fists, his eyes locking onto the convict. "Marco will fight
you with the INTENT to kill! You must kneel and apologize to Cosmo-kun!"
"Tch. Is that so?" Speck smirked. "By the way..."
THUD.
Speck's foot snapped forward in a front-kick that caught Marco squarely in the
jaw.
Marco had been listening to the speech, his guard down. He was launched
backward, blood geysering from his nose. Even with his biological durability,
his frame was vibrating from the shock.
"Boring! Utterly boring!"
Speck laughed, lunging forward. He slammed his palm into Marco's face, hoisting
the giant off the floor and slamming him onto his back. He followed through with
a high-velocity soccer kick to Marco's ribs.
BOOM!
Marco was launched across the floor, skidding through the blood and dust until
he hit the wall next to Cosmo. He curled into a ball, coughing up a slurry of
crimson.
"What happened to the 'Intent to Kill,' little boy?"
"At the end of the day, you're just a child with a script."
"If you really wanted to kill me, this might be fun. But this? This is trash."
"Hee!"
Speck slammed his foot into the floorboards, shattering the timber. He scooped
up the broken pieces and began hurling them at the two fallen warriors like
shrapnel.
WHAP! CRACK!
The wood shards buried themselves in Marco's skin.
"YA-HA!"
Speck suddenly vanished from their line of sight. He reappeared at the far end
of the room, grabbing the fallen heavy bag and its steel frame.
He began dragging the 150kg mass across the floor. He aimed for Marco and Cosmo
and hurled the entire assembly at them.
THOOM!!!
The sandbag smashed into Marco, the impact sounding like a drum of wet meat.
Speck began a manic spree of destruction. He grabbed everything in the
Dojo—dumbbells, iron racks, benches, tables—and systematically buried Marco
and Cosmo under a mountain of heavy industrial debris.
BOOM! CRASH! SHATTER!
He didn't stop until the hall was empty and the two "prey" were entombed beneath
a high, jagged pile of wreckage.
"Hmm."
Speck raised an eyebrow, admiring his work. He walked to the center of the room.
ZIP!
He unzipped his pants and began to urinate with a look of pure, animalistic
satisfaction.
Splshhhhhh—!
The sheer volume was inhuman—enough to fill a commercial sink. It was the
physical manifestation of his super-metabolism, the engine that allowed him to
perform "Five Minutes of Apnea" while fighting.
"Hoo..."
Speck finished and shook himself out. He reached into his ragged bag, fumbled
through the severed hands, and pulled out a bag of steaming hot meat buns.
"Hee!"
Speck paused. He looked at the pile of debris and launched a dozen high-velocity
stomps into the side of the wreckage.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
He left a series of deep, circular boot-prints in the metal benches and
sandbags. Satisfied that his "Interment" was secure, he turned and strolled out
the door, whistling as he ate his buns.
Five minutes passed.
The pile of wreckage began to shift. A heavy bench was pushed aside.
RUMBLE... CRASH!
Marco burst through the surface of the debris. He threw his arms wide, his face
a mask of blood and exhaustion.
"Hah... huff... hah..."
He was a mess of lacerations. A massive patch of skin had been torn from his
back by a falling dumbbell. He was in terminal pain.
If Marco hadn't been a biological outlier—a monster of illegal science—he would
have been crushed to death under that weight.
Beneath him, he had successfully shielded the unconscious Cosmo. Aside from the
initial beating, the youth was relatively safe.
"Marco thought... if I can't win... I have to be the shield."
"I... I think I did it..."
Marco stumbled out of the wreckage. He paused, his legs shaking. Driven by a
final, desperate surge of "Might," he lashed out with a kick that shattered the
floorboards beneath his feet.
CRACK.
Marco tightened his bloody fists, his eyes wide. "BUT MARCO... DIDN'T WANT TO
LOSE EITHER!!!"
THUD.
The giant went limp, collapsing into the ruins of the Dojo.
Two Hours Later. Tokyo General Hospital.
Ren Shiroki and Kureishi Mitsuyo received the emergency call. The bourbon from
the previous hour vanished from their systems instantly. They roared into the
parking lot and sprinted for the ER.
Ren threw the doors to the private wing open.
Cosmo and Marco were lying in twin hospital beds, both wrapped in enough gauze
to resemble mummies.
Kureishi saw his student's ruined face and let out a soul-piercing wail. "COSMO!
NOOOOOOO!"
"Sensei..."
Cosmo's face was 50% bandage. He struggled to open his one good eye. "Shhh... I
almost died... just fell asleep... stop screaming..."
He looked at the bed next to him. "Make sure you... thank Marco. He was... the
real champion tonight."
With that, the King of Stranglers drifted back into unconsciousness.
Kureishi: "..." Kureishi: "..."
The bone-setter blinked, the manic energy leaving his body.
"Oh. Right. Sorry."
☆☆☆
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