CHAPTER 171: ARROGANCE
What was happening in the Amusement Zone could no longer be called "Martial
Arts."
To call it a "Fight" was an understatement. It was a War Zone.
The heavy steel streetlights were twisted into scrap metal. The climbing frames
of the playground were snapped. Fences were uprooted, and the heavy timber of
the park benches had been reduced to splinters.
The air was thick with the sound of constant thunder.
The noise had drawn a few stray onlookers—couples on late-night strolls or
residents from nearby apartments. They watched from a distance, their bodies
trembling with a primitive, lizard-brain terror. They didn't see two men; they
saw two demons tearing the world apart.
"Monsters..."
"A monster in a tracksuit and a monster who moves like the wind... they're
really going to kill each other!"
The Hillside.
Motobe Izo slapped his thigh, a look of genuine appreciation on his face.
As a master of the Real Combat style, he lived for this kind of data.
"That youth... Ren Shiroki. He hasn't just mastered the techniques of his
various masters. He isn't a mimic."
"He's learned the 'Why' behind the 'How.'"
Motobe rubbed the scruff on his jaw, a faint smile playing on his lips. "At the
end of the day, all combat arts are born from the same source: the need to
survive and overcome. There is a common thread between the fist of a Karateka
and the blade of a soldier."
"Ren-kun is using himself as the core, expanding his repertoire by incorporating
the logic of every master he encounters. To him, his personal style is a school
of its own."
"An incredible seeker."
Motobe paused, his expression turning thoughtful.
"But to reach this level, his 'Masters' must be equally extraordinary."
"They have to be broad-minded enough to let him wander, yet precise enough to
ensure he doesn't lose his way. And most importantly... every one of them must
be a god-tier fighter."
Motobe chuckled. "And the 'Logic' Ren-kun is using right now? It's a style that
requires a very 'Active' brain."
Fusui Kure blinked. "What is it?"
"Parkour," Motobe answered.
"..."
Fusui looked confused. She gestured toward the trashing playground. "Isn't that
just... jumping over stuff? Like a TikTok video?"
"The public views it as an extreme sport," Motobe explained. "But its origins
are in War."
"Soldiers trapped in dense, complex urban terrain needed a way to move through
the environment with absolute efficiency, reliability, and speed. They had to
turn walls into floors and shadows into sanctuaries."
"In some circles, it's called the 'Path of the Leap.' Doesn't that sound like a
'Do' (Way) to you?"
"The first martial arts were born to 'Overcome' a threat. From that perspective,
using high-speed agility to toy with a target's reach is a legitimate combat
style."
Motobe grinned, his eyes fixed on the ring. "I suspect the Master who taught him
this is a very... vibrant person. Like a hurricane."
{Nice moves, disciple!}
A new phantom coalesced in Ren's vision.
He stood side-on, bouncing with a light, rhythmic grace. His fingers were
splayed, swaying in time with a beat Ren could only hear in his mind.
He had long, wavy hair and a lean, athletic physique, dressed in high-end
athletic gear with a distinct Middle-Eastern aesthetic. His smile was confident,
his eyes sparkling with a restless intelligence.
RASHID.
The "Desert Eagle." A martial artist who utilized the environment as an
extension of his own mass, using agility to humiliate the static guard of his
enemies.
{Teaching people is actually pretty fun, isn't it?}
{You need more confidence! Even the wind can topple a mountain if it hits the
right spot at the right time!}
Ren mimicked Rashid's rhythm.
He tucked his left elbow forward and extended his right arm backward. He twisted
his core, his entire frame acting like a high-tension spring.
His footsteps became a dance—a desert gale in the middle of Shinjuku!
TAP!
Ren executed a sliding dash, his movements erratic as he zipped left-to-right.
He felt a surge of pure, physical joy.
Next microsecond—
Ren stopped retreating. He sprinted directly at Speck. At the range of two
paces, he slammed his foot into the sand and leaped, his body rotating mid-air
as he launched two vertical strikes with his heels.
[RASHID: MOON OF THE STORM]!
The heels arced through the air like twin crescents, slamming into Speck's face.
BAM! BAM!
Speck's head was jerked back. His eyes flared with a savage hunger. He launched
a heavy right straight.
It looked like a rage-punch, but the instant the fist descended, Speck's hand
splayed open. He hurled a massive handful of sharp wood-shards—the remains of
the bench—at Ren's face.
SHING!
It was a shotgun blast of splinters. But Ren didn't slow down. He dove through
the cloud of debris, his "Engine" directing his skin to accept the scratches
while his goal remained fixed. He dropped into a low-slide and delivered two
rapid hand-blade strikes to the back of the giant's legs.
[RASHID: RUNNING BACKHAND]!
CRACK-THUD!
Speck's lead leg buckled. He stumbled, his mass pulling him forward. He lashed
out with a desperate back-kick to force Ren back.
"Hoo...!"
Speck stood up, wiping the blood from his cheek as he watched Ren's rhythmic
bounce. "This is going to take all night, isn't it?"
"Fine. Let's wrap this up!"
Speck suddenly raised both hands. It looked like a gesture of surrender, a sign
of no hostility. But as his hands reached his chest, he flicked a heavy,
spherical object toward Ren's feet.
A 800g steel slug. The last one he'd been hiding.
ZIP!
The steel ball hissed through the air. Ren expected it. He batted it away with a
forearm.
But a second later, Speck hurled another object. It wasn't a ball; it was a
distinctive, cylindrical canister.
A POLICE FLASHBANG.
It was a trophy from the special operations unit. Speck had saved it for the
perfect moment. He hurled it directly into Ren's line of sight.
Ren's instincts flared. He prepared to kick the canister away, but as his leg
moved, Speck charged. The giant was a wall of black muscle, sprinting with the
intent to trigger the grenade at point-blank range.
!?
At this distance, even with his eyes closed, Ren's nervous system would be
overloaded by the shockwave. Speck had no reason to commit suicide unless he was
immune to the effect.
Ren froze.
But then, he noticed a detail. The "Pull-Ring" of the flashbang was still
attached. It couldn't detonate.
A FAKEOUT!
Ren realized the trick a microsecond too late.
SHING!
Speck finally found his opening. His massive palm slammed into Ren's face, his
fingers clamping onto the youth's skull. Using his 230cm frame as a lever, he
drove Ren forward in a terminal charge.
"YE-HA!"
THOOM!
Speck marched through the playground, Ren's feet dangling off the deck as he was
carried like a doll.
Just as Ren prepared a counter-maneuver, Speck heaved. He launched Ren into the
air, driving his palm into Ren's chest to add velocity. Ren was hurled ten
meters, crashing into the concrete walkway of the main plaza.
BOOM.
Ren hit the pavement hard. He managed a breakfall, protecting his skull, but the
impact racked his lungs. He sat up, coughing up a slurry of dust and blood.
He hadn't expected Speck to use the flashbang as a physical decoy. The convict
had relied on his most trusted weapon: his own Biology.
But to Ren's surprise, Speck didn't give chase. He stood ten feet away, waiting
for Ren to rise.
Speck gestured to the surrounding space.
Ren looked around. They were in the center of the plaza. It was a vast, open
concrete circle. There were no walls, no trees, and no obstacles. The
environment was a void.
Ren's parkour-based agility was neutralized.
"Finally," Speck whispered. "I'm done with the annoying tricks."
He held the unexploded flashbang in his hand, tossing it idly like a coin. He
looked at Ren.
"A shame, kid. I'm not going to use this."
"Do you know why?"
Speck hurled the flashbang into the darkness behind him. He let out a low,
predatory laugh. "Because using a weapon is an act of Mercy."
"And tonight? I'm feeling quite cruel."
His ten massive fingers slowly tightened into fists. He raised them, holding
them level with his shoulders.
The Hillside.
Fusui and Motobe watched from the dark. Their expressions shifted to a look of
total recognition.
Was it a coincidence? Or a convergence of the same prehistoric logic?
Speck had taken the exact same stance as Kaoru Hanayama.
☆☆☆
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