Chapter 420: Never Growing Bored
Mohammad Alai Sr. was over sixty years old. He had endured a lifetime of
physical trauma and was currently locked in a battle with advanced Parkinson's
disease. In recent years, even speaking had become a grueling effort for him.
Yet, here he was. How much time had he sacrificed? How much blood and sweat had
he poured into the silence of his private gym?
The answer was carved into the very air by his latest palm strike—a blow even
more devastating than those of his prime. The truth was absolute!
Outside the observation window, the group watched, unable to look away for even
a single frame.
[VIP Patient Room]
Alai Jr. crawled upward from the floor, his breathing a series of ragged, wet
gasps. "That hit... it made me realize... you're unreal, Father—"
Alai Sr. let out a faint, satisfied breath. He raised his muscular left arm,
flexing to show the definition that remained, before giving a self-deprecating
squeeze to the slight layer of soft fat around his abdomen.
"I'm not in 100% condition yet," the legend rumbled. "I'm lightyears away from
being able to go fifteen rounds in a pro ring."
"However—" Alai Sr.'s gaze sharpened into a razor edge. "I have more than enough
left to teach you a lesson. Ready?"
"—Fight!"
Zip!
Before the word even faded, Alai Sr. lunged. Compared to his son's weightless,
flickering "Butterfly" movement, the senior's gait was heavy, grounded, and
terrifyingly dense. He moved like a tank that had been stripped of every
unnecessary gram of weight, charging through the frames of the room.
Whish!
He fired a left jab. Alai Jr. performed a high-speed V-weave to evade.
Agito's "King" style had been a wall; Ohma's "Niko" style had been a whirlpool.
But this? This was Alai's own blood.
Jr. spotted a gap as his father overextended. He lunged forward with a
lightning-fast right jab, aiming directly for the point of the senior's chin.
But the unthinkable happened. Alai Sr.'s left arm didn't retract for a standard
guard. Instead, it swung in a horizontal arc—not as a hook, but as an
open-handed slap.
CLAP!!
The palm slammed into the side of Alai Jr.'s face with a wet, heavy crack.
Jr. was sent into a stagger, his vision instantly smeared. Before he could reset
his balance, Alai Sr. stepped into the pocket. His right palm drove forward with
the force of a hydraulic press, burying itself into Jr.'s face and launching him
backward.
The nosebleed that had finally been plugged by Dr. Hajo's staff erupted once
more. The surgical splint on Jr.'s nose snapped like a dry twig under the
pressure.
THUD!
Alai Jr. hit the floor on his backside, his entire frame trembling from the
kinetic shock.
It wasn't that he lacked the reflexes to counter. It was that his mind was in
tatters. After being systematically dismantled by Agito and Ohma, his technical
confidence was a ruin. He was overthinking every frame, and in a war of Alai
Style, thinking is a death sentence. One mistake led to a cascade of failure.
[Outside the Window]
Dr. Hajo let out a low, clinical whistle. "Heh... to see the world's greatest
boxer abandon the 'Fist' for a 'Palm Strike.' Did he give up his pride just to
secure a win against his son?"
"—No," Ohma Tokita said, shaking his head.
Hajo wasn't a combatant, so his misunderstanding was logical. But Ohma and Ren
Shiroki saw the "Synthesis" at work.
"What Alai-san is using isn't 'Boxing' or 'Palms.' It's Technique," Ohma
explained.
"It's a complete combat system that integrates boxing, palm-striking, footwork,
and pure Will," Ren added, his eyes shimmering behind his sunglasses. "In other
words... it is the completion of the 'Alai Style'. It is a 'Budo' that allows a
sixty-year-old man riddled with disease to continue his evolution!"
Inside the room—Creak.
Alai Jr. used the hospital bed frame to haul himself up.
Simultaneously, Alai Sr. closed the distance. He fired a left jab at Jr.'s head.
Zip!
Jr. tilted his head to clear the path, countering with a 1-2 hook combination.
Alai Sr. simply swayed back, the punches missing his chin by millimeters.
He spotted the opening in his son's overextension. Alai Sr.'s left palm fired
again. He caught Jr. by the face, the force of the shove slamming the younger
man's head into the reinforced hospital wall.
BOOM!
A dull explosion of sound echoed through the ward.
Alai Jr. bounced off the wall, his balance gone. Alai Sr. didn't let him fall.
He unleashed a heavy follow-up cross that landed flush on Jr.'s face, the impact
rippling the skin of his eyelids and cheeks.
POW!
Blood geysered from Jr.'s nose and mouth. His eyes went completely vacant as his
consciousness finally bottomed out. He collapsed face-first into the floor, this
time for good.
Thud—
It was a staggering sight. Facing his own father—a man he should have been
faster than, stronger than, and superior to in every metric—Mohammad Alai Jr.
had been utterly crushed.
Alai Sr. stood over his son, looking down with a mixture of pride and weary
sorrow. He let out a long sigh.
"Too green. Too slow."
"And... so very weak."
"—It's over."
The match was decided.
Alai Sr. stood up straight, a look of confusion crossing his face. He had
arranged for his security detail to enter and handle the cleanup once he gave
the signal. But despite his declaration, the door remained shut.
What's the hold-up?
The five massive bodyguards were currently huddled at the end of the hallway,
staring awkwardly at the group of "passersby" peeking through the observation
window.
Should we interrupt? Mr. Alai's friends are watching... this is going to be so
embarrassing.
Finally, Alai Sr. walked to the door himself and slid it open. He came
face-to-face with the Hub crew: Ren, Ohma, Kazuo, Dr. Hajo, and Kokomi.
"I see... I suppose I was being a bit too loud? My apologies."
Alai Sr. offered a serene smile and gestured to his guards. "Hoist my son onto
the bed. Then, restore this room to its original state."
The guards let out a synchronized breath of relief. "Yes, Sir!"
Night had fallen over the city.
The group—Ren, Ohma, Kazuo, Hajo, and Kokomi—joined Alai Sr. in the hospital's
top-floor tea room for a period of rest and conversation.
Kazuo Yamashita, ever the fanboy, was vibrating with nervous energy. He couldn't
sit still, his eyes constantly darting toward the living legend sitting across
from him.
Alai Sr. noticed and offered a warm, grandfatherly nod.
"To be able to fight like that with... with your condition..." Kazuo blurted
out, his mouth moving faster than his brain. "It's truly magnificent!"
He immediately froze, realizing he might have been offensive. "I—I mean, not
that you look sick! It's just the news reports... the Parkinson's and such... I
am so incredibly sorry for my rudeness!!"
Alai Sr. laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound. "Don't apologize for the truth,
Mr. Yamashita. My disease is a fact. It is part of the road I've traveled. To
deny it for the sake of 'Face' would be a desecration of my journey."
He took a sip of tea. "It's nothing special, really. I just chose to keep
fighting."
"I don't think I could ever grow bored of it."
The legend leaned back against the sofa cushions. "I wonder what my son thinks,
though? To taste defeat twice in such a short window... humiliated in the Pit by
Kanoh Agito, and then broken on the street by young Ohma-kun here."
Ren looked surprised. "Wait... you already know about the fight with Ohma-kun?
It only happened an hour ago!"
Alai Sr. chuckled. "The Director and the primary investors of this hospital are
all fans of mine. They sent me a status update the second Jr. was re-admitted."
Just then, the door to the tea room slid open.
Alai Jr., his face freshly bandaged and his teeth reset, walked into the room.
He had been standing outside, listening to their conversation.
He gave his father a weary, bitter smile. "You knew everything, didn't you? And
you still challenged me while I was concussed?"
"Because I couldn't afford to lose!"
Alai Sr. bared his teeth in a mischievous grin, looking less like a legend and
more like a rowdy street punk.
"For five years, you were the only man on earth who held a win over me. I've
seen you as my greatest rival. When I heard you were dizzy and battered... how
could I pass up a chance like that? I'm a combatant, Jr.!"
The group stared at the "God of Boxing" in stunned silence. The "Great Man"
persona was gone; in its place was a crafty, technical addict.
Alai Jr. let out a long, helpless sigh. "I bet you were wearing that exact same
stupid grin while my back was turned, weren't you?"
"Eh?" Alai Sr. paused, then sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.
He watched as his son took a seat on the sofa. "You've done enough, Jr.," the
father said softly. "If you want to walk away now, no one will blame you."
Alai Jr. tilted his head.
"You've already taken my dream—the Alai Style—and evolved it into something
superior. I'm grateful for that. But as your father, I also want to liberate you
from this world. This world of deciding 'Who is Strongest' is a dark, addictive
pit. I want you to be free."
Alai Jr. fell silent for a long moment. Finally, he shook his head.
"Who is stronger?"
"Father... such a simple question, yet its depth is bottomless. And the
researchers in this field are so fascinating... I don't think I can quit now."
"Besides," Jr. added, looking at his father. "You just proved the allure of the
game yourself by using every dirty trick in the book to beat me. Why would I
walk away from something that can turn a man like you into a 'Beast' again?"
Alai Sr. remained silent, looking as though he were waiting for one more thing.
Ten minutes later, the final visitor arrived: Mitsunari Tokugawa.
The promoter of the Pit walked in, nodding to the gathered legends, before
fixing his gaze on Alai Jr.
"Hah! Quite a gathering!" Tokugawa chirped. He looked at the bruised boxer. "So,
Jr. Even after everything that's happened today... do you still wish to face
Baki Hanma?"
Alai Jr. gave a firm, resolute nod.
"Yes. Now more than ever... I am not giving up!"
☆☆☆
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