Ding, ding, ding!
Sol's phone rang, a location message from Baki Hanma lighting up the screen.
Baki Hanma: Tonight at 8 PM, Aikido dojo. There's something I need to tell you.
Sol glanced at the clock—3:30 PM. Evolving the Hanma Blood had taken over two hours. Time had flown faster than he realized. Next time, he would prepare better.
He stared at the black, foul-smelling residue coating his body and decided a shower was necessary.
Meanwhile, in a derelict Tokyo factory, Sikorsky, one of the five death row inmates, stood before a wall plastered with information and photos of Sol and the others.
"Seems like these opponents are worth my time," he muttered, tracing Sol's image with a rough finger. "Even better if I could face him myself."
Night fell. Sol arrived at Gouki Shibukawa's Aikido dojo, following Baki's location. Outside, black-suited bodyguards from the Tokugawa family stood in tight formation, isolating the area completely.
Pushing open the ancient wooden door, Sol paused slightly. The room was filled with serious faces: Gouki Shibukawa, Baki, Mitsunari Tokugawa, Retsu Kaioh, and Doppo Orochi, seated around a tatami mat with elegant tea sets before them.
"You're here?" Mitsunari Tokugawa's voice was hoarse, his eyes clouded with pain as he looked at Sol.
All five radiated solemnity. Sol sat silently, waiting.
Mitsunari Tokugawa slowly raised his face, voice trembling yet firm. "I'll be brief. Aside from Sol Mirek, everyone else lost without even trying. Two against one. Two martial arts experts were utterly defeated by Dorian, a death row inmate just escaped from the hospital."
He sighed deeply, teacup trembling in his hand. "This is understandable. You are merely ordinary fighters protected by rules. In truth, you are amateurs in combat, and that is why this happened."
"But in unarmed combat, there is Baki, a warrior from the Underground Arena, who can confidently claim to be the world's number one. He is one of the strongest alive. And yet, he was forced into a fight on the same level as an ordinary young martial artist."
He let out two bitter, grating laughs. "This is the flaw of competition systems. No matter how grand the arena, if you want the true essence of martial arts, it will never shine under the spotlight. Suppressing illegal violence is necessary. Praise means nothing if a fighter cannot perform in real combat."
Tears streamed down his face. The kingpin of Neon's underground world was openly crying, hunched over, letting his sorrow soak his kimono.
"I am the most heartbroken! More than anyone here! If anyone believes the Underground Arena fighters are the strongest, it is me!"
Bang, bang, bang.
Several muffled thuds came from outside. Sol noticed but said nothing, observing the others' silent heads-down acknowledgment.
"Baki, Doppo, Shibukawa, Retsu—this old man believes in you more than anyone else! Do you even know the weight of my regret?!"
Click.
The wooden door swung open, and Dorian stepped in, carrying a bucket of unknown liquid.
"Good evening, perverts," he sneered, the liquid sloshing with each step.
Everyone but Sol stood up, tension thickening the air.
"Everyone's here," Dorian smirked, scanning the room without fear.
Mitsunari Tokugawa raised an eyebrow. "The guards?"
"Those good-for-nothings?" Dorian stepped aside, revealing the bodyguards sprawled on the floor, bloody and mangled.
"Do you like gasoline?" Dorian teased, pulling a lighter from his pocket.
Snap.
A hand gripped his shoulder. Dorian froze, turning slowly. He met Sol Mirek's unfathomably deep gaze.
Instinct screamed at him to flee. Sol had become far more dangerous in mere days.
Casually, Sol took the lighter from Dorian's hand and kicked the bucket over. Gasoline spread across the floor, filling the dojo with its pungent stench.
"Do you like playing with fire?" Sol said, flipping the lighter between his fingers with a teasing grin.
Dorian's pupils contracted, sweat dripping down his temples. He had never felt death breathe so closely. The danger was not in the lighter—it was in Sol himself.
"I…" Dorian stammered, instinctively stepping back.
Before he could react, Sol disappeared. A gust of wind tore through him, followed by searing pain in his abdomen. Sol's fist had buried itself deeply into Dorian.
Bang! Boom!
Dorian's body flew back like a ragdoll, crashing into the wooden wall, splintering it into pieces.
Coughing up blood, Dorian looked up, eyes wide. That punch—far stronger than the one days ago at Shinshinkai—left him paralyzed with shock.
The dojo fell silent. Mitsunari Tokugawa's eyes shone, Retsu Kaioh and Doppo Orochi exchanged stunned glances, Baki's fists clenched, knuckles cracking, burning with renewed fighting spirit.
The young man he had trained alongside barely days ago had become untouchable. Sol Mirek was now a monster.
Gouki Shibukawa, ever sensitive to combat potential, felt an unfathomable darkness emanate from Sol. He was staring at a being whose strength and aura went beyond ordinary perception.
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