Ten fingers, ten puppets.
The people he controlled included nearly every top figure on the island.
The whole of Asakura Island, without anyone realizing it, had become a tool for "Carpenter" to make his corrupt profits, including its seven prestigious dojos and the kendo tournament itself.
"So all of this… was caused by a despicable little man like you!"
Junichi drew his sword, anger and grief boiling up as he recalled the hardships he and his father had endured over the years. Teeth clenched, almost to the point of tears, he hissed, "I will… absolutely never forgive you!"
He was about to charge at Carpenter when a whooshing sound came from behind. In an instant, the bamboo sword in his hand was split in half.
Junichi turned in shock. The one who had cut his bamboo sword was his own father.
At this moment, Itsuki Sakuraba's face was twisted in rage, holding a pale pink sword in his right hand, still in the downward-slash motion, while his left hand desperately gripped his right wrist to stop it.
Clearly…
The strike just now wasn't aimed at Junichi's bamboo sword.
It was aimed at his head.
"G-go… go away!" Sakuraba rasped through clenched teeth, "Stay away from me, Junichi!"
"Father!" Junichi's eyes widened. Before he could react, a strong hand grabbed his arm and yanked him backward several meters.
"Boss Shanu! Let me go! I can't abandon… I have to save my father!"
"Don't be foolish."
Shanu threw him forcefully into a corner, his voice cold:
"Staying by his side is only harming him! Ever watched a puppet show? The only way to stop this play is to cut down the one controlling it!"
"Do you really think, with your strength and a broken bamboo sword, you can reach that guy?"
Junichi lifted his head, staring blankly at Carpenter in the distance.
"Looking at what, brat?"
Carpenter sneered, spitting a bit of blood, then flicked his left hand, sending two strings from his right-hand fingers toward the south.
"Those old geezers won't be needed anymore anyway. Puppet-ize them completely!"
Whish, whish!
Invisible threads shot through the air, striking the first row of seats in the southern audience section.
The seven dojo masters suddenly clattered like wooden blocks colliding. They stood stiffly, stepping forward in unison, their gleaming blades drawing with a simultaneous shing.
As they moved, their elbows and knees creaked like wooden joints striking each other.
On their exposed skin, increasingly dense wood grain patterns appeared, their eyes rolled white, crawling with dark yellow puppet strings. It looked eerily unnatural.
In an instant, the seven formed a semicircle.
Protecting Carpenter behind them, they also blocked all escape routes around the stage.
"And you!"
Carpenter laughed wildly, aiming another dark yellow puppet string at Sakuraba.
"You're so defiant, huh? Let's see how much more you can resist. At this close range, my power leaves no room for your struggle!"
"You bastard…"
Sakuraba's forehead veins bulged as he fought with all his strength.
But it was futile.
Hopelessly, he watched wood grain spread across his body.
His left hand went limp; the sword in his right hand slowly turned toward Shanu and Junichi.
His mind, once clear, grew hazy.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, it seemed he had made a decision.
"Puppet-ization is irreversible… I don't want to become a mindless monster…"
"Maybe… this is my best end."
Sakuraba smiled faintly. "Goodbye, Junichi."
"Father…" Junichi's eyes widened. Realizing something, he scrambled up, reaching desperately toward the stage—but Shanu held him down. He could only flail his arms, tears blurring his vision, shouting, "No… no! Please! Father!!!"
Shing!
In an instant, Sakuraba's blade twisted violently, stabbing into his left chest and spinning.
"…." Junichi froze.
Reflected in his eyes, the gaunt figure, forcing out a final smile with the last bit of strength, collapsed forward onto the ground.
The world seemed to collapse at that moment.
"Master Sakuraba!"
"President!"
From the audience came cries of grief and sobs.
…
Under the spotlight,
The black-haired boy had quietly returned to the stage. He studied the motionless form, slightly frowning, but said nothing.
Then he turned to the audience.
"What are you all still looking at? Don't you fear death? Think this is still a tournament?!" Shanu inhaled deeply, yelling with all his strength, "Run!!!"
The spectators froze in shock.
Seeing Carpenter's grim expression and the horrifying puppets straight out of a nightmare, they finally realized the gravity of the situation.
"Run!"
"I… my legs won't move… help me!"
"Ahhhh! I'm going to die here!!!"
Panic erupted. People scrambled toward the front and rear exits.
The host also fled, grabbing the trembling broadcast devices off the wall before escaping.
Some reluctant swordsmen tried to turn back and fight but were coldly stopped by Major Tomte and the sheriff, mercilessly riddled with bullets.
Amid the flying blood mist,
Carpenter leisurely flicked the ash from his cigar.
"Hey," he said to Shanu on stage, admiringly, "kid, I didn't expect you'd care for the people. Risking yourself to get them out first… makes me almost want to recruit you."
"You seem… mistaken."
Shanu slowly lifted his head. Carpenter paused. What he saw were blood-red, feral eyes, trembling with excitement—not fatigue, but the predatory thrill before an attack.
"I told them to get out just so they wouldn't get in my way!"
"Stop talking big, kid!"
Carpenter felt an odd unease under that gaze, forcing a cold laugh. "Even if your swordsmanship is good, what can you do with that broken bamboo sword?"
Shing!
Two dojo masters stepped forward simultaneously, their blades flashing, easily chopping Shanu's bamboo sword into pieces.
In the next instant, two swords trapped his neck and chest.
"Blame yourself for trusting this tournament. A swordsman without his real sword at hand."
Carpenter finally relaxed, laughing arrogantly. "Now tell me, kid! What's the difference between a swordsman without a sword and a lion without claws?"
"Talking to yourself…"
Shanu let go of the bamboo hilt, letting it fall.
He lifted his head, grinning. "Who told you I'm a swordsman?!"
Thud!
At the same moment, two massive hands shot out, pressing down on the heads of the dojo masters beside him.
Crack!
Their skulls made cracking sounds like splitting walnuts, deforming under pressure. Features twisted, skin splitting—but no blood appeared.
Instead, dark yellow puppet strings burst forth like iron worms, attempting to ensnare Shanu's wrists.
The moment they touched skin, his bulging muscles crushed them to pieces.
"Is that all?"
Shanu's power surged through his fingers—stronger, more terrifying, more violent.
Crack-crack! The masters' foreheads shattered under the force, leaving ten circular imprints.
In the next moment, Shanu flung them like bowling pins.
Boom!
The puppets crashed into the audience, toppling rows of seats. When the dust settled, their bodies were twisted into sharp angles, immobile.
Wood grain covered every inch, waxy pale under the spotlight.
"…."
Carpenter stared dumbfounded. His cigar fell with a clatter.
Rip! The sound of tearing fabric came from behind.
He spun around, witnessing Shanu crumple his expensive kendo uniform like trash and toss it off the stage.
Freed from the clothing, his taut muscles bulged, moving as if breathing, pounding in rhythm with a heavy heartbeat.
The boy on the stage, already imposing, seemed to grow even larger, looming like a small mountain.
"You… you…"
Carpenter instinctively swallowed, legs trembling, nearly falling backward.
"Warm-up's over."
The black-haired boy licked his dry lips, smiling. His cheeks twitched—not from fatigue, but from the excitement of a predator ready to strike.
"——Now, it's your turn."