CHAPTER 6: OWING A FAVOR
The saying "a crane among chickens" perfectly described the scene.
A man stepped out of the night and into the flickering fluorescent lights of the casino, instantly drawing every eye in the room. He was a giant, standing well over 1.9 meters (6'3"), with a face that screamed "violence."
He wore a slicked-back pompadour and a heavy-duty work shirt. Even through the fabric, his massive muscles were undeniable—especially his back, which bulged with unnatural, corded power. His fists, the size of boulders, were covered in a map of old scars.
No one in the room doubted this man's strength.
Shigeru Komada—The "Nioh."
As he appeared, the atmosphere in the underground casino ignited. The crowd of thugs, gamblers, and low-lifes completely forgot about the unconscious man on the floor.
"Look at that build! He's the real deal!"
"Zanshi-gumi actually pulled it off! They really hired a pro fighter from the Kengan Association!"
"YEAH! Smash him, Nioh! I want to see a bloodbath tonight!"
The hype hit like a heatwave, suffocating and intense.
Yet, in the middle of this madness, there was a pocket of absolute stillness. It was as if the storm couldn't touch them.
Inoue, the Yakuza boss, felt it most clearly. He looked at Ren and the three girls. Their eyes held curiosity, confusion, and even a bit of excitement—but there wasn't a single trace of fear.
"Tch..."
The creeping unease, combined with the discomfort of Ren's arm around his shoulder earlier, made Inoue jerk away.
"He's finally here. I'm going to go finalize the brackets. Someone will come get you in a bit."
Inoue didn't want to stay near them a second longer. He turned and vanished into the crowd.
Once he was gone, Karura made an excuse about getting drinks and smoothly pulled Arisa away, leaving Fusui Kure and Ren Shiroki alone.
"Yo, Boss!"
Fusui changed her way of addressing him, causing Ren to blink.
"Boss? Since when..." Ren paused, then looked at her suspiciously. "Wait, is protecting Arisa a 'billable service' now?"
"No, no! She's Karura's friend. Protecting her is a labor of love," Fusui waved her hands dismissively, her mismatched black-and-white eyes sparkling with mischief. "But speaking of that... you seem to know quite a bit about the Kure Clan, don't you?"
Ren gave a slow nod.
Fusui pulled out a small slip of paper and waved it between her fingers. "In that case, I have a juicy bit of intel regarding your situation. Price: 500,000 yen. Opening day discount. Interested?"
Ren shook his head instantly.
Fusui: "..."
Fusui: "That was a very fast refusal."
Ren shrugged helplessly. "Kure Clan intel... I'm definitely interested. But I'm broke. I couldn't pay you even if I wanted to."
"You could at least try to haggle! Give me something to work with!"
Fusui sighed, rubbing her temples. She muttered under her breath, "I was going to let you put it on a tab so you'd be in my debt... then I'd have an excuse to follow you around and investigate your 'technique.' It's so weirdly interesting..."
Ren's eyebrow twitched. As professional assassins, the Kure Clan was efficient, but their social logic was definitely "off."
The Kure tradition for over 1,300 years was to seek out powerful martial artists and "incorporate" their genetics and techniques into the clan's bloodline.
Intel #1: Karura wasn't interested in Ren; she was destined for a certain "Ashura" she hadn't met yet.
Intel #2: Fusui, on the other hand, seemed very intrigued by Ren—and she hadn't specified that her interest was "strictly professional."
"Well, you're the brother of my cousin's best friend. We're practically family, right?"
Fusui stood on her tiptoes and draped an arm over Ren's shoulder. "Consider this a freebie. You owe me a favor, okay?"
Ren was about to object, but Fusui's face suddenly went serious.
"This match—specifically your opponent, 'Nioh' Komada—his appearance fee is way beyond what a cockroach outfit like the Zanshi-gumi can afford."
"The whole setup is strange. If you were still 'sick,' this wouldn't be a fight; it would be a public execution. There would be no suspense, no betting value."
"Someone else is footing Komada's bill, and their motives aren't purely about sport."
"I've tracked three interested parties: the Teiai Group, a specific member-corporation of the Kengan Association, and a mysterious foreign underground power."
Fusui narrowed her eyes. "That last one is hidden deep. I'm not even sure they exist yet—just a hunch."
Ren rubbed his chin. "And my opponent?"
"Komada Shigeru," Fusui continued. "He's a fighter under contract with the Nogi Group. He's a rising star in the Kengan Matches with a 3-0 record. He used to be an enforcer for the syndicates. He fights dirty."
"Since this isn't an official Kengan Match, there are no rules. Don't be surprised if he brings a weapon into the ring."
Ren smiled. "Thanks for the heads-up."
Fusui grinned back. "Don't forget that favor!"
Ren's smile vanished.
After a short break, the Teiai agents came to escort Ren to the "Staredown." This was the classic pre-fight ritual used to hype the gamblers.
The lights in the center of the casino were turned to their maximum brightness.
Under the gaze of over a hundred criminals, Ren and Komada stood face-to-face. The physical disparity was staggering.
Ren Shiroki: 187cm (6'2"), 94kg (207 lbs).
Komada Shigeru: 192cm (6'3"), 121kg (267 lbs).
In a sanctioned bout, a 27kg (60 lbs) weight difference would be an illegal mismatch. The public wouldn't stand for it. But in the underworld, once you stepped onto the concrete, there were no excuses.
"The organizers paid a pretty penny for this, but why am I looking at a fresh face?"
Komada crossed his massive arms, looking down at Ren with a scowl. "Oi, kid. Where did you used to fight?"
"At my family dojo. I taught hobby classes for kids."
Ren tilted his head back slightly, meeting Komada's gaze without flinching.
Komada's scowl deepened. "This is your debut?!"
He let out a derisive snort. "My stats are public. My strength is a known variable. I am clearly leagues above you... and you actually have the balls to stand here?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Ren asked, his eyes narrowing.
As he felt Komada's killing intent flare up, Ren's mind entered that familiar state of hyper-focus. His body began to heat up. The phantom of Ryu appeared before him once again, unleashing that same, perfect straight punch.
That punch—the one Ren still couldn't fully dodge.
Compared to Ryu's fist, Komada's massive presence felt hollow. He wasn't nearly as "strong" as he thought he was.
Ren drifted off into thought, and Komada saw it. He saw the flicker of "disinterest" in Ren's eyes, and he took it as a supreme insult.
"I see..." Komada cracked his knuckles, his jaw jutting forward. "Prepare to spend a long time in a hospital bed. Maybe the rest of your life."
"Komada sure knows how to work a crowd. The atmosphere is boiling," Fusui remarked, watching from the sidelines with Karura and Arisa.
While they waited, the Kure sisters began explaining the basics of Kengan matches and Kure Clan history to Arisa. This calm, casual chat was a bizarre contrast to the surrounding den of iniquity.
But soon, the sisters noticed something.
In a far corner of the room, near a single Mahjong table, the atmosphere was... different. There was a presence there that felt impossibly sharp.
They drifted closer to listen.
"Tsumo. Nine Gates. Yakuman. 32,000 points. That's a comeback."
The man who had won was a middle-aged man with silver-white hair. He wore a casual suit and spoke in a low, lazy drawl, yet his voice carried a cutting edge.
Fusui and Karura glanced at him, but then their eyes shifted to his opponent across the table. Their expressions shifted to genuine shock.
What is an "Old Friend" doing in a dump like this?
Across from the silver-haired man sat a small, wizened old man with long white hair and a beard. He wore a traditional men's kimono. His face was a map of deep wrinkles, yet he radiated an aura of ancient danger and overwhelming authority.
This was the man who sat at the absolute top of the Kengan Association—the Chairman himself, Metsudo Katahara.
He had deep ties to the Kure Clan's patriarch, so he recognized Karura and Fusui immediately. He seemed just as surprised to see them.
"Grandpa Metsudo!"
Karura practically pounced on the old man, hugging him while Fusui gave a respectful nod.
Metsudo was in high spirits. He patted Karura's head and laughed, waving a hand at the silver-haired man across from him.
"Ho ho ho! I lost again! I really am no match for you at the tiles, are I?"
The white-haired man lit a cigarette and gave a weary smile. "Quit joking, old man. This was just a time-killer. It doesn't even count as an 'entertainment' match."
"Fair enough! Our original plan was to go drinking anyway. Sorry for dragging you here to soothe my boredom!"
Metsudo laughed heartily and turned to the three girls. "Let me introduce you to my drinking buddy—"
The man held his cigarette between two fingers and gave a casual wave.
"Akagi," he said simply.
He gave a thin smile and added his full name. "Shigeru Akagi."