Chapter 401: The Man Who Weeps Blood
The situation had shifted. What began as a Judo master's challenge against
Shinshinkai Karate had transformed into an official MPD arrest operation—a
"Karateka vs. Criminal Judoka" showdown.
However, to the veterans of the underground world, the distinction was academic.
Whether it was a match or an arrest, the frames remained the same.
Inspector Sonoda pulled a case file from his folder and handed it to Katsumi
Orochi. He briefly outlined the horrific mass murder Masaki Meguro had committed
twenty years ago.
Katsumi scratched his head, his expression grim. "Man... that's some dark
history."
To a man in his early twenties like Katsumi, a case from two decades ago felt
like a grim urban legend.
"I think I heard Pops mention it once," Katsumi mused. "There was a Judo
powerhouse named Meguro who was murdered. Back then, martial arts matches had
zero rules—gouging eyes or crushing groins was just part of the Tuesday night
menu—but actual fatalities were still rare."
Katsumi crossed his arms, looking at the blood-coughing Masaki Meguro. "So, the
guy's just a lunatic? A high-torque version of Speck?"
Ren Shiroki nodded in agreement.
In fact, compared to the Death Row Convicts who sought defeat to validate their
existence, Masaki Meguro's hunger was more primal. He lived solely to kill
through Judo. He was a biological glitch.
Ren turned to the Inspector. "By MPD protocol, shouldn't you have sent a
tactical team for someone like 'Boy M'?"
"Normally, yes," Sonoda admitted. "The previous head of the Secret Service
Division (Missou-ka), Seiichi Tenma, was recently ousted for bribery,
embezzlement, and covering up syndicate crimes. He's behind bars now."
"The Division is being reorganized to handle high-risk threats properly. This
case was supposed to be their first major operation, but Kosho Shinogi-kun
happened to spot the suspect. I couldn't say no to his 'assistance'."
Sonoda sighed. Having spent so much time around the Hub, he knew that once a
fighter of this caliber decided to act, no amount of legal red tape would stop
them.
"Hah... hah... HAAAA!"
Meguro let out a raspy, guttural growl from the floor. Trails of blood leaked
from the corners of his mouth as he forced air into his lungs.
Across from him, Kosho Shinogi slowly retracted his leg. He stood on the ball of
his left foot, his right foot rooted deep—a light yet immovable posture that
left zero openings. Even after landing a definitive blow, the [CORD-CUTTER]
hadn't let his guard down for a single frame.
Height: 177cm. Weight: 81kg.
Compared to the massive, hulking frame of Masaki Meguro, Kosho was at a physical
disadvantage. Yet, the pressure he radiated made him look like a giant.
[THE CORD-CUTTER] Kosho Shinogi vs. [THE CRYING MAN] Masaki Meguro.
Terae, the Shinshinkai student, watched with trembling hands. As a formal
disciple, he wasn't afraid of thugs or Yakuza, but facing a "Non-Human" mass
murderer was a different category of terror.
"Will Shinogi-sensei be alright?" Terae whispered.
"Don't look away," Katsumi said, patting his student's shoulder. "Watch closely,
Terae. This is a rare masterclass in technical lethality."
"Nnnggh—!!"
Meguro's low growl evolved into a frantic shriek. He scrambled back to his feet,
baring a row of blood-stained teeth in a horrific, ecstatic grin. Bloody tears
streamed from his eyes. He wanted to move fast—faster than the last frame!
He couldn't contain it anymore! His body felt like it was going to explode,
limbs and gore geysering outward until his opponent stopped breathing!
"Cough! It hurts... it hurts... it feels... INCREDIBLE!"
Zip!
Meguro lunged again, a mad dash aimed directly at Kosho.
Kosho shifted his weight, leading with his left side. His left toe touched the
floor, his right foot anchored, and his palms were held open and forward. It was
the classic [NEKO-ASHI-DACHI] (Cat Stance), refined with the specialized
"Shinogi-style" adjustments.
Thud-thud-thud!
Meguro charged like a wild beast, his aura of violence even more suffocating
than before.
Kosho remained a statue of calm. As Meguro entered his range, Kosho drove his
left palm-heel forward.
Whish!
The palm-strike missed. At the last micro-second, Meguro dropped his center of
gravity, ducking beneath the strike. He reached up with his right arm, snaring
Kosho's left collar.
Shick!
It was a distorted, animalistic movement that functioned as both a dodge and a
grapple entry. But as Meguro's fingers closed on the fabric, Kosho's right elbow
smashed horizontally into the bridge of Meguro's nose, jamming the transition.
"YAAAAAARGH!"
Meguro's nose was pulverized, a fresh spray of blood miring his face. He didn't
retreat; he lunged deeper, his massive hands clawing and swinging in a chaotic
blur.
Whish-whish-zip!
The assault looked like a mindless brawl, but Katsumi and Ren could see the
truth: Meguro was targeting Kosho's collar, collarbones, and upper arms. A
single successful grip would lead to a high-amplitude throw. Masaki Meguro
wasn't just a psycho; he was a technical master of Judo.
"Hmph."
Kosho's knees and hands moved in perfect harmony, swatting and parrying the
reaching hands with a rhythmic staccato.
Pop-pop-pop!
The two crossed silhouettes, trading blows before resetting their positions. But
just as the crowd thought the exchange had been a stalemate, Meguro let out a
high-pitched, agonizing shriek.
"AGH! IT HURTS! IT HURTS SO MUCH!! IT'S KILLING ME! HAHAHA!"
"—?!"
The audience stared in horror. Meguro's Judo gi was shredded. His arms and torso
were suddenly covered in deep, weeping lacerations, as if he had been attacked
by a dozen invisible razors. Blood began to patter-patter onto the dojo floor,
staining the wood crimson.
In contrast, Kosho Shinogi was untouched. Only his hands and elbows bore traces
of Meguro's blood.
Terae stood frozen. "Shinogi-sensei didn't have a weapon... how did he do that?"
"Terae, Shiroki-kun... did you see it?" Katsumi asked, looking at his own fists.
"With enough training, a human hand can become a blunt instrument—a hammer. But
the Shinogi Style... Kosho's hands are Blades."
"Even a rounded fist can have the edge of a razor if the torque and point of
impact are refined." Katsumi thinned his lips. "He's much stronger than he was
at the Maximum Tournament. He's undergone a total 'Rebirth' of his style. The
pressure he's putting out is unreal."
Kosho didn't turn around, but he added to the lesson. "Since you're watching...
here is another insight."
"After comparing Kickboxing, Muay Thai, Karate, and Kenpo, I realized the most
defining characteristic of any style is the 'Terminals'."
"The palms. The soles of the feet."
"If you dedicate your life to refining those points, the possibilities of your
offense become infinite!"
Terae listened with religious intensity. Katsumi nodded in respect. Ren
cross-referenced the technical theory with his own Masters' teachings.
Only the Toyo Electric agent remained cynical. "At the end of the day, you're
still just 'Martial Artists.' No matter how sharp your fists are, you're just
soldiers with knives."
The agent had checked in with Hayami. He no longer cared if Meguro lived or
died.
"Boy M is an expendable pawn. Take him to the MPD, see if I care. Our Chairman
has other assets. But... that 'Beast' over there is going to be a problem for
you."
The agent looked at the group. "If you let him go into a total frenzy, the 'Body
Count' in this room is going to skyrocket. Are you really prepared for that?"
Ren raised an eyebrow and grinned. "You still underestimate the lethality of a
man with bare hands, don't you?"
As they spoke, Meguro hit his limit. More bloody tears leaked from his eyes,
dripping down his distorted face.
"Dad said... Dad said Judo is the strongest combat art..."
Meguro's voice was a raspy hiss. He spread his fingers wide, his gait becoming a
low, predatory crawl as he closed in on Kosho. The blood from his sliced-open
flesh was hot and fresh, a level of pain that would have hospitalized any normal
man. Meguro felt only technical euphoria.
"Why won't you let me catch you...?"
"If I catch you... I can throw you... I can break you into the floor!!"
Zip!
Meguro lunged with everything he had.
Kosho stopped holding back. His spear-hands fired in a high-frequency chain,
targeting Meguro's wrists and ankles. Every strike left a deep, bleeding gash.
Finally, with a horizontal knife-hand strike, Kosho literally sliced off one of
Meguro's ears. It hit the floor with a wet thud.
"—!!"
A wound like that should have ended the fight. But Meguro didn't even stall. He
thrust his left hand forward, successfully snaring Kosho's collar.
"Hm?"
Kosho was caught off guard. Meguro's face was inches from his, his hot, wet
breath smelling of iron.
"It hurts... it hurts... I'M SO HAPPY!!"
Meguro's tongue lolled out, his face a mask of deranged, technical ecstasy.
"What is wrong with him?!" Terae cried.
The Toyo agent sneered. "The answer is Dopamine."
"It's a neurochemical the brain secretes to manage pain and enhance strength.
Meguro possesses a unique 'Abnormality.' The more pain he experiences, the more
dopamine his brain pumps out in a 1-to-1 ratio."
"In other words... every wound you inflict is converted into pure pleasure. How
do you stop a beast that gets a high from being killed?"
"Dad..." Meguro whispered, his eyes vacant but his mouth stretched into a
non-human grin. "Dad, I caught the Karateka. Karate can't stop me!"
He locked onto Kosho Shinogi. "Now... I'm going to kill you!"
Zip!
Meguro prepared to slam Kosho into the floor. He swung his right arm forward to
secure the secondary grip—
Grip the arm— Secure the leverage— Throw—
"Eh?"
Meguro froze. No matter how much he commanded his body to move, his right arm
wouldn't rise. It dangled limp at his side, refusing to obey.
Because of the angle of the clinch, the spectators were the first to see the
truth.
On the inside of Meguro's muscular right bicep, a deep, bloody horizontal wound
had appeared. From the center of the gash, a long, white "Thread" had been
yanked out and severed cleanly.
Ren Shiroki's eyes widened as he witnessed the legend's signature move.
"Meguro's arm..." Ren whispered. "The Nerve Cord... it's been severed!!"
☆☆☆
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