Chapter 403: Help Me
[THE CRYING MAN] Masaki Meguro was a ruin. His torso was a map of dozens of
shallow, surgical lacerations from the [SLASHING FIST]. But those were merely
surface-level wounds.
The true devastation lay within. Meguro's hands, legs, and even his optic
nerves—six critical biological "cords" in total—had been severed by Kosho
Shinogi's high-torque precision. His limbs hung like dead weights, and his world
had dissolved into a total, sightless void.
Fresh blood geysered from his wounds, mixing with the unnatural, bloody tears
that were his namesake. The dojo floor was a crimson mess.
"Hah... hahah... HAAAA!"
Despite the catastrophic damage, Meguro laughed. The dopamine surge in his brain
was so absolute that his agony was indistinguishable from the purest technical
ecstasy. Through the darkness, he saw the phantoms of his murdered father and
brothers reaching out for him. He beckoned them closer with a jagged grin before
finally succumbing to the blood loss and drifting into unconsciousness.
Kosho Shinogi watched the "Beast" fall. He wasn't a surgeon like his brother
Kureha, but he viewed the human body through the lens of a Karate master—he knew
exactly which wires to cut to disable a machine.
He wiped the blood from his fingers onto his trousers and turned to face the
Toyo Electric agent. Kosho's eyes were like ice.
"Hey. You thought you could use a madman to test a warrior?" Kosho's voice was a
low snarl. "You thought 'Murder' would scare us? You really look down on the
Pit, don't you?"
"To a fighter, carrying killing intent is as natural as breathing. We step onto
those mats accepting that we might not walk off. Using a serial killer as a
'Secret Weapon'... it just proves you're an Amateur."
The white-suited agent didn't argue. He knew when a hand was lost. His employer,
Hayami Katsumasa, had already sent a message through his comms: "The beast is
spent. He was just a pawn to keep Metsudo's eyes busy. Our real gold mine is The
Inside. Abandon the specimen and move to the next phase."
The agent turned and hurried out of the Shinshinkai. The MPD had no legal
grounds to stop him yet; Toyo Electric kept their "Guardians" hidden behind a
dozen layers of corporate shell companies.
Inspector Sonoda stepped forward to secure the unconscious Meguro, calling for
an MPD medical unit. Kosho's strikes had been lethal, but they weren't
irreversible. Modern surgery could reconnect the nerves if the patient survived
the shock.
Katsumi Orochi tossed a towel to Kosho. "Nice work. You're even sharper than you
were at the tournament."
"Hmph," Kosho smirked, though his stoic mask remained. "With a circuit this
lively, it's hard not to be in peak condition."
Kosho then turned his sharp gaze toward Ren Shiroki. "Ren. I've been having
trouble sleeping lately. I wanted to talk to you."
Ren blinked, scratching his head. "Whoa. That's a bit heavy, isn't it?"
"I think it's just right," Kosho replied, holding up his calloused hands. "My
Slashing Fist has hit a wall. I feel like there's a piece of the puzzle I'm
missing. And every time I think about it, I think of the way you dismantled my
brother Kureha on the opening night of the Brawl."
Ren put his hands on his hips. "So... you want my help with your 'Technical
Research'?"
"Something like that."
The sound of police sirens—wee-woo, wee-woo—echoed from the streets outside. MPD
reinforcements were arriving to process the scene.
The group shared a knowing, mischievous look. They were fighters, not witnesses.
They had zero interest in being held up for hours of formal questioning and
paperwork.
"Let's ghost," Katsumi grinned. "Kosho-kun needs a change of clothes, then we
can slip out the back. Lunch is on me!"
Ren and Kosho nodded in unison. They grabbed the student, Terae, and the four of
them vanished into the private corridors of the Shinshinkai HQ just as the first
responders burst through the front doors.
Ren didn't forget his friend Sonoda, who was stuck guarding the suspect.
"Sonoda-aniki! You want us to bring you back some BBQ? A soda maybe?"
Sonoda sighed, looking at the bloody mess on the floor. "I want a vacation...!"
The four combatants headed for a nearby yakiniku joint. As young brawlers, their
conversation was 100% focused on protein and the "Next Frame" of their
evolution.
While they were grilling meat, the MPD finished their initial sweep of the dojo.
The blood was too much to clean up immediately, so they cordoned off the second
floor with yellow tape.
Shortly after the police cleared out, a massive, bald figure with a single eye
walked through the front doors of the Shinshinkai. He was dressed in a simple
tracksuit and carried a weathered rucksack. He looked dust-covered and weary,
but his muscles were even denser than before.
[THE BUSHIN] Doppo Orochi had returned from his mountain training.
"Phew! Nothing like home!" Doppo roared, his voice echoing through the lobby. "I
haven't shaved in a week and I'm starving! Katsumi! Where's the food?! I'm ready
to hit something!"
He received no answer.
Doppo kicked off his shoes and headed up to the second floor, expecting to find
his son and the senior disciples. He pushed the doors open.
His eye widened.
Everywhere he looked, there was yellow police tape. The floor was a map of
dried, dark-red stains. In the center of the room was a massive crater that
looked like it had been hammered out by a falling anvil.
The God of War stood in the silence of his ruined dojo.
"Uh... what the hell happened while I was out?"
☆☆☆
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