Chapter 417: A Simple Question
Ohma Tokita still sported his signature wild, seaweed-like hair.
Dressed in casual wear topped with a hooded jacket, his spirit looked far more
rejuvenated than before, and his physique had become visibly sturdier through
relentless conditioning.
Beside him, Kazuo Yamashita wore his standard salaryman suit and tie. He still
radiated the aura of a weak-willed middle-aged man, but the chronic exhaustion
from years of corporate overtime had eased significantly. Lately, Kazuo had been
tethered to Ohma, managing his life and logistics. It looked like he had no real
"work," but his schedule was actually more disciplined than his days at the
office.
"Yo," Ohma greeted, raising a hand.
Ren Shiroki bared his teeth in a grin. "Long time no see. How's the grind?"
Ohma kept his hands in his pockets, offering a faint, confident smile. "Same as
always. Matches, brawls... though I've been remembering a lot of the past
lately."
"Nice. That's perfect!"
Ren patted Ohma on the shoulder. "Come by the Hub for a set soon. The arena has
been quiet lately; the scent of blood is starting to fade."
"Maybe. But I'm booked up for a bit. I've got a few more people I want to 'play'
with first."
Ohma looked Ren up and down, noting the bandages beneath his shirt and the
surgical dressings on his neck. He immediately deduced there had been a
high-torque exchange recently.
"You... look like you got pulverized."
"Tell me about it! I nearly went blind!" Ren grumbled, leaning back. Standing
around to talk felt like a waste of frames. "Want to grab some coffee? And
sweets. My treat."
Kazuo checked his watch. "We have a window of time."
Ohma nodded, a slight rumble coming from his stomach. "I'm actually starving.
We'll take you up on that."
The three of them headed to a cafe near the hospital.
Master Ryu had once told Ren: {A combatant's caloric expenditure is
astronomical. It is likely why many of us possess such a profound addiction to
sweets.}
Ren was a prime example—effectively a "Dessert Specialist" who loved sampling
everything from traditional wagashi to modern pastries. He recommended a few
items, and Ohma, never one for ceremony, ordered a mountain of them.
Ohma leaned his chin on his hand, mumbling through a mouthful of cake. "Sweets
don't fill the tank, Yamashita Kazuo. We're hitting the BBQ joint tonight,
right?"
Kazuo felt a headache coming on. "We just had yakiniku last night...!"
"That was twenty-four hours ago," Ohma said indifferently. "It's long since been
digested."
"We still have to pay for breakfast and lunch—" Kazuo broke into a cold sweat.
If it weren't for the Nogi Group's generous "Fighter Maintenance Fund," he would
have been bankrupt just trying to keep Ohma fed.
As seven or eight plates of desserts were cleared, Ren and Ohma settled into a
comfortable technical rhythm. Ren decided to pick Ohma's brain about "The
Inside."
"So you're really interested in that place..."
Ohma rubbed his brow. He took the Secret Key Card from Ren, turning the metal
plate over in his hands as he processed the intel Fusui had provided.
"So this is a key to the gatehouse?"
"The boundary between Tokyo and the Ward is a reinforced wall. It's been there
for decades. The checkpoints are manned by the MPD's tactical units, but they
only focus on external order and keeping civilians out. They don't meddle with
internal business."
"As for whether controlling a gate can 'strangle' the internal factions... I
don't know. It wouldn't be easy. But the channels are always open. If someone
secures the manual override, they could move a massive number of boots through
the wall at once. Those groups—IDEAL, Toyo, the Worm—they're likely planning to
use superior numbers to annex the districts."
Ohma took a sip of his coffee, found it too bitter, and dumped four sugar cubes
into the cup.
"To use the words of that giant Oliva... The Inside is a city-within-a-city. The
'Freest' place on earth. Even in war-torn countries, there is eventually a
victor who wants to rule. But in the Ward? No one wants a King. Anyone who tried
to unify that place ended up facedown in a gutter."
"It is a total lawless zone. The residents move in and out of the 'Outside'
world, but they follow a different set of logic. Outside is Law and Common
Sense. Inside... there is only survival."
Ohma abandoned the coffee and started chewing on a spare sugar cube.
"I can give you a rough map of the outline, but the internal borders shift every
few weeks depending on who's winning the local turf wars. I can't give you
anything up-to-date."
Ohma looked Ren in the eye. "So, Shiroki. Why are you digging into the Ward?
What are you after?"
Ren thought for a second and laughed. "I don't know... World domination?
Crushing an evil syndicate like a superhero?"
Ohma's face flattened into a look of pure disbelief.
Ren grinned. "Look, whatever IDEAL and the Worm are planning, it's obviously bad
news. I'm not trying to be a hero, but since they think they're 'Strong' enough
to take over a city of monsters... I really want to face them and see if their
reality matches their hype."
"That's my only reason."
Hearing that, Ohma didn't try to dissuade him further. He promised to keep Ren
in the loop regarding any intel from the Nogi Group.
Ren leaned forward. "So, what are you and Yamashita-aniki doing at the hospital?
Checking on your health?"
Ohma smirked. "No. We're here to intercept someone."
[Hospital Entrance]
A tall Black man in a tracksuit, his face still marked with yellowing bruises,
bowed politely to the doctors and nurses. He walked out of the sliding glass
doors with a relaxed, confident gait.
His name: Mohammad Alai Jr.
After his war with the Fang, Alai Jr. had been hospitalized for technical
recovery and observation. Now that he was officially cleared, he was heading
home. But first, he had made a call.
Kozue Matsumoto was already waiting for him at the entrance.
Unlike Arisa's manic energy or Karura's direct aggression, Kozue was a
traditional girl—strong, kind, and possessed of a high degree of empathy. It was
difficult for her to refuse a request from a "patient," though she maintained
her boundaries.
"Congratulations on your recovery," Kozue said. She looked at him with a mix of
respect and wariness. Her father had died in the ring, so she had a complicated
relationship with those who sought the "Apex"—especially her own boyfriend,
Baki.
"You asked to see me, so I came. But please... do not have any expectations
beyond this meeting. I meant what I said before."
Alai Jr. didn't look discouraged. He touched the surgical tape on his nose and
smiled. "That's enough. Just seeing you gives me the 'Vitality' I need to
continue my journey."
Kozue's eyes drooped. She looked bored.
Seeing her lack of interest, Alai Jr. looked around, looking for a nearby cafe
to take her to.
Suddenly, a silhouette passed Kozue, walking directly into Alai Jr.'s personal
space. The newcomer tilted his head slightly, staring the boxer in the eye.
Kozue gasped. "Ohma-san?!"
"Pardon the intrusion, Matsumoto Kozue," Ohma said. Since they had eaten
together before, he recognized her, though he kept his quirk of using people's
full names.
Ohma kept his hands in his pockets, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. "I
hope you aren't busy. I have business with this Mohammad Alai Jr."
Alai Jr. arched an eyebrow. He was surprised, but he didn't back down from the
challenge. "It seems I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
"My apologies, Kozue-san. I have to go with this gentleman. I'll treat you to
that coffee another time."
Alai Jr. waved a casual goodbye and followed Ohma.
Kozue watched their retreating backs. Her mind immediately went to
Baki—remembering the countless times she had watched him walk toward an arena.
She sighed, muttering a complaint to the wind. "You 'Combat-Obsessed' aliens...
'I'm stronger,' 'I'm the best'... honestly, you can just fight each other until
you're all dead for all I care."
Despite her words, she offered a silent prayer for their safety in her heart.
Ohma and Alai Jr. walked through the hospital parking lot, heading toward a
secluded, empty clearing behind one of the storage buildings.
Ohma scanned the perimeter. "This works. No 'pedestrians' to bother us."
Ohma stood his ground, beginning to roll his shoulders. "Let's do it here."
Alai Jr. looked genuinely confused. "I don't follow. Why are we fighting? I
don't even know your name."
"Ohma Tokita."
Ohma's expression remained calm as he began a deep leg stretch. "As for the
'Why'... even in The Inside, the name of Mohammad Alai carries weight. I heard
the 'Son of God' had entered the underground circuit. I've been wanting to test
your style for myself."
Alai Jr. frowned. "We've just met. Is there really a need for this?"
Ohma looked surprised. His voice dropped to a low, heavy register. "Hey. Isn't
this what you wanted? A duel?"
He cracked his knuckles.
"The question is simple, Jr."
"Do you want to fight me?"
☆☆☆
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