Chapter 419: A Great Father
Ohma was not the type to kill without reason, so he had specifically led the
fight to a patch of soft, unrefined earth.
Had he not, Alai Jr.'s skull likely would have shattered against concrete,
leaving a scene too gruesome for words. Even with Ohma holding back, the force
of the throw was monumental.
BOOM!
Alai Jr.'s cheek slammed into the dirt first, followed by his entire frame. The
kinetic energy caused his body to bounce nearly three centimeters off the ground
in a secondary recoil.
Zip!
Ohma raised his left leg, driving his heel down toward the boxer's face in a
final, crushing stomp.
THUD!!!
A high-speed rotational throw followed by a vertical execution. This was the
perfect marriage of the [NIKO STYLE: REDIRECTION & FIRE KATA - SHIRANUI].
"..."
Alai Jr. went completely limp. He lay on his side, his body twitching
involuntarily before he rolled onto his back, staring at the gray sky with
vacant eyes.
The throw had opened several lacerations on his scalp, but the follow-up stomp
was the finisher. Blood erupted from his nose and mouth, his pupils quivering as
the concussion turned his world into a blur. The teeth he had just paid to have
repaired were jarred loose once more, and his nose was snapped back into a
crooked, broken mess.
Zip—
Ohma dropped into a low-crouch, his right fist cocked and ready to deliver a
ground-and-pound follow-up.
But he stopped. His fist hovered inches from the boxer's mangled face. Ohma took
a deep breath and stood back up, exhaling a cloud of steam. Alai Jr. was out
cold. There was no need for a secondary execution.
"Thanks for the lesson, Boxer!"
Ohma gave a small, respectful nod. He turned and walked back toward the street
corner to regroup with Kazuo Yamashita and Ren Shiroki. He raised a hand in a
casual greeting.
"Yo! Sorry to keep you waiting. It's settled."
Kazuo Yamashita hurriedly handed Ohma a handkerchief.
Ohma took it, wiping the blood from his nose where Alai's opening jab had
connected.
Kazuo let out a massive sigh of relief. "Even though Alai Jr.-kun is powerful,
Ohma-san really is in a league of his own!"
Ohma shook his head, pointing to his nose. "He was fast. If that opening shot
had landed half an inch lower on my chin, I'd be the one in the dirt right now."
While the two talked, Ren Shiroki pulled out his phone to call the hospital.
Since Dr. Kureha Shinogi was on a scheduled leave today, handling the aftermath
of a street duel fell to the Hub's other medical contact—the eccentric [THE
DISSECTION FREAK] Dr. Hajime Hajo.
"Aha! Shiroki-kun! I heard you were recovering. Why are you calling me? Did your
wounds turn septic? Are you ready to donate your remains for a live autopsy?"
Hajo was as "heavy" as ever. His bedside manner was nonexistent, but his
surgical skills were divine, and his connections to the dark side of politics
made him the perfect choice for high-profile "discretionary" work.
"Hmm? Alai Jr. is injured again? Didn't he just get discharged this morning?"
Hajo listened to the summary and nodded. "Fine. I'll send two ambulances. Make
sure Ohma Tokita stays put; Yamashita Kazuo already booked him for a full
physical."
Two ambulances arrived.
Ren, Ohma, and Kazuo took one; the unconscious Alai Jr. was loaded onto a
stretcher for the other. They took a circuitous route, entering the hospital
through the private rear gate to avoid the press.
Under Hajo's direction, Ohma began his diagnostic testing. Ren and Kazuo grabbed
bottles of soda from a vending machine, waiting in the observation lounge.
"Don't you worry. He's in good hands," Hajo said, his deep dark circles making
him look more like a patient than a doctor.
He pulled out a clipboard, grinning mischievously. "Now, before we start the
scan, I need Ohma-kun to sign this 'Post-Mortem Specimen Donation' form—"
"Oh, thanks!" Ohma grabbed the pen. "Is this like a 'Gift Exchange'? Do I get
steak after this?"
Kazuo's head nearly exploded. "NO! IT'S NOT A GIFT! DON'T SIGN THAT, OHMA-SAN!!"
Hajo turned to Ren, pulling out another form. "Shiroki-kun, you want in? If you
sign, I'll throw in a box of premium high-grade yokan."
Ren's eyes shimmered. He actually started to reach for the pen.
Kazuo let out a strangled shriek. "NOT YOU TOO!! DON'T BE AN IDIOT!!"
The constant cycle of shouting and technical stress was making Kazuo feel
lightheaded. He looked around frantically for Hajo's assistant, Kokomi
Yoshizawa, hoping for a sane person to balance the room.
"Dr. Hajo... please..." Kazuo trembled. "Tell me you haven't dissected Nurse
Kokomi yet."
Hajo scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not the right season for that yet."
Kazuo wiped his brow, then froze. "Wait... what the hell does 'not the right
season' mean?!"
Soon, Ohma's CT scan was completed. He emerged from the machine, pulling his
shirt back over his corded, functional muscles.
"Hmph. All good?" Ohma asked. "I really didn't feel like doing this, Hajo."
Hajo's expression turned clinical as he flipped through the digital charts. "In
your past, you used [THE ADVANCE] far too many times. Your heart and your
central nervous system have endured a catastrophic amount of torque."
"Checking in now... honestly, it's almost too late."
Hajo organized the files. "The good news is that your basic data shows
significant recovery. Likely because your frequency of 'Red-Line' battles has
decreased lately. I recommend total rest, but I know you won't listen."
Ohma looked at Kazuo and Ren, clenching his fist with a grin. "No matter what
happens, I'm not stopping."
"I knew you'd say that." Hajo shoved his hands into his pockets. "Initial
results are stable. I'll call you when the deep-tissue analysis is finished."
"Right. Good work."
Ohma prepared to leave with his companions. But just then, the previously absent
Kokomi Yoshizawa came running down the hall, looking frantic.
"Oh, you're back?" Hajo offered a thin, creepy smile. "I sent you for the
equipment thirty minutes ago. I thought you'd finally fled the country to escape
your student loans."
Kokomi was gasping for air. "Doctor... we have a situation in the VIP wing."
Seeing the Hub crew present, she didn't mince words. "There's a fight about to
break out in one of the rooms."
Hajo blinked. "So? Call security."
Kokomi shook her head. "The two people involved are too 'famous'. The Hospital
Director is terrified to move. They need a doctor to intervene."
"Famous?"
Everyone froze. Ren and Hajo shared a look. The most famous person currently in
the building was the man who had just been re-admitted: Alai Jr.
Ren, Ohma, Kazuo, and Dr. Hajo followed Kokomi to the top floor.
Outside the VIP single-occupancy room, the heavy oak doors were closed.
"Let's observe first," Hajo whispered. "Celebrities hate being interrupted
mid-performance."
He slid aside a small, decorative wooden panel on the wall, revealing a one-way
observation window designed for monitoring critical patients. Ren peered
through.
Inside the room, two familiar faces were facing each other.
Mohammad Alai Jr. and his father—Mohammad Alai Sr.
"It's... it's really him," Kazuo whispered, his voice trembling with awe.
Ohma noticed the two men were squared off. The elder Alai was dressed in a heavy
towel-robe and professional boxing boots.
More importantly—his hands were wrapped in fighting tape.
Across from him, Alai Jr. was a mess of bandages and fresh surgical tape, his
face still swollen from Ohma's barrage.
"Is the Old Man... challenging his son to a fight?" Ohma wondered.
Inside the room, Alai Jr. was asking the same question.
"Father?" He looked bewildered. "You arrived suddenly and had the nurses clear
out the bed and the equipment. Why?! We haven't seen each other in years! Why
are we in an empty room?!"
"To Fight," the legend replied.
Alai Jr. froze. "Fight? You? Against... me? Father, you can't be serious."
Alai Sr. took a deep, controlled breath. "Indeed. No gloves. No rounds. A duel,
Jr."
Behind the glass, Hajo rubbed his chin. "I was under the impression that Alai
Sr. suffered from advanced Parkinson's. But looking at his posture right now..."
"Are you ready?" the legend rumbled.
Alai Jr. was breaking into a sweat. "Wait! Father! This was supposed to be our
reunion! Fighting? You've lost your mind! You're over sixty!"
"Being a father has nothing to do with age when it comes to the fist," Alai Sr.
said firmly. "Five years ago, I faced you. I was careless. I let a green,
teenage boy knock me to the floor."
Alai Jr. frowned. "Don't push yourself! You were in your fifties then! You were
already sick!"
Alai Sr. dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. "The act of one man
grounding another is independent of the calendar. If the combatants are father
and son, the logic is even more absolute. My defeat back then only proved that I
had grown lazy and complacent."
Alai Jr.'s eyes narrowed with irritation. "Are you saying you aren't 'lazy'
now?"
"Heh..."
The legend began to reminisce, his voice airy. "It has been far too long since I
felt the 'Itch'."
"Deep in my storage unit, my old training boots—weighing two kilograms each—were
covered in decades of dust. I put them on. I began to train. At first, I was so
slow I couldn't even call it a 'Jog.' It was just a 'Stroll'."
"I started from walking."
"It took three months before I could run for ten minutes. A full quarter of a
year just to find my pace."
"Then came the heavy bag. The speed bag. The rope. The drills."
"From my first walk to my first live-sparring session with my old partners... it
took eighteen months. A year and a half of absolute, silent hell."
Alai Sr. looked his son in the eye. "I spent nine times the effort of my active
prime just to claw my way back to this state. It was a long road, Jr."
Outside the room, the group stared with wide eyes.
Hajo let out a low whistle, a grin touching his lips. "I see. I thought his
biological markers were weird. Not even the greatest doctors can fix age... but
apparently, a legend can simply decide to 'Ignore' it."
Inside, Alai Jr. stood his ground. "Even so, Father! I'm injured! Ohma Tokita
just shattered my nose and rattled my brain! I need recovery, I can't possibly—"
"Exactly! IT IS A SHAME!!"
Alai Sr. cut him off with a thunderous roar. "To think my own seed has become
such a Coward!"
"To feel 'Fear' because you're facing a man over sixty? A man whom doctors have
declared broken by disease?"
"What is Martial Arts?!"
"Anytime. Anywhere. Anyone. That is the logic of Combat!"
The legend raised his fists. "And you... you stand there and make excuses about
your 'Condition' like a common student?"
"KNOW SHAME!!"
Alai Sr. roared the command and turned to leave. "Rest then. I didn't waste five
years of my life to trade blows with a coward."
Alai Sr. reached the door.
Suddenly, Alai Jr. took a sharp, gasping breath. Rage flared in his eyes.
"Wait... I'll do it! I'M FIGHTING!!"
"Oho?" Alai Sr. turned back. "That was almost a manly response. It doesn't suit
your usual timid self."
"SHUT UP!"
Alai Jr. began his rhythmic skip. Even though his father was his idol, being
called a "Coward" twice in a row had ignited his fighting spirit. He wouldn't
let anyone—not even the God of Boxing—look down on him.
Whish!
Alai Jr. lunged. He fired a lightning-fast right jab.
The next second—Fwoosh!
Alai Sr.'s left hand swung in a massive, high-torque arc.
The Great Boxer didn't use a jab. He used an open-handed Palm Strike, slamming
it directly into Alai Jr.'s face with the weight of a falling mountain.
BOOM!
Alai Jr. was launched into the air, his world spinning into a kaleidoscope of
stars. He hit the floor on his back, his head bouncing off the tiles.
He gritted his teeth, his entire frame trembling with the shock.
A single sip of a master chef's soup can conjure the image of every ingredient
used in its creation—that is the definition of "Persuasiveness."
Facing his father's palm strike... Alai Jr. felt the same thing.
How... how 'Persuasive' was that hit!
How much agony? How much cruel, unrelenting training did this "failing" old man
endure for eighteen months to reclaim a fist like that?
Alai Sr. let his robe fall, revealing a physique that was slightly soft with
age, yet possessed the hyper-defined muscle outlines of a predator.
Outside the room, the four witnesses felt the same "Persuasion." One by one,
they began to clap. They were applauding a man who had fought his way back from
the edge of the grave to reclaim his soul.
Clap-clap-clap-clap-clap—!
☆☆☆
-> 30 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Hollowborn
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you