Chapter 422: Surge
Mohammad Alai Jr.
He walked down a perfectly ordinary Tokyo street, carrying his gear bag. It was
mid-afternoon, and the sidewalk was dotted with pedestrians going about their
daily lives. Everything looked mundane, yet Alai Jr. felt a heavy, unnatural
"Silence" pressing in on him.
He could hear his own heartbeat, thunderous and erratic, echoing in his ears.
Thump-thump! Thump-thump!
It was strange. Was he simply too focused? Or was he so nervous that his brain
was filtering out the world?
Alai Jr. took a deep breath, tugging the brim of his cap lower, and kept moving.
At any moment... the frames could go live...
The thought recycled in his mind like a broken record. In a Kengan match or the
Underground Arena, the rules permitted everything except weapons. But in a
Street Brawl, even that one simple rule vanished.
No rules. No referees. No ten-counts. No "KO" to signal the end.
The ultimate biological ecosystem.
The thought made a cold sweat break out across his skin. His limbs felt stiff,
and his movements were becoming unnaturally jerky. He felt a tightness in his
chest—a localized struggle to draw breath.
He tried to talk himself down. This is what I wanted, isn't it?
According to Mitsunari Tokugawa, Baki Hanma had accepted his challenge without a
single complaint, purely because the venue was "The Pit." As the [CHAMPION] of
the Arena, it was his duty to answer all challengers.
Alai Jr. wanted to laugh. If he had known it was that easy—if he had known Baki
would meet any challenge inside the Dome—he could have just skipped all this
"Street" nonsense.
No.
He shook his head, his lips thinning into a hard line. He was lying to himself.
The Alai Jr. from before his consecutive losses—the one who had only won a few
high-profile matches—would never have stood a chance against Baki in a duel.
"Underground Fighting" wasn't enough.
He needed the Street.
He needed to fight with the intent to kill, to exist in a state where every
second was a battle for survival. If he didn't, he would never bridge the gap.
Alai Jr. continued down the sidewalk. Beads of sweat formed on his cheeks, but
they didn't even have time to drip; they were launched from his skin by the
sudden, sharp movements of his head and torso.
He had begun to skip—the [BUTTERFLY STEP].
Zip! Zip! Zip!
It looked like the warm-up he usually performed in the gym, but the context had
shifted. His mind was wandering into a dark, paranoid territory. Slowly, his
torso began to sway, his fists cocked in a low guard as he focused on keeping
his joints and muscles "Hot."
—What am I doing?
Is this a warm-up?
He shouldered his gear bag, continuing his rhythmic skipping and shadow-jabs
while walking. His shirt was becoming soaked with sweat.
Is this "Daily Life"? Is this "Combat"?
His movements grew more intense, drawing stares from the passing "pedestrians."
Whispers followed him down the block.
"Is he an athlete?" "Is he warming up for a race?" "Is he going to a match?"
Alai Jr. didn't hear them. The question in his mind was growing into a
suffocating roar: Is what I'm doing right now considered 'Fighting'?!
The next time I open a door... the next time I step onto a sidewalk... can I
ever do it peacefully again? Will I be trapped in the 'Frames' for the rest of
my life?
The deeper he dug into the logic of the Street Brawl, the more terrified he
became. He was drowning in a swamp of his own making.
What if that man walking toward me suddenly fires a hook? What if that woman
with the stroller is hiding a blade in the blankets? What if a group of thugs is
waiting for me around the next corner?
What if... what if...
Alai Jr.'s eyes darted frantically. He flinched at every loud noise, every
sudden movement. To him, the entire city had become a kill-zone.
He didn't know when the fight would start, who his opponent would be, or even
what the "Conditions" were.
"Hah... hah... hah...!"
His breathing turned into a series of ragged gasps. He felt as though the entire
world was his enemy. He was exhausted before he had even reached the stadium.
On the opposite side of the road, [RAZOR'S EDGE] Rihito was out for a casual
stroll, looking for a pretty girl to talk to. He spotted Alai Jr. from across
the street.
Though they hadn't met formally, Rihito had heard about the "Son of God" from
the Hub.
"—Huh?"
Rihito watched as Alai Jr. skipped and punched the air. It didn't look like a
warm-up; it looked like the man was vibrating with a suppressed, frantic energy.
"That guy is weird. What the hell is he doing?"
Rihito turned the corner and continued his walk. At the next intersection, he
bumped into another familiar face: Ren Shiroki.
But something felt wrong. Ren spotted him and raised a hand in a friendly wave,
but Rihito felt an instinctive jolt of alarm.
If he had to describe it... it felt like every step Ren took was heavy and
grounded, yet somehow left "Vibrant Oil-Paint" streaks on the pavement. He
radiated a unique, high-torque vitality.
"—?!"
A few beads of cold sweat rolled down Rihito's brow. He knew Ren was his
friend—knew he was a "Good Guy"—but his martial instincts were screaming at him
to drop into a defensive stance.
Rihito stood still until Ren had walked past and disappeared into the crowd.
Only then did he exhale.
"Shiroki-kun... what the hell was that 'Atmosphere' just now...?"
Ren Shiroki, having greeted Rihito, didn't think he was doing anything special.
He was just taking a walk, maintaining his "Daily State," and letting his mind
drift through technical "impurities."
Specifically: What is a Fight?
And: What exactly is my "Way of Combat"?
He had discussed the concept with Tokugawa, but it was still just a prototype.
He needed to go deeper.
The [FRAME]. The minimum unit of time within a technique. The key to creating a
"Lethal Advantage."
How do I use it effectively? Man, this is interesting. I need to find a chance
to test the logic...
Ren grinned to himself, continuing his walk. He noticed a figure about ten
meters ahead, walking toward him. The man was covered in sweat and moving with a
frantic, rhythmic skip.
It was Alai Jr.
At the same time, Alai Jr. spotted Ren.
Gulp—
He swallowed hard, his nerves reaching a breaking point. A question flared in
his mind:
Is he going to hit me? If he doesn't... ...Do I hit HIM?!
Do I take the initiative and strike the man named Ren Shiroki right here on the
sidewalk?!
The two men approached each other. The distance between them vanished
frame-by-frame.
It's time—
Range: Engaged!
Alai Jr.'s eyes narrowed, his face a mask of desperation. He felt his breath
hitch in his throat. In the millisecond they crossed paths—Whish!
Alai Jr. fired.
He threw a lightning-fast left jab aimed directly for Ren's chin.
Ren saw the trajectory clearly. He didn't panic. He performed a slight
shoulder-roll, catching the impact on the meat of his left deltoid.
THUD!
The impact was heavy, but Ren didn't stall. He ground his lead foot into the
pavement, twisting his hips to unleash a grounded right hook.
Whoosh—!
Alai Jr. reacted instantly. He performed a Sway-back, the hook whistling past
his nose.
I did it!
Joy flared in the boxer's chest. He saw the fist pass and prepared to transition
into a counter-assault. He started to close his own hand into a fist.
But the unthinkable happened. While Alai Jr. was still in the "Recovery Frames"
of his Sway-back, Ren Shiroki had already finished his follow-through and
triggered a new action.
[DRIVE RUSH]!
Voom!
Ren didn't wait to reset. He exploded forward, entering Alai Jr.'s pocket before
the boxer could even straighten his spine. He drove the base of his left palm
horizontally.
CLAP!
The palm-strike grazed the side of Alai Jr.'s jaw. The "Technical Concussion"
was instantaneous. The shockwave rattled the boxer's brain; his eyes rolled
back, the pupils vanishing into the whites.
Again... So fast... He fired the next frame already...
The chaotic thoughts in Alai Jr.'s mind were swallowed by a total, absolute
void.
—THUD!
Alai Jr. went limp, hitting the pavement with a heavy, uncoordinated fall.
"Hm..."
Ren Shiroki didn't even look back at first. He was still lost in his technical
analysis.
I see. The "Startup," the "Active Frame," and the "Recovery." The [FRAME] logic
changes depending on the style used.
The theory is simple, but mastering the microscopic details... that's a road
that takes a lifetime. If I can master the flow, I'll truly touch the 'Way'.
Ren recalled Doppo Orochi's "Invisible Basic Strikes." It was likely the same
principle, just described in different words.
I need to test this more...
Ren turned around with a delighted grin. "Jr.-kun! Let's try two more rounds
of—"
He stopped.
The sidewalk was empty of rivals. He looked down to see Mohammad Alai Jr. lying
unconscious in the dirt, a trail of drool leaking from his mouth.
☆☆☆
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