Rising Dragon

Komada rolled the wrist of his punching hand as he closed in, one step at a time.

"Modern regulated boxing has developed into a sport with seventeen weight classes, with only two or three kilograms between adjacent classes. That's to make it entertaining to watch and to keep the matches fair."

"The weight difference between us is around twenty-five kilograms, so—there's no way you can beat me."

"'Strength' is proportional to 'physique.' The small are suppressed by the big, and the short are trampled by the tall. That's the real world!"

Before the words had finished leaving his mouth, Komada suddenly ground his foot against the ground—

Scrape!

He was too far away to reach Shiraki Uke, yet Komada still lashed out with a high kick. Dirt and sand from the arena had stuck to his sole, and he used the kick to fling them at Shiraki Uke.

Shiraki Uke squinted and shielded his eyes, but he didn't dare take them off Komada. The real deadly move was bound to follow.

Sure enough, Komada immediately followed up with a front kick—

Boom!

Shiraki Uke barely dodged it with a step to the side, letting Komada's foot slam into the wooden fence behind him.

With a sharp crash, the sturdy solid-wood fence shattered under the kick, scattering splinters across the ground.

"?!"

The sight left the spectators dumbstruck.

That fence was solid wood. A motorcycle couldn't have smashed through it, and even splitting it with an axe would have taken tremendous effort. Yet Komada had kicked it apart just like that!

But the few who knew their stuff—Metsudo, Kure Fusui, Kure Karura, and Shiraki Uke in the arena—could easily see the trick behind it.

Komada most likely had iron plates stuffed inside his shoes!

"He really does fight dirty. I can't let him kick me..."

Shiraki Uke flexed his fingers, barely easing the aching numbness in his forearms. But both "Komada" and "Ryu" in his field of vision closed in again. It was like fighting two opponents at once!

How do I deal with Komada's attacks? And what exactly is Ryu trying to teach me with those punches?

Shiraki Uke panted heavily, barely managing to circle around with his footwork. Every dodge was a close call.

The match was heating up, and the spectators' shouts never ceased.

Outside the fence, Katahara Metsudo looked thrilled, clearly enjoying the atmosphere.

"Ho ho, it may not be one of the Kengan matches, but it has its own kind of fun!"

He turned to his drinking companion, Akagi Shigeru, and said happily, "Not bad, is it? But official Kengan matches are even more exciting. There are plenty of fighters I'd recommend..."

Metsudo spoke with great enthusiasm, but Akagi Shigeru listened with little interest.

"Hm?" Metsudo was puzzled. "Akagi, are you tired?"

"...You could say that."

Akagi smiled faintly and looked down at the glass in his hand. Only a little whiskey remained, the golden liquid reflecting his eyes. "Thank you for your hospitality tonight. I'll take my leave once I've finished this glass."

"Huh?"

Metsudo knew Akagi was the indifferent type, so he wasn't angry. But he couldn't contain his curiosity and began wheedling like a mischievous old man.

"Why aren't you enjoying yourself? It's not often you come out for fun, Akagi. If I don't know why, I'll feel so guilty I won't be able to sleep!"

"..."

Akagi thought for a moment and decided it would be rather rude to leave like this, so he explained, "This so-called lively atmosphere right now is all 'fake'..."

Kure Fusui, standing nearby, was puzzled. "It's pretty lively around us. Are the other spectators hired actors?"

"No, I don't mean the performance is fake."

Akagi took a sip of whiskey, swept his gaze over the spectators, and sighed softly. "The fact is, the crowd is only excited right now because there's a predictable, 'fixed outcome.'"

"—For example: the blood spilled from a beating, Komada's victory, and the money won by betting on Komada."

"As I see it, what's happening in the ring isn't a fight, much less a gamble. It's just a boring performance going through the motions. There's no winning or losing."

"Heh..."

Akagi smiled faintly, lit himself a cigarette, and laughed at himself helplessly.

"I really... don't like this feeling. Maybe it's a personal quirk, but I'm not interested in things with 'no winner or loser.'"

"Anyway, thank you for your hospitality. Goodbye."

Akagi exhaled a puff of white smoke and was about to leave when he heard Metsudo suddenly laugh.

"Ho ho, it hurts to be underestimated like that..."

"Hm?" Akagi paused, startled.

Metsudo's gaze sharpened, though he wore a cheerful smile. "Do you think I'd enjoy some shallow spectacle? I haven't gone senile yet!"

"I don't care about the crowd. The only ones who can hold my attention right now are the fighters in the ring."

Metsudo looked toward the arena, his gaze falling on Shiraki Uke as he was driven steadily back.

"In the arena, aside from those who fight for money, those who don't care about their lives, and those with other motives, there's another kind of person—"

"A purer kind."

"My nose isn't half bad, so I can tell that young man has a scent somewhat similar to yours, Akagi."

"..."

Akagi didn't think there was anything remarkable about himself, but Metsudo's words made him take another look at the match, and he noticed a few details.

"...I see. Is that how it is? Heh, there really are some things that are 'wrong.'"

Whoosh—bang!

After Shiraki Uke barely dodged a kick from Komada, heavy punches from Komada and Ryu came at him again. They smashed into his raised forearms and sent him crashing into the wooden fence behind him.

This wasn't an official match, and there was no rule that said he'd lose by leaving the arena, so jumping out wouldn't help.

Shiraki Uke draped his arms over the wooden boards, barely holding himself up. His forearms ached unbearably, and he could hardly clench his fists anymore. All the dodging had also left him with little stamina.

But what Ryu was trying to convey to him—the potential "deep-rooted error" within himself, which was also the key to winning or losing—remained unclear to Shiraki Uke.

"...Live by facing death."

A low voice sounded beside Shiraki Uke's ear, offering a reminder.

He glanced aside and saw that the speaker was a white-haired middle-aged man. Arisa, Kure Fusui, and the others were all standing beside him.

With no time to wonder who the white-haired man was, Shiraki Uke instinctively asked, "Are you... giving me a hint? About technique or something?"

"No. I don't understand fighting at all, and I'm no more than an amateur in a brawl."

Akagi Shigeru drew on his cigarette and spoke slowly in a low voice. "It's just that your fighting spirit is already dead. You have no strong desire to win; you only hope to 'avoid' things."

"—People who keep losing at gambling eventually fall into that way of thinking too."

"All you want to do is 'dodge.'"

Akagi Shigeru looked Shiraki Uke straight in the eye and gently flicked the ash from his cigarette.

"When all's said and done, I don't think 'winning after successfully dodging' can compare to 'winning outright.'"

Chapter 9: Rising Dragon

The man named Akagi Shigeru had said something baffling.

'Winning after successfully dodging' can't compare to 'winning outright'? But if you could win cleanly and decisively, who would go to the trouble of dodging?

The strange question welled up in Shiraki Uke's mind, sending his thoughts racing as many things occurred to him in an instant.

Considering his memories, if this really was "that Akagi Shigeru," he surely wouldn't speak without reason. He might even have already noticed something.

Was it the "deep-rooted error" that Shiraki Uke himself hadn't figured out?

"..."

Shiraki Uke fell into thought, dimly sensing that he had touched on something crucial. His breathing grew heavier.

Then a shout from Arisa beside him suddenly snapped Shiraki Uke awake.

"Brother!"

Shiraki Uke's eyes shifted, and he noticed Komada's movement. He quickly stepped back, dodging Komada's roundhouse kick to the midsection.

The boot with an iron plate inside whistled through the air.

The missed strike left Komada's movement momentarily sluggish. It was the perfect chance to counterattack, but Shiraki Uke merely stood there panting, even spacing out for a moment.

"What are you doing? Fight already!"

"Hey! Are you stalling on purpose? Kill him!"

"Komada, kick him to death!"

The stalemate left the spectators increasingly annoyed, and curses rang out from outside the arena.

Seeing that things were about to go quiet, the referee in the arena waved repeatedly and urged them on. "Continue!"

"..."

Seeing that Shiraki Uke remained unmoved, Komada finally grew fed up too.

"Darting around everywhere, what a bore... Hey! How long are you going to keep dodging and hiding?"

"I'll end this with one punch, so come at me already—!!"