Challenging the Dojo

The floorboards of the Martial Arts Club creaked, the crisp sound of equipment clashing suddenly silenced in the air.

"I'm here to challenge the club."

Hoshida No's voice was not loud, yet it disrupted the rhythm of the dojo.

Members who had been scattered about warming up or sparring turned their heads one after another, forming a semi-circular human wall within seconds. Figures in dark training uniforms stood layered, their gazes mixed with curiosity and wariness.

He stood in the center of the circle, his school uniform collar neat, his hands hanging naturally at his sides. Facing dozens of gazes, he showed not a hint of panic.

He lifted his eyes, sweeping them across the gathered crowd, his tone calm and ripple-free: "I'm putting up 100,000 private points as a wager."

This sentence was like a gust of wind, sweeping rapidly through the Martial Arts Club, sparking a chorus of whispers.

Some subconsciously clenched their fists, while others exchanged shocked glances—100,000 points was enough to support an average student through half a semester without a care.

Hoshida No did not pause, continuing: "As long as someone can defeat me, those 100,000 points belong to them."

He paused, his gaze finally landing on the senior from earlier, and added the second half: "Conversely, I gain 100,000 points."

The murmurs on the wooden floor of the dojo suddenly grew louder.

"The Chess Club was challenged by a first-year this morning; I heard they won quite a lot of points!"

"Really? Another one coming to challenge the Martial Arts Club this afternoon? These freshmen are way too arrogant!"

The whispers spread through the gaps in the human wall, reaching the ears of many.

Hoshida No's fingers, hanging at his sides, twitched slightly. The moment he caught the key information, a flash of realization crossed his eyes.

So, Sakayanagi Arisu is also accumulating points this way. It seems my thoughts and hers are in perfect alignment.

The silence in the circle lasted for several seconds. Some in the crowd were restless, but none dared to step forward rashly.

The temptation of 100,000 points was great, but the unknown risk made them hesitate.

Just then, the senior from earlier took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The wooden floor gave a slight creak as he clenched his fists: "I accept your wager."

The two did not engage immediately; instead, a senior instructor was hurriedly summoned by the club members.

The instructor held a standard contract form, his gaze sweeping over the two as he confirmed their point account information and the rules of the match: no malicious attacks, surrender ends the fight, points are transferred immediately—all terms clearly listed.

Hoshida No and the senior signed the contract one after another; the scratching of pen tips against paper was exceptionally clear in the silent dojo.

Once the contract was signed, the instructor retreated outside the circle and signaled for them to begin.

Both stepped back two paces, creating a three-meter gap, standing firmly in the center of the human wall. The surrounding chatter died out completely.

Hoshida No kept his hands hanging naturally, his center of gravity sinking slightly, his eyes calmly locked onto the senior opposite him, waiting for the signal to start.

The moment the instructor's hand dropped, the senior made the first move. He dropped his hips and twisted his waist, his right fist whistling through the air straight toward Hoshida No's face. The move was fierce—a standard, practical straight punch common in the Martial Arts Club.

Hoshida No shifted his feet, dodging sideways as if pushed by a light breeze. At the same time, his left hand struck out like lightning, precisely gripping the senior's wrist, his fingertips exerting force to instantly neutralize the momentum.

Caught off guard, the senior's center of gravity lurched forward. Just as he tried to pull his hand back to switch tactics, Hoshida No's right hand had already pressed against his ribs, the force light but precisely targeting the vulnerable spot.

"Ugh!" The senior let out a muffled grunt, his strength suddenly collapsing.

Hoshida No flipped his wrist, using the momentum to press the senior's arm downward while simultaneously stepping forward and lightly tapping the back of the senior's supporting knee.

The entire sequence was fluid and seamless. In less than two seconds, the senior lost his balance and fell heavily to his knees on the wooden floor, his fist never having advanced another inch.

As the senior struggled to get up, Hoshida No had already let go and retreated to his original position, his hands once again hanging naturally, his breathing steady.

The surroundings were deathly silent; even the sound of breathing seemed to have been paused.

A few seconds later, someone let out a low gasp, their eyes filled with disbelief. This senior was one of the core members of the Martial Arts Club, yet he had fallen in only three moves.

Hoshida No's movements had not a single wasted motion; every step landed precisely on a weakness, so swift that it left no time to react.

A bet is a bet. Under the witness of the instructor, the senior transferred 100,000 points to Hoshida No.

Hoshida No looked at the 200,000 points now in his possession. Without putting down his phone, he spoke again: "This time, I'm putting up 200,000 points as a wager."

The members who had been restless over the 100,000 points were instantly silenced, as if all sound had been drained from them. With 200,000 points on the line, no one dared to step up rashly.

Just as the silence deepened, a booming voice came from outside the human wall, carrying a sense of pressure: "What are you all gathered here for? Don't you have training to do?"

The crowd subconsciously retreated to both sides, automatically clearing a path.

Two burly figures walked slowly toward them, their training uniforms straining against broad shoulders, each step causing the wooden floor to emit a dull thud.

Someone stood on tiptoe to look, whispering to the person beside them: "It's Senior Sato... and the Club President!"

A core member ran up to the two to explain.

The two nodded, their gazes landing directly on Hoshida No in the center of the floor.

Sato took a step forward, his tall frame casting a shadow. He looked Hoshida No up and down, his eyes sharp as blades, carrying the scrutiny of someone long-trained: "You brat, to be able to defeat Qiancheng in three moves, you've got some skill."

He clenched his fists, the aura around him tightening instantly. "Since you dare to come here and challenge the club with points, let me be the one to face you."

Just as the instructor raised his hand to signal the start, Sato suddenly dropped his weight and stomped the floor.

The wooden floor gave a dull creak as his burly body erupted with astonishing speed, his arms locking toward Hoshida No's shoulders like iron pincers.

This was a common takedown technique in the Martial Arts Club, relying on his weight advantage to directly suppress his opponent.

Hoshida No's toes lightly touched the ground, his body suddenly sliding back half a meter, just in time to evade the throat-grabbing clamp.

Before Sato could adjust his balance, Hoshida No's left foot slid under his opponent's groin, his right hand precisely gripping Sato's wrist, while his left hand naturally pressed into the indentation of his shoulder blade, twisting with borrowed force.

"Hmph!" Sato grunted, his arm going numb from the twist, yet he still turned with brute force, his other fist smashing towards Hoshida No's face with a whistling sound.

Hoshida No neither dodged nor blocked, his wrist twisting to dissipate the force of the punch, while simultaneously his knee drove towards the nerve cluster on the outside of Sato's thigh, his movements so fast they left only afterimages.

Sato's legs went soft, his center of gravity instantly lost. Hoshida No seized the opportunity, his right elbow striking hard against Sato's lower ribs, his left hand naturally wrapping around his waist, while his foot hooked and tripped him, pulling upwards.

The entire sequence of movements was smooth and flowing, without any superfluous flourishes.

"Bang!"

Sato's massive body slammed heavily onto the wooden floor, kicking up a layer of wood chips.

He struggled, trying to push his upper body up, only to find Hoshida No's knee gently pressing against his chest, the force not great but enough to render him immobile.

From the first move to his defeat, it was no more than five exchanges. Hoshida No's breathing was steady, his judo gi not even showing a speck of dust.