At this moment, a hunt spanning dimensions—over body and power—officially began.
Only, who was the hunter and who was the prey?
It was far too early to say.
Meanwhile, our protagonist Cloud was watching with utter boredom as E. Honda used a "Sumo Headbutt" to send some poor opponent flying like a bowling pin.
Suddenly, he felt a chill down his spine and couldn't help but sneeze.
"Achoo!"
"Weird. With my constitution, how could I catch a cold?" He rubbed his nose, looking puzzled.
"Someone must be talking about me behind my back. And it's definitely a pervert."
He instinctively looked up, his gaze seemingly piercing through layer after layer of obstacles, meeting those greedy purple eyes in the monitoring room above in a silent exchange.
The corner of Cloud's mouth slowly curved into an equally "amused" smile.
"Found you, my grand finale."
...
The Street Fighter tournament qualifiers were in full swing.
Hong Kong Coliseum had transformed completely into a "Shura field" of hormones, sweat, and adrenaline.
In the ring, fighters from around the world displayed their special abilities, demonstrating the art of "combat" to its fullest.
There was E. Honda, the sumo wrestler whose philosophy was "tonnage equals justice." His Hundred Hand Slap was so fast it looked like a "cursed video" effect, capable of slapping an opponent's face swollen.
There was Blanka, the Amazon wildman with his bizarre aesthetics—covered in green, electrically charged, able to roll around like a ball. His fighting style emphasized "surprise attacks that'll shock you into calling him daddy."
And there was Fei Long, the martial arts movie star paying homage to Bruce Lee, whose attacks were always accompanied by his signature "WATAH~" screams, his Rekka punches delivered with impressive flair and showmanship.
The audience was mesmerized, cheering with delight.
In the monitoring room, Bison watched the constantly climbing "combat data" and "negative emotional energy" with a smile like a child who'd just received his New Year's money.
Everything was proceeding perfectly according to his script.
Until one man made his appearance.
"Next up are two competitors—"
"From the Soviet Union—the Red Cyclone, Zangief!"
"And from... uh, records indicate 'Earth'—the mysterious fighter, Cloud!"
When the announcer's voice rang out, the whole arena erupted in enthusiastic cheers.
Zangief—standing 2.14 meters tall, weighing 181 kilograms, muscles knotted like granite—enjoyed tremendous popularity in the fighting world.
He marched forward with heavy steps, each one making the ring platform emit a dull thud. He spread his arms wide to the audience, showing off his gorilla-like terrifying pectorals, drawing screams from countless fans (especially female fans).
His opponent, Cloud, appeared far more "ordinary" by comparison.
He wore plain black casual clothes, hands in his pockets, strolling lazily onto the ring with a half-asleep expression.
He looked less like someone here for a life-or-death fight and more like a grandpa out for a park stroll.
Murmurs immediately rippled through the audience.
"What's going on? Is this Cloud guy here for comedy?"
"Look at that scrawny frame—not even as thick as Zangief's arm. He's gonna get one-shotted!"
"I'll bet a hundred bucks he doesn't last thirty seconds!"
In the monitoring room, Bison watched the screen with interest, telling the researcher behind him: "Max out all physiological data collection on this Cloud. I want to see what reaction this perfect body has when facing pure power."
...
In the ring.
Zangief looked at this opponent two heads shorter and several sizes thinner, speaking in his rumbling voice: "Kid, you look weak. Surrender now while you can. My Spinning Piledriver isn't something your little body can handle."
"Oh? Is that so?" Cloud picked at his ear, looked up, and gave him a friendly smile. "Big guy, funny—I was going to say the same thing. My fists are pretty heavy too. I'm worried I might accidentally make you cry."
"Arrogant!"
Zangief was infuriated by Cloud's casual attitude. A cruel smile spread across his rugged face.
"The bell has rung!"
"Fight!"
At the referee's command, Zangief didn't hesitate for a second. He let out a beast-like roar, his thick legs launching him forward like a runaway freight truck charging straight at Cloud!
"Iron Lariat!"
His arms—each thicker than Cloud's waist—swung down like two massive iron hammers, bringing a vicious wind that tore through the air, aimed directly at Cloud's head!
Facing this Mount Tai-like attack, the spectators all shut their eyes.
They could already envision the thin young man being pounded into meat paste.
But Cloud stood rooted in place, not bothering to move an inch.
He simply raised his right fist.
Then, against Zangief's massive body, threw out what seemed like an utterly ordinary punch.
"Here—let me show you what military-grade technology looks like."
His fist held no flames, no lightning, not even any outward energy release.
But the instant he punched, his entire presence transformed!
A steely, fierce, military aura saturated with the scent of war and gunpowder exploded from him!
"Galactica Phantom!"
BOOM—!!!!
Small fist met massive body in a completely disproportionate collision!
The result left everyone's jaws on the floor!
Zangief's freight-truck charge halted instantly the moment it touched Cloud's fist!
He felt like he hadn't collided with a human's fist.
But a meteorite falling from outer space!
An explosive, destructive force surged unreasonably from Cloud's fist into his body!
"PWAH—!!"
Zangief's rugged face twisted into an expression uglier than crying—one of extreme agony. He felt like his internal organs were about to be shattered by this force!
His 180-plus kilogram massive frame flew backward like a struck baseball—faster than he'd charged in!
...
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