Ishizaki Daichi's fist swelled larger in Natsukawa's sight.
To onlookers it might have looked like a furious, wind-cutting blow, but on Natsukawa's retinas it was nothing more than a slow-motion replay riddled with openings.
Too slow…
For the past ten days, in order to last even fifteen minutes against that human weapon Ayanokoji Kiyotaka, Natsukawa's nerves had been drilled to react in milliseconds. Compared with that, Ishizaki's wild swing felt like a toddler still learning to walk.
Natsukawa didn't retreat; he simply tilted his head, and the punch skimmed past the tip of his nose.
In the instant Ishizaki's old force expired and new force was yet to generate, Natsukawa raised his right hand and drove the heel of his palm precisely into the angle of the other's jaw.
Crack.
A soft sound.
With only slight pressure, Ishizaki Daichi's pupils scattered; before his brain could register pain, his balance system was forcibly shut down. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed without a sound.
Instant defeat.
Bastard!
Before the rest could move, a sharp gust of wind already lashed toward Natsukawa's temple.
It was Ibuki Mio.
She hadn't charged blindly like Ishizaki; using the others as cover, she struck from the side. The high sweep was crisp and clean, the move of someone trained—its speed and angle far beyond what a street punk could manage.
Natsukawa's eyes flicked, but he showed no panic.
Ten days earlier he might have had to dodge such a professional kick in disarray. Now the trajectory was vividly clear.
Instead of pulling back, he stepped half a pace forward, slipping inside her guard before her leg reached full power.
Interception.
Natsukawa's shoulder slammed into the base of Ibuki's still-coiling thigh, breaking her force mid-flow. Her face paled, balance lost; before she could recover, his elbow stopped a finger's breadth from her diaphragm—then short power exploded.
Hurk—!
Clutching her abdomen, Ibuki Mio folded like a shrimp, staggered back several steps and dropped to her knees, combat capability gone.
Though he'd used the advantage of first encounter, barely a minute had passed since the fight began.
The silent Yamada Albert now moved. The black-blooded giant cracked his knuckles like firecrackers and advanced on Natsukawa like a walking iron tower, pressure suffocating.
He spread his arms in a clinch, using sheer size to seal every escape route.
With a frame like that, I'd better not trade blows—wouldn't be fun if I flipped the car.
Natsukawa's mind stayed cold.
Against this mass, normal fists were mere scratches; once caught, the game was over.
Albert's huge hand swept in, not fast but covering a wide arc.
Instead of retreating, Natsukawa ducked like a fish, slipping beneath the grab and into the giant's chest.
Albert reacted instantly, arms snapping inward to crush him like a bear-trap.
Now.
The instant those muscles flexed, Natsukawa's left hand clamped the thick wrist, thumb pressing the acupoint on the back of the hand, while his right cupped the elbow joint.
Turn… for me!
He barked, not resisting Albert's power but adding his own, leveraging the closing force to wrench the arm the opposite way—
Reverse joint lock: kote-gaeshi.
Ugh!
Even Albert's bulk couldn't help grunting as the joint locked; if he didn't spin with the torque, the arm would snap.
The huge frame bent, forced to one knee, but Albert clenched his other fist for a counter.
Natsukawa gave him no chance.
As the giant's center dipped, Natsukawa released, sprang, and drove his knee into Albert's chin.
A knife-hand chop followed, striking the unprotected carotid sinus.
Take a nap.
The combined impact and sudden blood-flow cut finally dropped the beast.
The colossus swayed, eyes rolling white behind his shades, then toppled in a cloud of dust.
Silence.
Natsukawa Sosuke stood among the scattered bodies, breathing even, clothes unruffled. He lifted his gaze to the figure still seated on the vaulting box.
"Your turn, Ryuuen."
"Haha… hahahaha!"
Ryuuen Kakeru looked at his fallen underlings and, far from showing fear, burst into wild laughter.
The sound was twisted, exhilarated—the revel of a predator who had caught the scent of blood in a dead-end.
"Interesting… too interesting!"
Ryuuen hopped down from the vaulting box.
"I never guessed Class D was hiding a monster like you. Looks like my instincts were right."
He licked his lips, eyes blazing with a hunger named destruction.
"Come on! Let's see how far you can go! If you're not strong enough, I'll chew you to pieces!"
Like a rabid beast he charged, all restraint forgotten.
Fists, knees, even head-butts—his attacks followed no form, only the savage, suicidal brawling learned in back-alley fights. He cared nothing for defense, nothing for pain; he fed on the anguish and terror of his foe.
Yet he was disappointed.
On Natsukawa Sosuke's face there was no fear, no anger, not even the tension of battle.
"Left hand's weak, swing's too wide."
Natsukawa tilted his head and evaded.
"Right knee's sloppy, center of gravity's off."
He shifted aside and let it pass.
"Another meaningless roar—trying to pump yourself up?"
"Footwork's loose, reactions slow—nothing you do is worth watching."
"And you dared demand I kneel to you?"
Natsukawa raised an arm, parried, and snapped a fist into Ryuuen's gut.
"Keep dreaming."
"Gah—"
Doubled over like a shrimp, Ryuuen still grinned and lunged again.
"All that strength wasted on shouting? Not enough! That didn't hurt! Is that all you've got?!"
Natsukawa looked at him—and in his eyes appeared a deep, unmistakable… boredom.
Yes, boredom.
Fighting Ayanokoji had been like solving a brilliant math problem; fighting Ryuuen was like grading a child's addition homework.
Tedious, flavorless, utterly predictable.
Natsukawa stopped dodging. With surgical precision he began dismantling every move Ryuuen made.
Block, counter.
Seize, throw.
Each contact ended with Ryuuen slammed to the mat or stumbling back, but Natsukawa controlled his force—never letting him pass out, never inflicting lasting damage.
He was a cat toying with a dying rat: pinning it down, letting it rise, pinning it again.
Yet he felt no amusement.
The cold, mechanical domination filled Ryuuen Kakeru with a panic he had never known.
He thrived on others' fear, on their rage; it meant his violence worked, that he ruled their emotions.
Now, however crazed he became, Natsukawa Sosuke was only a cold machine executing the command: subdue.
"Why… why aren't you angry?!"
Gasping, face mottled purple and red, blood at the corner of his mouth, Ryuuen charged once more—only for Natsukawa to seize his hair and slam him onto a stack of gym mats.
Thud!
Dust billowed.
Natsukawa looked down at him as though at non-burnable trash.
"The violence and tricks you're so proud of are just child's play to me."
His voice was flat, without a ripple.
"Why would I get angry at a toddler throwing a tantrum?"
"You—!!"
That utter contempt cut deeper than any fist. Eyes blood-red, Ryuuen struggled to rise, but Natsukawa's knee pinned his chest.
"Kill me!"
Ryuuen went limp, lying on the mats with a maniacal smile.
"Go on, kill me! As long as I breathe, I'll bite you dead!"
"I'll haunt you like a ghost—Horikita, Sakura—anyone near you. Give me an opening and I'll ruin them!"
"I've lost before, but I always get back up! While you're in this school you won't sleep in peace. Even in your dreams you'll keep your eyes open!"
He hurled those threats hoping to spark even a flicker of fear—if Natsukawa wavered for an instant, Ryuuen Kakeru would not have lost.
Yet Natsukawa Sosuke only gazed at him, pity creeping into his eyes.