CHAPTER 57: THE FORMULA OF THE FIST
A vibrant silhouette danced through the air, throwing punches with a reckless, stylish grace that left trails of ink-wash afterimages in the moonlight.
The phantom looked back over his shoulder, spotting Ryu and Zangief watching from the mental fog.
Whoa! A stoic Grandmaster and a legendary wrestler?
My "idiot disciple" sure is popular!
Alright then—from this second on, Jamie Siu has your back!
Not bad, kid! That whiskey and coke you just chugged was a mess, but consider it your initiation toast!
When we get out of this, I'll let you try the Siu family's special "Prajna Soup." It'll release that internal 'Ki' of yours like nothing else.
"..."
The playful, electric will of the phantom flooded Ren's brain, laced with a distinct, buzzed energy.
Jamie Siu.
The "Top-Pupp" and trouble-shooter of Hong Kong's Chinatown. Inspired by the legendary "Twin Dragons," he protected his city with a code of chivalry and a fist that defied the laws of physics. He was a master of Drunken Boxing, fused with the "Drunken Eight Immortals" style taught by his grandmother and the rhythmic acrobatics of Breakdancing.
His style was a paradox: slow one second, a lightning blur the next.
SHING—! BOOM!
In the mental space, Jamie stumbled backward as if tripping over a bottle, only to catch his weight on a single heel. He launched into a flurry of kicks and spinning back-fists, his muscle recruitment and weight distribution appearing as clear as a diagram in Ren's mind.
Haha! That's it! Just like this...
Ren's eyes twitched. He began to mimic Jamie's rhythm, the mental blueprints translating into physical action. Every muscle fiber in his torso began to fire in a new, erratic sequence.
Finally—
Ren's movements synchronized with Jamie's. His left hand splayed open, fingers curved like a claw, and he slammed the back of his palm into Hanayama's face.
THWACK!
Hanayama's nose took the hit. The stinging pain caused his head to tilt back slightly.
Ren didn't let up. He pivoted on his lead foot, driving the back of his right palm into Hanayama's chest, before spinning a third time. He held his left hand as if clutching an invisible cup and smashed it upward into Hanayama's jaw.
[JAMIE: FREEFLOW DRUNKEN FIST]!
BAM! BAM!
Hanayama took the combination head-on. The strike to the jaw was so heavy it sent a shockwave into his cranium, causing his brain to vibrate.
Ren accelerated. He twisted his body into a whirlwind of violence, the Drunken Fist strikes raining down like a localized storm.
"RRRAAGH!"
He must have landed a dozen strikes in three seconds. Blood began to leak from the corners of Hanayama's mouth, but the giant didn't retreat. He stepped into the storm, his massive hands opening wide. He was done trading blows; he was going to catch the youth and crush him.
"!?"
A spike of pure terror hit Ren's gut. He knew he couldn't let those hands close. He launched a vertical rising kick, his leg drawing a high-speed arc in the air.
[JAMIE: LUMINOUS KICK]!
His toes connected squarely with Hanayama's chin.
In a professional ring, that kick would have been a walk-off knockout. But Hanayama was Different. The world's greatest brawler didn't even flinch. He kept moving, his predatory intent reaching a terrifying peak.
Faced with the twin "iron gates" of Hanayama's arms, Ren slammed his left foot into the dirt and jumped. He planted his right foot squarely on Hanayama's face, used the giant as a stepping stone to flip backward through the air, and landed ten feet away.
"Hoo... huff!"
Ren spat a glob of blood. He looked like a man who had just escaped the jaws of a shark.
Hanayama stood his ground, his glasses gone, his narrow eyes glowing with a savage light as he locked onto his target.
Up at the second-story windows, the crowd of spectators was growing.
Dozens of people were looking down into the alley, their mouths hanging open. Whether it was Hanayama's prehistoric power or Ren's blur-like speed, this was a level of violence that no movie could replicate.
"Look at their reflexes!"
"Hanayama is a beast! He chugged a whole bottle and didn't even slow down!"
"I'm betting on the kid! He's faster!"
Hina Hongo sat cross-legged on the windowsill, her star-shaped pupils shimmering with glee. "Incredible! That Yakuza guy... how can someone be so 'Slow'? It's like he's forcing time to stand still..."
Hina's perspective was filtered through her own "Speed," making her descriptions abstract. Beside her, Nozomi and Hana were focused on their own observations.
Nozomi's eyes were fixed on the giant in the white suit. "Wait... is Hanayama not defending at all?"
"Heh. Good eye, Nozomi-san."
Kizaki gave a proud smirk. "A 'Martial Artist' defends. A 'Brawler' only hits. My Boss has no interest in blocks or parries. He only uses the moves of the street."
"Gulp..."
Nozomi swallowed hard. She couldn't find the words for the raw insanity unfolding below.
Suddenly—
"OH!"
The crowd let out a collective gasp. Hanayama was moving.
He stood with his legs wide, his fists clenched at his sides. He slowly raised his arms, positioning his fists level with either side of his head.
For the first time tonight, Kaoru Hanayama had taken a Stance.
But as Kizaki had said, it wasn't a "Technique." His entire front was wide open. He was a target.
"That's just posturing," someone in the crowd whispered. "He's leaving himself wide open..."
Wrong.
Nozomi felt the air in her lungs grow thin. Even though her injured eyes were starting to ache from the focus, she couldn't look away.
That stance... it was only possible for Hanayama.
It was built on the foundation of his absolute, god-tier Durability.
He was concentrating his entire weight into his fists, sacrificing every shred of defense for a 100% committed attack. It was a form designed purely for destruction.
"Ren-kun has done well to last this long," Kizaki said, his voice turning dead serious. "But a brawl is ultimately decided by the fist."
"Nozomi-san, do you know the 'Formula'?"
Hanayama stepped forward. He stalked Ren, pinning him into a corner near a stack of industrial shelving. He tightened his right fist.
First Component: [GRIP STRENGTH]!
The giant's torso twisted, his center of gravity dropping. He pulled his right arm back until the shoulder joint reached its anatomical limit. He wasn't throwing a punch; he was launching a projectile.
Second Component: [BODY WEIGHT]!
Every muscle in his 160kg frame exploded like a released spring, driving the mass forward.
Third Component: [SPEED]!
[GRIP STRENGTH] x [BODY WEIGHT] x [SPEED] = DESTRUCTIVE FORCE!!!
The legendary theory of the Father of Karate was given its ultimate proof in the form of Kaoru Hanayama.
BOOM!
Hanayama's fist slammed into Ren's face. The force didn't stop there; it carried through Ren's body and into the industrial shelving behind him.
"GAH—!"
Ren's world exploded into a strobe-light of white and red. His vision shattered. Blood sprayed from his eyes, nose, and mouth simultaneously, coating the pavement.
His skin felt like it was being flayed by the sheer wind pressure of the strike. He smelled iron and burnt rubber.
Before he could even fall, Hanayama followed through. He delivered a second punch into Ren's solar plexus.
THOOM!
A mixture of blood and bile erupted from Ren's mouth. He couldn't even tell if he was screaming anymore.
Ren slumped against the twisted metal of the shelves. Before his eyes could close, a massive hand clamped onto his skull. Hanayama slammed Ren's head into the shelving with the force of a wrecking ball, then delivered a third iron fist.
BOOM!
It was like a firework of gore.
Metal, screws, blood, shattered teeth, glass, and bourbon... everything exploded in a singular, chaotic burst of light. Some spectators turned away, unable to stomach the sight.
THUD.
Ren collapsed face-first into the dirt. His eyes were wide, but they were glazed and vacant. He didn't move.
Hanayama finally stopped. He reached down and grabbed several more bottles of bourbon from the crates. He snapped the necks off and began to drink, pouring the high-proof fire down his throat in silence.
After three bottles, his face was flushed. He exhaled a cloud of alcohol-scented steam and looked at the heap on the ground.
"I'm treating. Do you want a drink?"
Scrape... splash...
Ren Shiroki, lying in the ruins of the shelves, blindly reached out. His hand closed around a stray bottle of beer. He raised it over his head.
His fingers tightened. CRACK.
The glass shattered. He let the cold beer wash over his face, clearing the thick blood from his eyes. He managed to swallow a single mouthful.
"That's... round two..."
Ren's eyes rolled back, focusing on the giant towering over him.
"Hanayama-kun... this one's on me."
Hanayama nodded. The kid hadn't yielded. The brawl was still on.
CRUNCH!
Hanayama threw the empty bottle aside. A massive vein throbbed in his forehead. He raised a heavy boot, intending to stomp Ren into the concrete.
Suddenly, Ren braced his shoulders against the ground and inverted his body. His legs extended in a blur, launching into a high-speed Thomas Flare.
[JAMIE: BREAKIN' SWEEP]!