CHAPTER 58: THIS IS THE FINISHER—
[JAMIE: BREAKIN' SWEEP]!
A technique that fused the erratic sways of the Drunken Fist with the explosive torque of Breakdancing—a rapid-fire sequence of low-line spinning kicks!
THUD-THUD-THUD!
Hanayama's iron fists whistled through empty air. His chest and abdomen were left wide open, absorbing a barrage of kicks. In the span of three seconds, Ren landed a dozen strikes.
BOOM!
The final kick connected with Hanayama's solar plexus, forcing the giant back three heavy steps.
Ren used a one-handed vault to snap back into a standing position. He was swaying violently, his eyes unfocused, looking like he'd just stepped off a high-speed tilt-a-whirl.
"Ugh... huff!"
Ren's cheeks puffed out. He tilted his head back and let out a massive "spray" of liquid.
It was a cocktail of blood, beer, stray teeth, and glass shards. The mess rained down on him like a cold shower, washing away the grime and blood from his eyes. He let out a long, satisfied exhale.
"Puh—! That's more like it!"
Ren looked at Hanayama with the heavy-lidded gaze of a drunkard. He noticed the giant also had a slight flush to his cheeks. Ren slapped his own thigh and laughed.
"Hanayama-kun, I told you! That stuff is too strong! It ruins the flavor of the scrap!"
"..."
Hanayama let out a thin, sharp smile. Hot steam curled from his lips. Even though his nose was leaking blood and his chest was covered in boot prints, he looked incredibly refreshed.
Just as the crowd expected Hanayama to throw another punch, the giant did something unexpected.
BOOM!
Hanayama leaped into the air. Using his entire 160kg mass as a projectile, he executed a massive, airborne spinning heel kick.
Ren's jaw took the full force of the leather heel. He was flipped through the air, his blood spraying in a wide, circular arc like a grisly flower before he slammed into the pavement.
"Is that guy even a human?! He's a monster!"
Nozomi Tenma bit her lip until it bled. "He's a heavyweight among heavyweights! The weight difference between him and Ren-kun is nearly 150 pounds! In the underground world, that's an illegal mismatch!"
"Ren-kun has the edge in speed and technique, sure. But a 'Brawl' is a game of mutual destruction. Eventually, the winner is decided by who has more 'Mass' to lose!"
"Fighting a guy with 150 pounds of pure muscle is like trying to punch a tank with your bare hands! How is he supposed to win?!"
Kizaki let out a low, knowing chuckle.
"If this were four years ago, I might have already headed downstairs to prepare the Boss's victory cigar."
"But today? I wouldn't dare."
Kizaki's tone shifted, becoming a low, resonant rumble. "Is it because I've lost faith in the Boss? No! Never! Even if the Boss tasted defeat four years ago, and even if he lost to Katsumi Orochi of the Shinshinkai... he is still Kaoru Hanayama!"
"He is the world's greatest brawler. That fact is immutable."
"But Nozomi-san... those two defeats proved something to me. In a duel between warriors of this caliber, it isn't over until the heart stops beating."
Down in the alley, Hanayama loomed over the fallen Ren. He began a series of brutal, rhythmic stomps, each one cracking the concrete beneath Ren's body.
Ichika's eye twitched as she reached for her phone. "Oi! This is getting too dark. Should I call the station? We need a riot squad or a hearse!"
Nozomi, emboldened by Kizaki's words, leaned out the window. "Wait! Ren-kun is still defending!"
SHING!
Using a sudden, rotational leg-sweep, Ren kicked Hanayama's lead leg out from under him and scrambled back to his feet.
He snatched another bottle of beer from the crate, downed it in three seconds, and smashed the glass against the floor.
"That's... round three..."
Ren's heart was drumming a war rhythm against his cracked ribs.
He could feel it—that intense "Individual Consciousness" he had been seeking. It was a fire in his veins that made him start to laugh despite the agony.
This was a brawl. As long as you wanted to hit, you stayed standing!
"COME ON!" Ren roared.
Hanayama accepted the challenge with a sharp roll of his shoulder. He lunged forward with a low whoosh of air, unleashing a straight punch that looked like it would end the night.
"!?"
Ren's focus reached the "Zero Point." A fresh trail of blood leaked from his eyes as he tracked the trajectory.
ZIP!
Ren threw a low-line kick, used the momentum to drop into a deep crouch, and retreated one precisely measured step. He slipped the iron fist by a hair's breadth, completely disrupting Hanayama's forward momentum.
[JAMIE: SWAGGER SPIN]!
Hanayama's punch missed, his massive frame hitching for a micro-second as he tried to reset.
Ren didn't miss the window. From his kneeling position, he slid forward and delivered a right uppercut to Hanayama's solar plexus, followed immediately by a left-leg sweep that caught the giant's ankle.
THUD.
Hanayama hit the pavement.
"He's down! This is it!" someone screamed from the second floor.
But to everyone's shock, Ren didn't follow up. He simply stood over Hanayama, picked up a stray beer, and waited. He was giving the giant the chance to stand—a show of chivalry in the middle of a slaughter.
Hanayama remained silent. He reached out and grabbed a fresh bottle of bourbon.
Following Ren's lead, Hanayama extended his left hand. Ren met him. They stood vertically, their bodies side-by-side, the backs of their palms touching.
With their free hands, they cracked their bottles and took one last, long drink.
SMASH!
The bottles hit the ground in unison.
Hanayama swung a massive right hook. Ren parried it with his left palm, used the opening to fire three rapid-fire jabs into Hanayama's face, and finished the combination with a swinging elbow to the gut.
As Hanayama's balance wavered, Ren suddenly inverted himself. He slammed his palms into the floor, coiling his legs like high-tension springs, and launched his entire body weight upward into a double-footed kick.
THIS IS THE FINISHER—
[JAMIE: LUNAR AXE CANNON]!
BOOM!
Both feet slammed into Hanayama's jaw.
The colossal giant was lifted clean off the ground. Blood and fragments of teeth sprayed into the moonlight as his massive frame was launched backward.
CRASH!
Hanayama landed in a heap of broken crates and shattered glass, lying motionless in the wreckage.
For a long moment, the alley was silent. The spectators held their breath, wondering if the legend had finally fallen.
Then... the wreckage stirred.
Hanayama rose.
Blood poured from his nose and mouth, but his breathing remained as steady as a mountain breeze.
He kicked off his high-end shoes. He tore the silk tie from his neck. He grabbed his own collar with both hands and gave a violent, terminal tug.
RRRRIP!
The expensive white suit and the purple shirt were shredded into rags. He tore his trousers away, standing in nothing but a white traditional Yakuza fundoshi.
His bare flesh was a monument to violence—muscles woven like steel cables, skin covered in a roadmap of scars and bullet wounds. It was impossible to believe this was the body of a nineteen-year-old.
But the most terrifying sight was on his back.
A massive, full-body tattoo.
It depicted a man carrying a massive bronze bell on his back, his face a mask of demonic resolve, treading through a sea of waves to protect the bell at any cost.
The Otokodachi—The Standing Man.
But because of the countless scars crisscrossing his back, the tattoo was distorted. The lines were broken and reset, making the image look even more jagged and wrathful.
The crowd stared in a trance of pure terror.
"What is that...?" someone whispered. "It's like a Picasso painting... written in blood and ink!"