CHAPTER 94: BEYOND THE MATCH
On the starboard side of the Espoir, several massive industrial tarps were lashed to the shipping crates.
To replace a piece of backup equipment earlier, one of the Teiai enforcers had loosened a tie-down. It wasn't a deliberate trap; it was a simple human error—a knot that wasn't quite tight enough.
The combat nearby had caused the steel deck to vibrate rhythmically. The constant tremors, combined with a sudden, violent sea gale, finally shook the knot loose. The enormous sheet of heavy, composite vinyl whipped upward.
WHOOSH—!
The black shroud descended, completely swallowing the two titans.
The deck was now a flat expanse of dark fabric. Two distinct bulges moved beneath the material, marking the positions of Ren Shiroki and Katsumi Orochi.
The next instant, one of the "bulges" exploded with violent motion. The fabric deformed as something sharp tried to pierce it from the inside.
"SEI—YAH!"
RRRIP!
With a guttural shout, five fingers pressed together in a rigid, vertical line—the Nukite—tore through the reinforced composite. The master of the Shinshinkai sliced the tarp as if it were tissue paper.
Katsumi Orochi vaulted through the opening, landing gracefully atop the tarp-covered deck.
"He... he cut it!"
Kaiji Itou gasped, his eyes wide. "That's industrial-grade waterproof vinyl! You can't even cut that with kitchen shears! He did it with his bare hand?!"
Atsushi Suedo crossed his arms, his chest swelling with pride. "The Nukite! The Spear-Hand of a Karate master is a blade of bone and spirit! To Katsumi-san, that fabric is no more a barrier than a silk veil!"
"Hoo... huff..."
Katsumi took a measured breath. He looked at his right hand, the scent of his own split skin and the acrid vinyl filling his nose.
"In training, we thrust our palms into jars of tightly packed bamboo rods. It's a specialized, agonizing discipline. Dislocations and fractures are just part of the Tuesday routine."
"Compared to that? This tarp is just a minor nuisance."
He looked toward the second "bulge" in the fabric ten feet away. It was motionless. He couldn't tell if Ren was trapped, wounded, or waiting for a counter.
"Ren-kun? Not moving? This is a match, isn't it?"
"I want to... I want to know who is stronger! I won't be satisfied with anything less than a terminal conclusion!"
Katsumi stepped forward. He extended his left foot, chambering his right hand at his waist. He aimed for the center-mass of the bulge and lunged.
ZIP!
The Spear-Hand strike blurred through the air, carrying the kinetic force of a high-velocity drill. He intended to pierce the shroud and Ren Shiroki in a single motion.
But as his fingertips touched the material, the fabric beneath them buckled upward. A hidden limb from below parried Katsumi's forearm, redirecting the lethal thrust along a tangent.
RRRIP!
The residual force of the strike opened a new gash in the tarp.
Ren Shiroki's right arm erupted through the tear, his fist already tightened into a hammer. Without a line of sight, he launched a heavy downward strike.
[RYU: OVERHEAD CRACKER]!
WHAM!
The violent movement caused the surrounding tarp to coil and warp, creating a chaotic landscape of shadows. Katsumi dropped into a horse-stance, pulling his arms back to his waist, and fired two simultaneous Spear-Hands into the fabric.
"DRIVE!"
Fist met palm-blade through the vinyl. The tarp, caught in the crossfire of two monsters, was caught in a vortex of power. It shredded like it had been dropped into a woodchipper.
Ren's silhouette burst from the wreckage, launching into a series of mid-air spinning kicks.
[RYU: TORNADO KICK]!
BANG!
Katsumi leaned back to avoid the headshot, taking the hit on his lead bicep. The force threw him off balance. He dropped into a crouch, intending to sweep Ren's legs as he landed.
At the same microsecond, Ren hit the deck and prepared his own low-kick.
But then, the unexpected happened. Both Ren and Katsumi's lead feet hit a patch of shredded tarp that was slick with ocean spray and spilled bourbon.
Both men slipped. Their kicks went wild, missing each other by inches.
"!?"
They both looked down, immediately understanding the physics of the "Error."
Pieces of the torn tarp, layered with moisture and alcohol, had turned the deck into an ice rink.
Ordinarily, a fighter would simply hop to a dry patch. But in the middle of a terminal exchange, neither Ren nor Katsumi was willing to pause. They both adjusted their weight on the fly, fighting to find a new center of gravity in a world without friction.
"The one who adapts first will be Ren-chin!"
Fusui Kure tightened her fists. "With his [ENGINE] running at full capacity, his neurological feedback should keep him balanced!"
But Suedo shook his head, his teeth bared. "General Katsumi... he's spent years performing demonstrations while standing on wet washi paper! He's mastered the art of the 'Float'!"
Suedo was right.
Katsumi leaned his body back at an impossible angle, using the slip to accelerate his rotation. He utilized the lack of friction to whip his leg around in a high-speed roundhouse.
Because he was "Rolling" with the slip rather than "Fighting" it, his movement was faster than Ren's.
ZIP!
THUD!
Katsumi's boot slammed into Ren's chest, launching the youth into the air. Before Ren could reset, Katsumi hooked his foot behind Ren's ankle and drove him down toward the deck.
BOOM!
Ren hit the metal with a sickening crack. He let out a single, sharp "HACK!" of pain, but his eyes remained wide, tracking Katsumi's follow-up.
Katsumi raised his knee, intending to stomp Ren's throat.
But as the "Heel-Blade" descended, Ren twisted his torso. The stomp hit the deck an inch from Ren's neck, the force of the strike leaving a physical crater in the steel plating.
Ren scrambled to his feet. He was shaky, his balance compromised. He retreated a half-step, dragging his knee across the deck to find friction. He settled his weight and threw a half-clenched fist.
[JAMIE: SWAGGER STEP]!
BAM! BAM!
The two drunken-style strikes connected, but they felt hollow. It was like hitting a brick wall.
"!?!"
Ren looked up. Katsumi Orochi had locked his feet together, his toes turned inward, his knees slightly bent. His center of gravity was lowered into his hips, and his core was a knot of solid iron.
The Sanchin Stance.
It was a form born on the decks of trade ships—perfected by masters who had to fight in the middle of storms. Through a lifetime of trial and error, the Shinshinkai had turned this stance into the ultimate fusion of absolute offense and absolute defense.
Ren had taught a novice black belt how to use this stance against Hina Hongo. But seeing it performed by a master was a different reality. Katsumi was an immovable mountain. The slick deck didn't exist for him.
"SEI—YAH!"
Katsumi's eyes flared with a lethal light. He threw a double-palm strike, his hands moving in a vertical line to hit Ren's jaw and solar plexus simultaneously. He poured every pound of his 115kg mass into the push.
THOOM!!!
A low-frequency roar filled the ballroom. A visible shockwave of air rippled out from the point of impact.
Ren Shiroki felt like he had been hit by a runaway semi-truck. He couldn't even register where the pain was coming from; his entire skeletal structure seemed to vibrate on the verge of collapse.
Ren was launched across the deck, tumbling like a ragdoll.
"He... he actually did it?!"
Suedo was shouting now. "The Double-Push Palm! Master said that move is too destructive to use in a sparring session! It's a kill-shot!"
Katsumi watched Ren roll to a stop. He didn't give chase. He was gasping for air himself, his body trembling from the effort of holding the Sanchin-lock while delivering a maximum-output strike.
He hadn't been playing "Match" logic. He had been fighting for his life.
Ren Shiroki forced his body to move. He hauled himself upright, his [ENGINE] still screaming in the back of his mind. Every inch of his skin was screaming, but the battle-spirit was only growing hotter.
"Finally... Katsumi-kun... we've reached the 'White Heat'..."
Ren spat out a mouthful of blood.
"Turning the limbs into blades... that's not just a Karate secret. Muay Thai, Sambo, Kung Fu... every 'Might-based' style has a version of it."
"With the [ENGINE] running... I think I can manage it, too."
Ren dropped into a low, aggressive stance. He planted his feet wide, his eyes fixed on the giant. He tightened his fists and pulled his elbows back, his back muscles bunching like coiled snakes.
This was a stance born of the battlefield, refined by a master who knew that a punch was a bullet.
[GUILE: SOLID PUNCHER]!