Chapter 384: The Victory of Martial Arts
Time moved with a heavy, deliberate pace.
Outside the window, the clouds were a bruised, visceral red as the sun dipped
below the skyline. It felt as though even the heavens were mourning the passing
of the Sea Emperor—the pinnacle of the fist—or perhaps just the end of a battle
that had redefined reality.
It was in this suffocating atmosphere that Kaku Kaioh's call arrived.
Retsu Kaioh stared at his phone, his expression a whirlpool of grief and
confusion. His trembling finger swiped the screen, connecting the video call.
The face of Kaku Kaioh—wrinkled, gaunt, yet radiating an impossible power—filled
the screen.
"—"
Looking at his master, Retsu couldn't hold back the tears. He turned his head,
his eyes bloodshot, and looked at his friends.
"Yujiro Hanma vs. Kaku Kaioh..."
"In this unparalleled war of the century... does 'Victory' even exist? And if it
does, whose victory was it?"
The room remained silent, everyone still reeling from the shock of what they had
witnessed on the monitor.
The only person who could have answered—Ren Shiroki—was currently a physical
wreck. He was drenched in sweat, a literal pool of moisture forming beneath him
on the floor. He was so utterly spent that he couldn't even part his lips to
speak.
Seeing that the group was speechless, the Kaku Kaioh on the small screen let out
a long, satisfied exhale.
"It was the victory of Martial Arts!" the Sea Emperor rumbled.
Retsu's grief only deepened.
"Do you hear him?" the master of the White Forest Temple whispered, his lip
quivering. "Master Kaku... even in his final moments, even in his last words
from beyond... he speaks only of the pride of the fist!"
"Master...!"
"Ho ho ho!"
On the screen, Kaku's eyes crinkled behind his glasses. He chuckled warmly.
"Retsu, my boy. Don't be so dramatic."
Retsu's sobs only increased. His shoulders shook, and the stoic, serious face of
the Kaioh was completely lost to sorrow.
Kaku Kaioh: "..."
The old man realized his disciple was a bit too literal-minded. Retsu likely
thought he was watching a pre-recorded video message left as a will.
Kaku corrected him immediately. "No, no, wait! I'm not dead!"
Retsu nodded solemnly, tears streaming. "You will live forever through your
Kenpo, Master."
Kaku Kaioh: "..."
Good lord, this kid is a brick wall!
The 146-year-old legend spent the next thirty seconds frantically proving to a
man in his late twenties that this was a live video call and not a recording
from the afterlife.
Retsu: "..."
Retsu: "WAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"
He wasn't the only one. Baki, Alai Sr., Arisa, Marco, and Fusui all leaped up
from their seats, eyes widening to dinner plates as they crowded around the
phone, shouting in shock.
Kaku Kaioh watched the chaos with a smug, satisfied grin. "Ho ho ho! Fooled you,
didn't I?"
This wasn't just "faking it" or "playing dead."
The people in the Hub were some of the most sensitive detectors of life and
death on the planet. Fusui Kure, Baki Hanma, and Marco—they were predators who
lived on the edge of the grave. Even through a screen, they were confident they
could track a pulse, a breath, or a dilation of the pupils.
And they had all—every single one of them—confirmed Kaku Kaioh was dead. They
hadn't just seen him "stop"; they had witnessed his biological expiration.
"Jiisan... you..."
Arisa abandoned logic entirely, accepting the reality with her usual optimism.
"You were resurrected?!"
Kaku Kaioh beamed.
The group settled down, sticking their heads into the frame from every angle to
get a better look at the Master on the screen.
Kaku looked relaxed, reminiscing about the fight. He waved a dismissive hand.
"Couldn't win. Absolutely could not win."
He looked at the stunned audience.
"Fighting that Yujiro Hanma... it didn't feel like fighting a human being. In my
youth, I traded blows with beasts—tigers, wild bulls—and those were wars of
their own."
"But he is different!"
"He's called the [STRONGEST CREATURE ON EARTH], right? It's an appropriate
category. He is the only one in it."
Retsu finally found his voice.
"Ugh... Master..."
He waved his hands frantically. "It's not about the 'Win' or 'Loss'! You died!
The doctors declared it! You were... you were Old Dead!"
"Mm-hmm."
Kaku nodded frankly, his gaze turning deep and clear. "At that moment, my heart
indeed ceased to beat. My pupils dilated. In the eyes of clinical medicine, my
'Death' was an absolute, verified fact. I heard the declaration myself."
"And then... what happened?"
Kaku's question forced the group to remember the final frame.
Yujiro Hanma's fist—the iron hammer of absolute destruction—had come to a dead
stop millimeters from Kaku's nose. A fist that carried certain death had...
Hesitated.
"Do you understand now?"
Kaku took a deep breath, his smile sharpening. "Martial Arts won!"
Seeing their continued confusion, Kaku barked a sharp rebuke. "Are you doubting
the logic of the fist?!"
"No! It's just—"
"For over a hundred years," Kaku interrupted, raising his withered fist, "I have
never ceased to refine the art of self-preservation. Day by day, year by year,
my biology adapted."
"Iron muscles faded. In their place, frame by frame, I built a martial physique
that approached perfection."
"The process is complete." Kaku's eyes narrowed. "There is no better
'Self-Preservation' than Death!!"
The logic was so high-torque it made their heads spin.
Kaku continued, "In every form of competition—from games to sports to lethal
duels—there is no 'Winner' or 'Loser' once the opponent is dead. I 'died,'
therefore I was never defeated!!"
Hearing this, the [GOD OF BOXING] Mohammad Alai Sr. muttered under his breath,
"So crafty...!"
Arisa chirped, "He's a total cheat, isn't he?!"
"Exactly!"
Kaku nodded vigorously. "Martial Arts... Technique... at its core, it is a
'Crafty' thing. Insects and small animals feign death when they encounter a
predator they cannot overcome. People call it 'Crafty.' But who cares?"
"The result is the same: They survived!"
On the screen, the background changed as Kaku stood up. He began to walk down a
corridor, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his sandals echoing through the phone's
speaker.
"You can hear my footsteps, can't you?"
"To call Yujiro Hanma a 'Strongman' is to insult him. He is a Monster.
Unquestionably."
"But... I fought that Monster. And I am still here, standing before you. I am
still walking on my own two feet."
"That... is the Truth!"
It was an undeniable fact. Every person in the Hub knew how rare it was to face
Yujiro and walk away under one's own power.
Awe, bewilderment, and a deep, contemplative silence filled the living room.
Then, Kaku Kaioh blinked, his gaze shifting to a corner of the room on the
screen.
"Retsu," he asked, looking puzzled. "Your friend... the Shiroki boy. What's
wrong with him?"
"—Eh?"
The group turned to look at the corner.
Ren Shiroki was sprawled out on the floor, his clothes saturated with sweat. The
floorboards around him were covered in moisture, like puddles after a rainstorm.
Steam was still rising from his skin in faint, white wisps.
"Hah... hah..."
Ren was gasping for air, his limbs feeling like they were made of concrete. He
was physically incapacitated.
But his heart was pounding with a thunderous thump-thump. He was radiating a
sense of technical ecstasy and pure pleasure.
Witnessing that pure clash of "Will" had been the equivalent of a high-intensity
session with his Masters. He had pushed his mental simulation to its breaking
point alongside the legends.
It was too much fun!
His body had been so excited that he had redlined his [ENGINE] during the entire
broadcast, leaving his consciousness blurred and his muscles temporarily
paralyzed.
Fusui crouched down beside him, looking him over. She poked Ren's cheek with a
single finger.
"Hmm."
It was still soft.
She poked him again, then looked back at the group. "He's visualized himself
into a coma."
The group: "..."
The group: "...What?!"
☆☆☆
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