Chapter 386: Hot-Blooded
Tap, tap, tap, tap—
Ren Shiroki maintained a steady pace along the Tokyo streets. By the time the
sun had fully crested and the morning sky was bright, a comfortable sheen of
sweat coated his skin.
He arrived at his destination: a private training gym that served as the
temporary Tokyo residence of [THE GOD OF WAR] Gaolang Wongsawat.
The perimeter was crawling with powerfully built men in black suits—the elite
security detail of King Rama XIII. Ren was a familiar face to them by now; they
had crossed paths many times. Without an appointment or a word, the guards
stepped aside to let him through.
Ren stepped into the training hall. King Rama was likely occupied with
diplomatic affairs, but Gaolang was right where Ren expected him to be. He had
just finished his morning warm-up and was preparing for his daily live sparring
session.
Several of the King's guards, dressed in athletic gear, were acting as his
partners.
Ren waved a casual greeting to Gaolang but didn't interrupt the flow. He grabbed
a fresh towel, wiped his face, and began a deep flexibility set on the
sidelines.
Gaolang didn't mind the audience. The session resumed.
The Thai legend was bare-chested and barefoot, his long hair tied over his left
shoulder. He wore only boxing trunks and hand wraps—no gloves.
Shick-shick-shick!
Four guards closed in, putting their full body weight into a massive four-way
clinch. They grabbed Gaolang from the front, back, and sides, completely
immobilizing his limbs.
In professional boxing, this kind of "clinch" is a tactical reset used to
recover stamina, usually requiring a referee to break it up. But in a street
brawl or the Underground Arena, there is no referee.
How would the man pursuing the "Zenith of Striking" handle being pinned?
Ren watched intently.
Even with four heavyweights hanging off him, Gaolang's "dead-fish eyes" remained
as vacant as ever.
The next instant, Gaolang's gaze sharpened. His muscles fired in a synchronized
burst, mimicking the technical sequence of a "flicker jab" from a position of
total compression.
A heavyweight's torque is undeniable, but Gaolang's explosive "Output" was on
another level. He literally shrugged the four men off.
"Whoa—!"
The guards stumbled back, their grips forced open by the sheer kinetic
shockwave.
THUD!
With a dull explosion of sound, Gaolang stomped the floor and lunged. His
footwork was so rapid it left a lingering afterimage on the mats.
Whish-whish-whish-whish!
His left jab fired at hyper-velocity. He targeted the four guards in sequence,
stopping his fist millimeters from their noses. The only thing that hit them was
the vacuum of the passing wind.
The guards stood frozen, cold sweat dripping down their faces as they remembered
that a single one of those jabs could have pulverized their skulls.
"Thank you... for the lesson."
As the King's guards, they were elite combatants, but the gap between them and
Gaolang was a canyon that was only getting wider.
Gaolang was evolving.
"Magnificent!" Ren praised with a grin.
Gaolang showed zero arrogance. He remained stoic. "Relaxation, Datsuryoku, the
Strike—these are the basics of boxing. But I never imagined a 146-year-old could
take those fundamentals to such a level."
"Even if I understand the 'Explosion' Kaku Kaioh achieved... I cannot replicate
it yet."
Ren nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Ah, so you saw the match too. The Master vs.
the Ogre."
"How could I miss it?"
Gaolang threw on his white "Magic Cloak" and cinched the belt, maintaining his
core temperature. He jerked his head toward the lounge area.
The two combatants sat on a pair of small sofas. Gaolang took a long drink from
his water bottle, wetting his throat before appraising Ren. "You're looking
sharp. What brings you to my doorstep?"
Ren scratched his head. "I've been practicing my boxing lately. I figured I'd
come by and get some 'Divine Insight'... or something like that."
Gaolang tossed a bottle of water to Ren, a rare smirk playing on his lips. "I
can help you wash your face, but 'Insight' is wasted on a hot-blooded idiot like
you."
Ren bared his teeth in a grin. "So you know I'm fighting Saw Paing."
He leaned forward, rubbing his chin. "I heard you two were close. I wanted to
get the scouting report."
Gaolang let out a long sigh, looking even more exhausted. "I wouldn't say
'close.' He's an old nuisance I met against my will."
"It happened a long time ago. On the border between Thailand and Burma, there is
a village that hosts an annual cross-border tournament. I was fifteen, the
undefeated champion of Thailand."
"My opponent was him—the sixteen-year-old Saw Paing."
Gaolang crossed his arms.
"We went to war for several rounds. But it wasn't a death match. I managed to
open a gash on his forehead, and when the time limit expired, the judges gave me
the win on points."
"It is the only match in my entire career that I failed to finish with a KO. So,
if I'm being honest... the result was inconclusive."
"That idiot thought the same thing, but he was far too excited about it. He
screamed for several minutes, started shouting about how 'hot' and 'passionate'
the fight was. Then, he declared me his eternal rival."
Gaolang pointed a finger upward. "The 'Aaaargh' at the end of his declaration
lasted for about twenty-seven syllables. He was incredibly loud. And he's been
shouting ever since."
"He crosses the border to find me. I've woken up in my high-rise apartment only
to find him peering through the window—he climbed the exterior wall. I've had
him rip open my shower curtain while I was washing to demand a rematch."
"I told you to watch out for that Burmese man the last time we saw each other. I
didn't expect you to be the one to accept his challenge."
Gaolang rubbed the bridge of his nose, his tone shifting. "Actually... it's a
good matchup. He's a noisy brat, but his strength is the real deal. You won't be
bored."
Ren leaned back, his grin widening. "Nice. That's perfect!"
[Tokyo Suburbs — Open Field]
A young man with a wild, spiky buzz-cut was training in the center of the
clearing.
Height: 184cm. Weight: 88kg.
He had deep bronze skin and a frame built of explosive, high-density muscle. On
the right side of his forehead was a jagged, prominent scar—the mark left by
Gaolang's elbow years ago.
He was the [ROARING SPIRIT] Saw Paing Yoroizuka.
The autumn air was chilly, but Saw Paing wore only a short-sleeved beach shirt
and shorts. His internal "Hot-Blood" was enough to ward off the cold.
"HYAAAAAAARRRRRGH!!"
His signature battle cry tore through the quiet morning.
He was deep into a set of high-volume squats, followed by a relentless barrage
of shadowboxing and kicks. He didn't stop until his shirt was soaked and his
physical limit was reached. He stood panting, accumulating torque for the next
set.
Watching from the shade of a nearby tree was Mitsumitsu Yoroizuka, the Head of
the Dawn Village.
The Dawn Village. A prestigious resort spanning over 200 square kilometers, home
to 400 residents, many of them Burmese expats like Saw Paing. Mitsumitsu had
spent his life turning the village into a paradise of hunting, fishing, and fine
dining.
But corporate greed had arrived in the form of Toyo Electric. CEO Hayami
Katsumasa intended to seize the land, raze the village, and build a massive
power plant. He had given Mitsumitsu an ultimatum: serve Toyo Electric and win
the Secret Key Card for the Ward through Kengan matches, or lose everything.
Mitsumitsu clenched his fist. He hated that his old business partner, Hayami,
had fallen so low. But for the sake of his people, he had to obey.
He looked at the sweating Saw Paing. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm sorry I dragged you
into this."
Saw Paing's father had been a Kengan fighter before passing away. Five years
ago, Saw Paing's older brother, Wipaing, had fought for Dawn Village. He had
possessed a demonic power, but he had ignored Mitsumitsu's warnings, fighting
too many matches in a row until his body gave out. He died in the ring.
Mitsumitsu learned later that Wipaing was trying to earn enough money to save
their home village in Burma from a predatory developer. Wipaing had never asked
for Mitsumitsu's financial help because his motto was: "A warrior accepts no
charity."
The village was lost. Many were left homeless.
Saw Paing had inherited his brother's will—and his refusal to accept handouts.
To provide a home for the displaced villagers, he had taken up his brother's
mantle as the fighter for Dawn Village.
"Don't worry, old man!" Saw Paing had said back then. "I'm sturdier than my
brother! I'll carry his legacy all the way to the top!!"
Back in the present, the situation was a mirror of the past. The village was
once again on the line.
"Don't worry, Old Man!" Saw Paing shouted, clenching his fists. "My condition is
better than it's ever been! I won't lose!!"
Mitsumitsu nodded, but a cold knot of dread formed in his stomach. Saw Paing's
spirit was burning bright, but his opponent was... Ren Shiroki.
"I'M GOING TO WIN!! HYAAAAAARGH!"
Saw Paing flashed a thumbs-up and a row of blindingly white teeth. "A fight for
the village, for my brothers, for my family—isn't that the most Hot-Blooded plot
imaginable?!!"
"Yeah... yeah it is..."
Mitsumitsu's ears were ringing from the shouting. He was worried. Could this
level of pure conviction stand against the technical "Atmosphere" of the Soul
Combat Hub?
[Back at the Private Gym]
Gaolang had finished his rest and returned to the floor. Ren, feeling his
"Technical Itch," grabbed a pair of focus mitts to act as Gaolang's pad-man. It
was a good chance to test his own dynamic reflexes.
Whish—Pop-pop-pop!
Gaolang's jabs hammered into the mitts, the sounds merging into a single,
continuous drone of impact.
After a few rounds, they paused for another break.
Gaolang looked at Ren, his brow furrowed in a slight, curious tilt.
"Ren... have you increased your training volume lately? Your hands... they feel
different on the pads."
☆☆☆
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