BOOM!!! BOOM!!! BOOM!!!
Energy flares detonated across the domed ceiling of the underground arena, dragging a blood-red sweep of light over the tens of thousands of maniacally screaming spectators. The announcer stood in the center of the alloy ring, straining his neck as he roared:
— "THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR HAS ARRIVED! THE UNDERGROUND ARENA TOURNAMENT OFFICIALLY BEGINS!!!"
The crowd's roar threatened to blow the subterranean roof right off. The announcer threw his arms toward the iron gates on either side:
— "AND FOR TONIGHT'S OPENING MATCH: MUAY THAI VS. WING CHUN! WILL THE TWO REPRESENTATIVES PLEASE STEP INTO THE RING!!!"
The massive electronic scoreboard immediately began ticking up the betting pools pouring in from the audience. Kento stood in the waiting room, lazily leaning against the wooden wall, his dead eyes fixed on the giant projection screen. The match began. Because Kento had shattered the bones of the Muay Thai dojo's strongest fighter earlier that afternoon, they were forced to send their second-best senior disciple into the ring.
SWISH!
The Muay Thai fighter adopted an extremely low stance, instantly closing the distance with a devastating mid-level roundhouse kick (Te Chiang) aimed squarely at his opponent's ribs. The kick tore through the air, brimming with destructive force.
However, the Wing Chun practitioner remained completely composed. He dropped his center of gravity into the Yee Jee Kim Yeung Ma (Character Two Stance), his hands immediately rising into a Man Sao (Inquisitive Hand) guard. The moment the opponent's shin was about to impact his hip, the Wing Chun fighter executed a swift diagonal slide (Chum Kiu footwork) to neutralize the strike's angle. Simultaneously, he utilized a Tan Sao (Dispersing Hand) combined with a Biu Sao (Thrusting Hand) to cleanly parry the kinetic force of the kick.
SMACK!
Neutralizing the kick in a fraction of a second, the Wing Chun fighter abruptly closed into trapping distance. His hands blurred, utilizing Pak Sao (Slapping Hand) to completely pin the Muay Thai fighter's defensive guard. In the very next instant, he unleashed a dizzying barrage of chain punches (Lin Wan Kuen) right down the centerline.
THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!
Five or six explosive short-inch punches hammered directly into the Muay Thai fighter's solar plexus, throat, and jaw. The strikes were crisp and carried terrifying lethal force. The Muay Thai fighter's eyes rolled back; he coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed onto the arena floor like a felled log.
Watching the scene, Kento exhaled a mouthful of smoke, nodding in mild approval:
— "That Wing Chun guy throws hands pretty fast. I always thought Chinese martial arts were just flashy choreographed dances, but it turns out they actually pack some lethal damage in real combat."
Sitting in his wheelchair nearby, Choi Hyun-seok sweat profusely as he explained:
— "You have a sharp eye. That man is the top disciple of the Eastern Wing Chun Dojo. His close-quarters hand techniques have reached the absolute limit."
— "I knew the outcome the second I saw his footwork," Kento replied dryly.
Right on cue, the referee's voice boomed over the speakers, cutting in:
— "THE MATCH IS OVER! AND THE WINNER OF THE OPENING BOUT IS WING CHUN!!!"
Before the crowd could even cool down, the announcer hyped them back up:
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— "NEXT UP IN THE DOJO BRACKET: TAEKWONDO VS. KARATE! REPRESENTATIVES, STEP UP!!!"
Choi Hyun-seok turned around, patting the shoulder of the disciple standing behind him, instructing in a grave tone:
— "Fight well and reclaim our dojo's honor, you hear me?!"
The disciple tightened his protective belt, bowing resolutely:
— "Yes, Master! I will not disappoint you!"
Yet, the moment the Taekwondo disciple stepped onto the alloy floor, the iron gates opposite him opened, and not one, but three Karate fighters marched out, gripping steel-reinforced wooden tonfas. The stands instantly erupted into frenzied cheers and whistles from the bloodthirsty spectators. They were thrilled, knowing full well a lone fighter stood zero chance against a gang-up.
Witnessing this, Choi Hyun-seok nearly flipped backward out of his wheelchair in pure rage. He slammed his fist onto the armrest, screaming at the top of his lungs:
— "Bastards! You absolute animals! Three against one?! Do you Karate scum have any shred of martial honor?! Where the hell are the organizers?!"
Standing beside him, Kento’s face remained completely apathetic. He spoke in a flat tone:
— "Old man, shut up. The announcer already said it earlier: 'No rules.' This tournament only bans Sophion; it doesn't ban a 3-on-1 beatdown, does it?"
Choking on his own fury, Choi Hyun-seok could only look up at the ceiling in bitter despair:
— "Goddamn these dirty scumbags... The kid is dead for sure!"
BOOM!
The match began. The panicked Taekwondo disciple backpedaled, desperately trying to utilize his long reach to launch a high-level roundhouse kick (Dollyo Chagi) to force them back. However, the isolated strike was easily blocked by a Karate fighter using an arm block as hard as steel (Uchi Uke).
Simultaneously, the other two Karate fighters flanked his blind spots. One executed a ruthless leg sweep (Ashi Barai), shattering the Taekwondo disciple's balance and sending him crashing to the floor. Before he could even scramble up, the three Karate fighters swarmed him, mercilessly stomping and raining down a violent barrage of reverse punches (Gyaku-tsuki) into his face and ribs.
THUD! WHACK! CRACK!
The sickening sound of fracturing bones echoed. The Taekwondo disciple’s face was a bloody mess, his will to fight completely shattered. He clasped his hands together, sobbing and begging pitifully:
— "Please... Please stop! I lost! I surrender! Don't hit me anymore, I'm going to die... Ugh..."
Standing high above, the announcer laughed sadistically and roared:
— "THE MATCH IS OVER! AND THE WINNER IS KARATE!!!"
The match ended amidst the cheers and curses of the crowd:
— "Damn it all! I thought that Taekwondo dipshit had some secret trump card to solo a 1v3! He just cost me a fortune!" Spectator 1 cursed.
— "Hahaha! Acting tough didn't last long! I bet huge on Karate this round, I'm making bank!" Spectator 2 laughed out loud.
— "Won one round today, can't wait for the next. But this is just the warm-up for the dojo factions, right? I'm waiting for the solo matches with the freelance monsters!" Spectator 3 said eagerly.
— "Exactly! I heard the 3-time undisputed Champion is entering the solos tonight. That’s going to be the absolute peak of bloodshed!" Spectator 4 nodded, fueling the gossip.
And so, the preliminary rounds between the martial arts dojos continued in brutal succession. By the end, only the four most formidable dojos qualified to advance to the inner brackets, which included:
—MCMAP (Marine Corps Martial Arts Program).
—Catch Wrestling (Real-combat Grappling).
—Combat Sambo (Russian Military Martial Arts).
—Western Boxing.
Looking at the electronic bracket, Kento raised an eyebrow, muttering:
— "Oh... They even have Marine Corps combat in here. I guess it's not totally pathetic."
Sitting beside him, Choi Hyun-seok was still fuming, grinding his teeth:
— "Those dirty Karate bastards, absolute scum! They played dirty to advance, only to get all their teeth knocked out by the Combat Sambo guys in the next round. Serves that trash right!"
Kento casually pulled a fresh cigarette from the disciple's pack, lit it, and delivered a critical, deadpan remark:
— "Look, they lost, get over it. Why are you so bitter? It's not like they made it to the deeper rounds for you to hold such a grudge."
Right at that moment, the entire lighting system of the underground arena abruptly blacked out, leaving only a single, massive, pure-white floodlight beaming directly down onto Kento's corner of the waiting room. A heavy metal track began blasting, driving the crowd into a frenzy, as the announcer screamed like a madman:
— "AND NOW... THE MOST ANTICIPATED EVENT OF THE NIGHT HAS ARRIVED! THE FREELANCE SOLO MATCHES!!! THE FIRST COMBATANT TO STEP INTO THE RING IS TONIGHT'S ROOKIE... THE WHITE ONI!!!"
Kento exhaled a long trail of smoke and leisurely stepped out of the shadows, walking toward the alloy ring under the gaze of tens of thousands of eyes.
— "AND THE NEXT... UH... WHAT THE... MY MIC!" The announcer's voice suddenly devolved into a panicked yelp.
The spectators and fighters were completely bewildered, wondering what had happened to the referee's microphone. Suddenly, from the central PA system, a raspy, arrogant, and blood-chilling voice overpowered the noise:
— "HELLO... I AM SHIRAISHI KAGETORA! AND I AM THE ONE WHO WILL TAKE THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF THIS TOURNAMENT. THANK YOU!"
CRACK... SMASH!!!
He didn't have the titanic build of the reigning champion, but his broad shoulders, cable-like hardened muscles, and razor-sharp eyes with contracted pupils resembling a tiger's were enough to give anyone goosebumps. He had casually snatched the mic right out of the organizer's hand and crushed it into metallic scrap with just five fingers.
After a second of stunned silence, the stands erupted into frenzied roars. A massive wave of insane betting immediately spiked the numbers:
— "IT'S KAGETORA!!! That psycho is entering the solos too?! He possesses extremely violent Beast-attribute Sophion! That guy's fighting motto is to always kill his opponent by smashing their skull in!" Spectator 1 screamed in excitement.
— "This match is a goldmine! I'm betting 20,000 Sophion Coins on Kagetora!" Spectator 2 slammed his money down with bloodshot eyes.
— "35,000 for me!"
— "27,000 on Kagetora! Kill that White Oni brat!" The crowd aggressively placed their bets on the newcomer, the atmosphere reeking of bloodlust.
Kagetora stood on the alloy floor, glancing at the electronic board displaying his skyrocketing bets. He cracked his neck loudly, looking at Kento with the gaze of an apex predator spotting a prime piece of prey. He let out a maniacal laugh:
— "Hahaha! Look at that, seems I'm quite famous around here! As for you... little brat... You look like a total greenhorn, don't you?"
Kento stood opposite him under the blazing floodlights. One hand was casually tucked into his pocket; the other held his half-burned cigarette. He slightly raised his cold, faded black eyes to look at the Beast-attribute psycho before him. A ruthless, utterly apathetic smirk curled onto his lips:
— "Oh... As for me, I have absolutely zero interest... in inferior creatures."
END OF CHAPTER 24