underground fights.

Ikki Takeda ran tirelessly, wrestling with the looming weight of defeat. At the start, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, but he pushed forward, running nonstop for seventeen hours. His shoulders cramped, the soles of his feet burned, and his hair was disheveled as he dragged his exhausted body forward. It was as if he were a living failure, but he pushed himself onward. He reached the sea, the sun setting in the west, and his body refused to respond to the brutal demands of his training. Crawling, he gathered water into a bag, searching for fish in the ocean.

The journey to the sea had been nothing short of hell. Sleep fogged his mind, but he refused to give up. With no sense of time and barely able to drag his legs, Takeda saw the city's outline on the horizon. He kept running on sheer will, despite being far beyond physical exhaustion. After 28 hours of running, his body trembled, every step irregular. Somehow, he reached James Shiba's door, unable to lift his arms, collapsing on the porch in a comatose state. Shiba grabbed the bag, lifted Takeda onto his shoulders, and laid him on a futon next to the ring. He pulled some ice from the freezer, though the boy barely felt it.

During his journey, Takeda had ignored Kei, who was relentlessly throwing 10,000 punches at a heavy metal post. Kei was focused solely on refining his technique and toughening his bones. The sound of bone hitting metal echoed sharply through the room, each strike seeking perfection. Kei glanced at Takeda from the corner of his eye and smiled—a good sparring partner had just entered Shiba's gym, which was quickly earning a reputation as a breeding ground for monsters.

-He made it,-murmured Shiba, cracking open a beer as he watched Kei throw punches, his form still needing minor adjustments.

-He didn't make it. He was four hours late, but that's not important. If he's willing to try this route three times, it means he's meant to be your disciple,- Kei responded, finishing his 10,000th punch.

Shiba adjusted his stance, and the two began sparring. The best way to teach fighters with Shiba's temperament and anger, those who followed the Dou path, was through combat. Shiba's punches weren't as fierce as usual, likely because he had a Kengan fight tomorrow—a death match. Houro had sent him the location: an abandoned warehouse. He would face a retired soldier with a record of six matches—two ties, two losses, and two wins.

The soldier's fighting style was boxing, and Houro had chosen the fight specifically so Shiba could test his boxing style against a fellow practitioner.

-Your right arm is still injured, even after Akisame treated it,- Shiba noted, watching Kei's form.

-My opponent was fierce and incredibly powerful. I won by luck and surprise. I'll probably lose the next match,- Kei admitted, knowing that Jun Sekibayashi was superior in every way. Jun had only lost because of Kei's unique Koe style and the technique Kei had copied from Kenichi.

If Kei were to rank Jun's strength, he'd place him at an expert mid-level—high-level for most regular fighters but low-level for super masters. Jun was definitely above the average Kengan fighter.

-That Jun Sekibayashi… I met his master once, a man you can't possibly hold any hatred for,- Shiba remarked.

-It feels unfair, but that's the nature of fighting. Next time, I'll beat him without relying on Ki-based attacks,- Kei said, vowing not to use internal organ-damaging techniques against Jun. It was a self-imposed rule, but it felt like the only way he'd be satisfied with the fight.

-You're a fool,- Shiba replied.

…

The fighter standing in front of Kei was a tall Black man, around 180 cm, with broad shoulders and a military stance. It was clear he wasn't just a regular boxer. His style likely incorporated takedowns, locks, and low kicks—perhaps kickboxing, which was an interesting combination, as it wasn't traditionally considered a pure martial art and had more of a sport-like reputation.

-Fight!-

Kei idolized battle, absorbing his opponent's techniques and perfecting his formless style combined with the Niko style. He toyed with his opponent, not for fun, but because he was like a cocoon, evolving mid-battle. Two spectators watched from the side—Erioh Kure and Katahara Metsudo.

-Just as you said, my friend, he's the product of that vile experiment. I see the same madness as Agito's,- Katahara remarked.

-What concerns me is if there's a second, there might be a third,- Erioh responded.

Both men were lost in thought, contemplating conspiracies that painted the darkest of futures. Yami's presence loomed over the Kengan Association's neck, breathing down on them. They had a tenuous agreement to help while remaining neutral. The association only wished to continue its business and improve Japan, something they had promised to the Yami leaders. But it was a fragile relationship, and the masters' minds raced, possibly foreseeing an upcoming war.

-We'll have to tread carefully. If Yami is indeed behind this boy, he might be their masterpiece. Younger, more focused, less restrained, and trained systematically, unlike Kannoh. They might be selecting the best—or simply choosing outstanding individuals at random,- Erioh speculated, watching as Kei stole his opponent's kickboxing style, breaking his rival's morale. With a single formless punch to the temple, Kei knocked the man out, his opponent crumbling from one simple blow—a blow that terrified the fighter, as he was thoroughly outmatched in his discipline. But the final strike had been a boxer's punch.

...