Gō Kazemizu sized up the man before him.
He looked to be in his thirties at most, yet his hair was completely silver—likely natural rather than aged. Despite his mature appearance, his eyes were clear and piercing, radiating an unshakable confidence and intelligence.
A true eccentric genius—one of those rare anomalies the underworld whispered about.
And if Kazemizu's information was right, this man was a legend who stood shoulder to shoulder with none other than Katahara Metsudo himself.
In the world of the Yakuza, conflicts and debts were sometimes settled not through bloodshed—but through mahjong. And among these gamblers, there existed one undefeated master.
Akagi Shigeru
A man who dominated the underground mahjong world, undefeated through countless matches over decades, revered as "The Man Who Dwelled in the Divine Realm."
"..."
Even Karura, who wasn't particularly familiar with the world of underground mahjong, could sense the aura surrounding him.
"He's incredible… but compared to Grandpa and Elder Metsudo, Akagi feels like an entirely different breed of legend."
Seeing the two sisters utterly captivated by Akagi Shigeru, Metsudo chuckled proudly.
"Hohoho, seems my drinking companion's quite the celebrity."
That snapped the sisters back to reality.
Then Metsudo tilted his head, his voice full of teasing curiosity.
"Speaking of which, why are two members of the Wu Clan here? Come to assassinate someone?"
"Please, don't tease us, old man."
Kazemizu sighed helplessly.
Knowing full well Metsudo's restless and mischievous nature, he decided to just explain the situation briefly before the old man started prying too deeply.
"...I see."
"So, he's being forced into the underground ring—just to protect his family's land?"
Metsudo turned his gaze toward Arisa, his expression suddenly darkening.
"Girl, your brother… might die tonight."
Before the words even faded, an overwhelming aura erupted from him.
Katahara Metsudo—an elderly man in his nineties, thin and wrinkled as driftwood—suddenly emanated the pressure of an erupting volcano. The air itself seemed to tremble under the weight of his presence.
Even seasoned executives of major conglomerates would break into cold sweat before him, their bodies locking up in fear.
Yet, to the shock of his bodyguards, the four before him—Karura, Gō Kazemizu, Akagi Shigeru, and even Arisa—remained completely unfazed.
The first three were understandable.
But that ordinary high school girl? How could she stand so calm before him?
"My, my… quite the composure, young lady~"
Metsudo's tone softened again as he tapped his cane with amusement. The oppressive aura vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only the image of a frail, chuckling old man.
"Young blood is such a delight to watch. But tell me, child—aren't you worried about your brother?"
"Of course I am," Arisa replied softly, exhaling a shaky breath. "I'm worried sick."
"Then why didn't my words scare you?" he asked curiously.
"My brother once told me—if you can't change the situation, then don't let others control your emotions."
Her voice was calm but steady. "Besides, Kazemizu and Karura know you, and you're even rooting for my brother… why would I be afraid?"
"..."
The two bodyguards exchanged stunned looks.
Her logic was simple, yet few could speak to Katahara Metsudo himself with such composure.
"Hoh-hoh-hoh! What an interesting young woman." Metsudo clapped his hands joyfully. "I'll be looking forward to your brother's performance!"
Then his gaze drifted toward Kazemizu, a whisper escaping his lips.
"A pure, untainted fight… how nostalgic."
Kazemizu immediately understood what that meant.
The old man hadn't come to this shady casino for fun—he had sensed something off about tonight's match, something tied to the Kengan Association itself.
As for why he'd come in person? Perhaps it was curiosity.
Or simply boredom.
After all, Metsudo's mind was as unpredictable as it was sharp.
"…Oh, that reminds me."
Kazemizu suddenly grinned and pulled out the slip of paper he'd once tried to sell to Shiraki Sho.
"Want to buy some intel, old man? Could help fill in the blanks! I'll even give you a discount."
Metsudo laughed heartily, instantly catching on to the joke. "Hohoho! I'm short on pocket money lately, little Kazemizu. How about a trade? Drinks are on me!"
The arrival of "Nioh" Komada sent the underground casino into a fever pitch.
As the crowd reached its boiling point
Snap!
All at once, the noise vanished. The lights dimmed.
And with a single click, a blinding spotlight illuminated the center ring—a rough octagonal pit enclosed by wooden panels, its floor packed with firm, level earth.
No grand ceremony. No fancy uniforms.
Just raw, unfiltered violence.
Shiraki Sho vs. "Nioh" Komada.
The two fighters stood at opposite ends of the ring, each doing their warm-ups.
Every eye in the casino locked onto them, the silence quickly breaking into chaotic chatter.
"Hey, that's Komada from the Nogi Group, right? He's built like a monster!"
"The pretty boy's his opponent? What a joke!"
"Bet on Komada—easy money tonight!"
"Nioh! Crush him! Make him bleed!"
The crowd's bias was obvious.
Three-time Kengan victor Komada commanded overwhelming support, while Sho's side—Arisa, Kazemizu, and the others—offered faint but determined cheers from the corner.
"Ready? Both sides, step forward!"
The referee raised his hand. Both men stepped in, locking eyes.
"Prepare"
"Begin!"
Boom!
The instant the call ended, Shiraki Sho exploded forward—his muscles contracting like coiled steel, the ground cracking beneath his step.
[Combat Aura Ignition]!
In less than a heartbeat, he closed the distance and slammed a right straight directly into Komada's face.
Bang!
Komada stumbled back half a step
Just half.
A chill crawled down Sho's spine. His instincts screamed danger, and he immediately leapt back.
He looked up—just in time to see Komada clenching his fists, blood running down his crooked nose.
"…Fast. But that's all."
His words came out oddly, his voice nasally distorted.
Because his nose was broken.
Then, without hesitation, Komada grabbed it
Crack!
and snapped it back into place.
The sheer brutality of it sent shivers through the onlookers.
A professional fighter's resolve was nothing like that of a back-alley thug.
Then
Whoosh—whoosh!
Komada lunged forward, throwing two left hooks as feints before swinging a devastating right straight.
BOOM!
Despite his massive size, his combinations were lightning-fast.
Sho barely had time to react.
Suddenly, his mind buzzed—a flash of lightning in his brain.
Komada's figure warped
and in the same space, he saw the phantom of Ryu, the man whose fist he could never fully dodge.
This time, he didn't lose control.
But he had no time to react either.
Both punches—Komada's and Ryu's—came for his face simultaneously.
Technique-wise, Ryu was leagues above Komada.
But Komada's raw strength alone could end a Kengan match in a single blow.
Sho couldn't dodge.
He twisted his neck at the last moment, trying to lessen the impact.
CRACK!
The blow landed clean.
He staggered backward, step after step, until he steadied himself, trembling and spitting blood.
"Pft"
He wiped his mouth and rasped,
"If I can't dodge it… does that mean I can't win?"
Blood trickled from the corner of his lips as he glared forward—eyes burning, fixed on both Ryu's phantom and Komada's advancing figure.
"Something's off… I'm still missing something…"
His movements felt wrong—not just sluggish, but fundamentally flawed.
A deeper, structural flaw within his own technique.
Vertigo. Pain. Confusion. Rage.
They all mixed and exploded.
"COME ON!"
Sho roared like a beast, baring his teeth.
"Hit me again! Let me see what I'm missing!"