The man called Akagi Shigeru had just said something completely baffling.
"Winning after a successful dodge can never compare to winning outright," he said.
Sho Shiraki frowned. If someone could win cleanly, who'd bother dodging in the first place?
That strange remark stirred confusion deep within him.
But as his thoughts tangled, something began to crack open in his mind—an awareness awakening from chaos.
If that man really was the Akagi Shigeru he remembered, then those words weren't meaningless.
Akagi must have already seen something Sho himself had yet to notice
something buried even deeper than conscious thought.
A fundamental flaw.
Sho's breathing grew heavier. For the first time, his focus sharpened past the pain.
He felt as if he were touching the edge of some hidden truth
Until a shout tore through his trance.
"Onii-san!!"
Arisa's voice snapped him back.
Sho's eyes darted, catching the subtle shift in Komada's stance.
He immediately stepped back—just in time to evade a devastating mid-kick.
The iron-plated boot sliced through the air with a violent whoosh, the sound alone sharp enough to chill the crowd.
The strike missed—but only barely.
Komada's follow-through slowed for a split second, leaving an opening.
It was the perfect chance to counterattack
but Sho didn't move.
He just stood there, panting, a faraway look in his eyes.
The audience grew restless.
"Hey, what the hell are they doing? Keep fighting!"
"Stop wasting time and finish him already!"
"Come on, Komada! Kick his head off!"
The crowd's jeers turned uglier by the second.
The referee flailed his arms. "Continue the match!"
Still, Sho didn't react.
Komada clicked his tongue in frustration.
"You done hiding yet?" he sneered. "C'mon, stop crawling around like a coward!"
"I'll end this with one punch. Bring it on!"
Swoosh!
Komada lunged forward, feinting a left jab.
The gust from his punch brushed Sho's cheek—close enough to feel.
Sho didn't flinch.
His arms hung loosely at his sides.
When he finally raised his eyes, his expression had changed—calm, resolved.
"...I see it now."
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, but he smiled anyway.
"Ryu's lesson... and what Akagi said... I understand where I went wrong."
"I forgot what it feels like to fight."
He laughed under his breath. "Every battle should have that feeling—the fire that drives you to face it head-on. But I kept trying to run away."
"That's my mistake."
"Even if I had the upper hand at first, I could never win... because all I ever tried to do was avoid losing."
"A man who fights to dodge pain will never defeat one who embraces it."
Komada didn't understand what the hell he was hearing, but a faint chill ran down his spine.
Enough talk.
He planted his feet, then drove forward with a thunderous right straight—putting everything he had behind it.
CRACK!!
The sickening sound of bone snapping echoed through the arena.
Blood spattered across the floor.
The spectators froze, wide-eyed, unsure of what had just happened.
Komada's punch had landed. His fist had slammed directly into Sho's forehead.
But
His forearm bones, both the radius and the ulna, were shattered.
Jagged white bone tore through the flesh of his right arm, shortening it grotesquely by half a length.
"Wh...!?"
Pain surged up his arm. His pupils shook violently, cold sweat dripping down his temples.
Sho's forehead had split open. Blood ran down the side of his face, trickling from his brow to his cheek.
Yet despite the gash and the head trauma, he was still standing.
He smiled through the blood.
"Komada... does it hurt?"
"I nearly forgot what that felt like myself."
Sho grinned wider, red-stained teeth gleaming.
"I kept trying to dodge—Ryu's punches, your attacks, even the pain itself. I thought I could avoid everything and still win."
"But pain is the proof of being alive. Anyone too afraid to take a hit... will never land one that matters."
Arisa stared from ringside, her voice trembling.
"W–what did my brother just do...?"
"It's called a Counter Punch."
The calm answer came from Garuda, arms folded, eyes gleaming.
"In boxing, it's a predictive strike—you throw your punch at the exact moment your opponent attacks, turning their force back on them."
"Both punches meet—your opponent's power fuels your own. That's why it hits twice as hard."
Across the stands, Kazemizu's eyes pulsed with veins as she activated the clan's secret technique[Release]enhancing her vision.
She added coldly, "He also used his forehead to absorb the blow."
"Combining both techniques, Sho stepped in just as Komada punched, driving his own forehead into Komada's fist."
"The result—" she smiled faintly, licking her lips, "—was a destructive double impact strong enough to break his arm clean."
She leaned forward, whispering almost hungrily,
"His stance, his acceleration... fascinating. He's refining his style mid-fight."
While the three girls dissected the fight in excitement, the two older men—Katahara Metsudo and Akagi Shigeru—discussed something else entirely.
"Hohoho! Didn't I tell you, old man never lies?" Metsudo chuckled.
Akagi exhaled a lazy stream of smoke. "Yeah. That was beautiful."
He smiled faintly. "Now I think I finally get what makes these 'Kengan matches' so entertaining."
"Oh? And what's that?" Metsudo asked eagerly.
"...The flavor," Akagi said simply.
Metsudo blinked. "Flavor?"
"Tell me," Akagi asked, "what's the best food in the world, to you?"
"Hahaha, for me? Easy. Meat—and sweets!"
Akagi laughed quietly. "Good answer. But there's another taste I like even more."
He twirled his cigarette.
"Mahjong."
"There are lunatics out there who gamble everything—their fortune, their life—on that game. Smart or stupid, they all share the same thing: an overwhelming hunger to win."
"When the deciding tile hits the table, they pour their whole soul into that moment."
"That final move—it's like devouring another man's heart."
"And maybe..." he said softly, turning back to the ring,
"...a single punch in this arena carries the same taste."
He took one last drag, then flicked the cigarette away.
"It's over."
Komada's right arm hung limp, bones splintered, but the pain only fueled his rage.
He roared, veins bulging from his forehead, and swung with his remaining left arm—pure hatred driving the motion.
But Akagi was right.
It really was over.
His stance was broken. His balance gone.
Sho, though battered and drenched in blood, stood tall—breathing steady, eyes alive.
In his vision, Komada's attack merged with Ryu's—two overlapping opponents, two worlds colliding.
Now that he had faced Ryu's fist properly, his body understood the response.
The move formed naturally in his mind.
He crouched slightly, legs coiled like springs.
Exhaled.
"...Hah."
Then
Sho pushed off the ground with explosive force, twisting his waist and shoulder in unison.
His right arm surged upward in a spiraling arc
[Ryu's Shōryūken]! Rising Dragon Fist!
The blow tore through the air, slamming directly into Komada's chest.
THUD!!
The sound reverberated like a drum of war.