Shiraki Sho's right fist tightened and shot upward in a spiraling burst of power.
His knuckles sank deep into Komada's chest, the raised joints tearing through muscle and leaving a dark crimson trail that arced across the air.
Swoosh!
Komada's feet left the ground. His body snapped backward, crashing heavily onto the mat. The wound stretched diagonally from his chest up to his shoulder blade, raw muscle exposed beneath the shredded skin as blood poured freely.
"?!"
For a moment, the entire arena went silent. Even the referee froze for half a second before rushing forward to check Komada's condition.
Then, raising his hand, he declared loudly,
"Th-the match is over! Winner—Shiraki Sho!"
"..."
Sho's face was smeared with blood as he lifted his right fist high, but the silence persisted. The underground casino was filled with an eerie, suffocating quiet.
Just as Akagi Shigeru had said—these spectators hadn't come to appreciate martial arts. They were gamblers, thrill-seekers. So when faced with a true, decisive victory, they didn't know how to react.
Suddenly, one voice broke the silence
"Woohoo!!"
Arisa shot her hand into the air, cheering for her brother with all her heart. Relief washed over her face.
But her spontaneous outburst drew every eye in the room. Flustered, she shrank back beside Garuda.
"Heh, don't mind their stares."
Akagi Shigeru spoke around the cigarette dangling from his lips, his tone light. "The idea that there's a 'right' time to act—that's just a scam. You don't have to match anyone else's rhythm. If you feel like cheering, then cheer."
"Hoh-hoh-hoh! Akagi's right! This is exactly the time to celebrate!"
Katahara Metsudo chuckled heartily, clapping his hands with surprising vigor. Despite his wrinkled face, he looked nothing like a frail old man; his energy was infectious.
Amid the laughter of Metsudo, Kazemizu, and the others, the heavy atmosphere finally began to ease.
Medical staff entered the arena to treat the unconscious Komada, bandaging his gaping wound before carrying him out on a stretcher—straight to a hospital owned by the Yakuza.
After all, even in a place like this, the [Violence Regulation Act] forbade needless deaths.
As for Shiraki Sho, though he looked like he'd been through hell, his injuries were far lighter than Komada's. There was no need for a stretcher.
Still, after all the dodging, countering, and that final Rising Dragon Fist, his stamina was utterly drained. He could barely stand.
"..."
Swaying unsteadily, Sho was quickly supported on both sides—by Arisa and Kazemizu. They helped him to a bench near the edge of the ring.
Arisa gently wiped the blood from his face with a handkerchief, while Kazemizu, looking amused, offered him water.
"That was an incredible fight!"
Her heterochromatic eyes sparkled. "What school did you learn that technique from? It's not something I've seen before."
Sho struggled to find the words to answer.
Kazemizu giggled. "Never mind, everyone's got their secrets. I'll just have to see it again next time! Don't forget—you still owe me a favor~."
"...Alright," Sho said softly, smiling faintly despite his exhaustion. Still, he couldn't shake the strange look in her eyes and quickly turned his gaze elsewhere—toward two men who stood apart from the others.
Katahara Metsudo and Akagi Shigeru
Two titans of completely different worlds.
After catching his breath, Sho lifted a hand and bowed slightly to Akagi in gratitude.
If not for Akagi's earlier words, he might never have realized that crucial flaw within himself—the fear of pain that kept him from truly fighting.
Akagi's insight was terrifyingly sharp—like he could see through the human soul.
But Akagi simply smiled and shook his head. "No, it's me who should be thanking you."
He exhaled smoke and said quietly, eyes unusually clear, "It's been a long time since I've felt excitement like that. Mahjong's gotten boring lately—no worthy opponents left. I was thinking of retiring soon... but if I can still watch matches like that? Maybe I'll stick around a little longer."
"Yeah," he added with a faint grin, flicking away his cigarette, "that was truly entertaining."
With a small wave, Akagi turned and walked off alone.
Watching his back fade into the smoky corridors, the sisters couldn't help but sigh in admiration.
"As expected from Katahara's drinking buddy," Kazemizu murmured. "That man's something else."
"Ah!"
Only after Akagi left did Kazemizu realize she hadn't introduced everyone properly. She felt a little embarrassed.
But Metsudo didn't mind in the slightest. Instead, he chuckled and pointed toward the edge of the arena.
"I'm in no hurry. But it seems someone else is."
Everyone turned to look.
It was the small-time leader of the Zanchi Group, Inoue Kanya.
He sat on a bench outside the ring, phone pressed to his ear, face pale and drenched in sweat.
From this distance, they could clearly hear the furious voice coming through the other end.
"You stupid bastard! A no-name gang like the Zanchi Group should be grateful just to host an underground fight, and you had the gall to dream about running a Kengan match? Keep dreaming!"
"This whole event was your idea, and now one of Nogi Corporation's hired fighters is severely injured! You've dragged major conglomerates into this mess. Our Jinwa Group won't take responsibility—you're on your own!"
The call cut off before he could respond.
Kanya sat frozen, his expression hollow, cold sweat running down his temples.
He had never imagined that his prized fighter, [Nioh]Komada, would lose—and so catastrophically.
Now he'd offended everyone:
the casino patrons who'd bet on Komada,
Teiai Corporation, who'd demanded compensation for Sho's debt,
Nogi Group, who'd hired Komada,
his superiors at Jinwa Group,
and even the Kengan Association itself.
He'd managed to anger every single one of them.
Kanya's breathing grew ragged. His vision blurred as despair clawed at his mind. Jinwa had told him to "handle it himself"—he knew exactly what that meant.
After a long, empty silence, he stood up without another word, staggering away like a dead man walking.
Metsudo chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Youth these days—so little backbone. Being told to 'handle it yourself' means full authority to act as you wish. If it were me, I'd take that as an opening move to turn the tables."
Coming from a man who'd clawed his way from the slums to the top of Japan's financial world, those words carried weight. His perspective on hardship was something that low-level thugs like Kanya could never understand.
"Oh, that reminds me..."
Metsudo suddenly leaned toward Kazemizu and whispered, "Kazemizu, since you've already dug up the fact that this match had someone pulling strings behind the scenes, I have a message for you to pass on."
"Eriyo," he added—referring to Eriyo, current leader of the Wu Clan and once Metsudo's personal fighter—the first "Tooth of Metsudo."
Kazemizu blinked. "Of course. What should I tell her?"
Metsudo sighed deeply, his tone turning grave. "It's been a while since anyone with real ambition has taken interest in the Kengan Association."
Kazemizu frowned slightly. "You mean... someone's targeting it? Don't tell me it's Teiai Group?"
"Not just them." Metsudo shook his head slowly. "There's another organization—one that thrives in the underworld. And it looks like they've set their sights on swallowing the entire Kengan Association."
He smiled, that mischievous glint returning to his old eyes. "Tell Eriyo this—things are about to get exciting again."
Then, patting her shoulder, he added, this time with uncharacteristic seriousness:
"And one more thing, Kazemizu. If you're planning to dig deeper into this, be careful of the Diamond."
Kazemizu blinked, confused. "Diamond?"
Metsudo nodded. "Especially the kind that's been cut to perfection—the one they call[IDEAL]."