CHAPTER 2: LIVE A LITTLE LOUDER
In the eyes of the Yakuza sub-boss, Ren Shiroki had simply frozen for a second.
But for Ren, those two names—Teiai Group and the Kengan Matches—were a psychological detonator. His consciousness surged into overdrive once again. A volcano of information and dormant memories erupted in his mind.
The Teiai Group was one of the nation's largest financial monopolies.
On the surface, they dealt in real estate, finance, and entertainment. In the shadows, they controlled high-interest predatory loans, underground casinos, and a vast network of "forced labor" camps.
In one potential timeline, a deadbeat named Kaiji Itou would be forced into life-or-death gambles just to pay off a fraction of a 3.85-million-yen debt.
In Ren's world, his sister Arisa's debt had already snowballed to a staggering 30 million yen.
That wasn't a debt; it was a death sentence. It was a black hole that even selling the dojo's land wouldn't fill.
As for the Kengan Matches, they originated in the Edo period.
Merchant guilds would resolve disputes by hiring fighters to kill each other in one-on-one combat. The winner took the contract, the land, or the prestige.
Entrust your prayers to the fist of the fighter—
Thus, the Kengan Association was born. The warriors who fought in these matches were known as "Kengan Fighters."
In another possible future, a man named Tokita Ohma, the "Ashura," would step onto that stage and burn his very life force to reach the top.
Now, these two worlds were colliding in Ren's reality.
"If these organizations exist, then the people from those stories probably exist here too..."
"Are there other stories mixed in? Just how deep does this go?"
The mental pressure was mounting. Ren realized he didn't have much time to play philosopher; he had to face reality.
"Thirty million is an impossible sum for a normal person. But for the titans of the Kengan Association, it's pocket change—a casual side-bet on a Tuesday night."
"The thug said 'fight against a Kengan fighter,' not 'fight in an official Kengan match.' That means this is likely a trial or a private exhibition."
"Is Chairman Hyodo of the Teiai Group looking for some 'bloody entertainment' like the twisted old sadist he is?"
The mental surge receded.
To the three men standing in front of him, Ren had only been spacing out for a few heartbeats.
"Fine," Ren said, nodding calmly.
The Zanshi-gumi boss and the two Teiai agents blinked, stunned. They hadn't expected him to agree so easily.
"Hey!" one of the Teiai agents barked, narrowing his eyes. "Do you even know what a Kengan match is? We're talking about the deep underworld—"
"I've heard the rumors," Ren interrupted, taking the contract to look it over. "I thought it was just an urban legend."
He skimmed the clauses. He had to admit, unlike the low-level thugs who just used threats, a "legitimate" evil like the Teiai Group knew how to make real money. They had the legal backing of a bank and the illegal muscle of the Yakuza.
As long as a debtor had something to lose—a "connection" or a "desire"—they could never truly escape. Teiai would keep them alive just long enough to suck the blood from their body's.
Arisa was still in school. Ren had no intention of selling the old man's dojo. This "offer" was the only way to buy time.
Besides... he was genuinely curious about the Kengan world.
"..."
Seeing how composed Ren was, the Yakuza boss felt a twinge of suspicion. "You better not be planning any funny business, kid!"
He shook a fist in front of Ren's face, a transparent attempt at intimidation.
Ren didn't even blink.
He had just stared down a fist from Ryu. Compared to that, this thug was a joke. He could see exactly how he'd dismantle him: a slight slip to the left, a lead hook to the bridge of the nose, and the man's expensive glasses would be embedded in his skull.
But there was no point in that. He signed the contract.
As he did, the memory of Ryu's punch flared in his mind again. He felt a hot surge of adrenaline. He was already analyzing the movement, wondering how he could have dodged it better.
"Forget him," the boss muttered to the agents, seeing Ren space out again. "The kid's brain is fried. Someone hit him too hard last night."
With a final sneer and a "See you in three days," the three men departed.
Silence returned to the dojo grounds. Ren stood alone.
In front of him, the "Sumi-e" ink-wash phantom of Ryu flickered back into existence. This time, it was even more vivid—he could see the fraying fabric on Ryu's red headband.
SHING!
Ryu lunged again with a perfect straight punch. To a spectator, the move would have looked beautiful, almost artistic.
But to Ren, who was the target, it was terrifying. It was a strike wrapped in such intense killing intent that he could almost see the word "DEATH" written in the air.
Dodge it?
I can't!
Ren tried a different tactic—a low crouch and a half-step slip. Still too slow. Ryu's fist slammed into the side of his face. For a split second, Ren felt his jaw shatter and his teeth fly out.
CRASH!
Ren tumbled backward in the real world, knocking over a pile of junk and twitching on the ground.
"Pfft..."
He spat on the dirt. His face was intact. His teeth were fine. But there was real blood in his saliva—a testament to how the mind can influence the body.
Ren lay on his back and suddenly started to chuckle. The chuckle grew into a full-blown laugh. He wiped the blood from his lip and stared up at the sky, his fist thumping the ground in exhilaration.
He never thought his life would turn out like this.
Between the weird memories, the ghost of Ryu punching him, his "incurable" brain damage vanishing, and the Teiai Group knocking on his door...
Street Fighter, Kaiji, Kengan Ashura... what else was out there?
"This world is absolutely insane!"
He felt like a new man. A total rebirth. Ren accepted it all. If the world was going to be this loud, he might as well match its volume.
"I need to live a little louder."
Fortunately, no one was around to see him laughing like a maniac.
Unable to stay still, Ren went to the storage shed and dragged out an old standing punching bag. It was covered in a thick layer of dust that made him cough.
He set it up in the center of the clearing.
Ren took his stance. It wasn't a standard Karate "Zenkutsu-dachi." It was more fluid.
Shoulder tucked, lead arm up in a parry position, rear hand protecting the chin.
It was an instinctive change. He was subconsciously mimicking the stance Ryu had used to pressure him. If a Grandmaster of Combat like Ryu was willing to "feed him lines," Ren would be an idiot not to listen.
Step... Step...
He moved around the bag. His footwork was light but still a bit rusty. Five years of illness had withered his muscles. He wasn't at a professional athlete's level anymore.
But that was fine. He wasn't some "once-in-a-century genius."
His job right now was to crawl out of the "negative" and get back to the "starting line." Then, he'd worry about moving forward.
WHAP! WHAP!
One punch after another landed on the bag. His muscles began to warm up.
But no matter how much he focused, Ryu's punch remained a riddle he couldn't solve. Every time he replayed it in his mind, he ended up "hit."
"Hoo..."
He exhaled a cloud of heat. As the phantom Ryu threw that same straight punch again, Ren tried a deep duck. The sheer wind pressure from the punch threw him off balance, nearly sending him to the dirt again.
Frustration flared into a spark of anger. Ren snapped up from the duck, pivoting his hips and throwing a desperate lead uppercut.
BOOM!
His fist buried itself into the sandbag. With a violent crack, the bag was torn from its base, flying over the fence and into the street.
"Hah... hah..."
Ren's wrist throbbed. He wasn't happy.
The power was there, sure. But his opponent wasn't a stationary bag. In a real fight, being off-balance during a duck was a death sentence. He'd be wide open for a knee, a clinch, or a soccer kick to the skull.
"A Grandmaster's lesson is a tough one to crack."
After a quick rest and a wash, Ren checked his phone. He needed to understand this "new" Tokyo.
Searching through deep-web forums and obscure martial arts boards, he found the breadcrumbs:
The "Man of the Divine Realm": A silver-haired mahjong player who hasn't lost a hand in decades (Akagi).
Kakerou: A neutral organization that adjudicates high-stakes bets and handles "collections" for its members (Usogui).
The "Holy Land" of Combat: The Tokyo Dome Underground Arena, where fighters from every style gather under a billionaire's patronage (Baki).
The rumors were dismissed as urban legends by the public, but Ren knew better. They were all real.
"Haha..."
Ren sprawled out on an old sofa in the yard, enjoying the evening breeze. The exercise had cleared his head. He drifted into a light sleep, only to be awakened by the sound of voices.
He opened his eyes to see the sun setting. School was out.
Arisa was walking up the path, laughing with two girls in the same school uniform.
"Onii-chan! Are you just sunbathing?"
Arisa waved at him, then hurried over. She gave him a playful apologetic bow for being late and introduced her friends.
"This is Kozue Matsumoto-chan, and this is Karura Kure-chan."
"We stopped by a sweets shop, so we're a bit late. Sorry! ...Onii-chan? Are you listening?"
Ren was definitely listening.
Hearing those two names—Kozue and Karura—was the final confirmation he needed.
His mind started to surge again.
"Stop!" Ren mentally commanded. "Not now. We don't need a mental breakdown in front of the guests!"