Chapter 462: Inconsequential
From an outside perspective, Oliva and Guevara had made the first move, each
unleashing a blistering open-handed slap that batted Ren Shiroki away like a
cannonball.
The sound had been deafening, practically generating a visible wall of sonic
pressure.
The spectacle was so utterly absurd that anyone merely watching from the
sidelines would feel a cold dread creeping into their bones, their legs turning
to jelly.
——!?
And yet, everyone present felt that Ren had thrown the first punch.
Put that way, there was really no grounds to blame the other two.
After all, even a pair of apex predators locked in a death match will
instinctively team up to swat away any annoying gnat that tries to interrupt
them.
Ren getting launched into orbit was an absolute inevitability.
Naturally, the scale of the destruction far outstripped anyone's imagination,
and several onlookers were already casting nervous glances toward the collapsed
pile of rubble, wondering if Ren had survived or been crushed to death.
"..."
"..."
Oliva sighed lightly, sweeping his gaze across the surroundings before looking
back at Guevara. "Indeed. As you said, this sector belongs to that kid."
He glanced back toward the spot where the cloud of dust was slowly settling, his
mind drifting to the various martial artists he had encountered over the years.
"Just how far can someone consumed by the pursuit of combat go?"
"Martial arts, secret techniques, master-disciple lineages, dojo styles, human
experimentation, political conspiracies, financial greed, bloodlines and fate—"
"Countless people explore this treacherous wasteland using countless methods."
Oliva jerked his chin in Ren's direction. "Just what kind of realm can the Dao
of combat ultimately reach? That kid is enjoying the journey of finding out."
"When he took our slaps just now, he was probably smiling, wasn't he? After all,
that's a privilege not even the President of the United States gets to
experience."
"..."
"..."
Guevara arched an eyebrow in agreement. "True. Just as happy as you were talking
about your girlfriend."
Hearing those words, Oliva broke into a grin.
He wore an expression of intoxicated bliss, the corners of his mouth hooked
skyward while the edges of his eyes and brows drooped in fond, dreamy
recollection.
Then, Oliva fished a handkerchief from his pocket, pressed it straight against
his nose, and took a massive, greedy inhalation, thoroughly inhaling the sweet
aroma clinging to the fabric.
"Hahhhh~~! Absolute bliss! It's an intoxicating thrill unlike anything else in
this world."
"..."
Guevara had already learned to just roll with Oliva's eccentricities, so he
humored him with a dry remark. "Hmph, was that handkerchief a gift from your
girlfriend?"
"Not at all—"
Oliva smiled serenely. "I bought this handkerchief in the neighborhood where my
girlfriend used to live. Right there in a local boutique."
"A neighborhood boutique...?"
Guevara blinked again. "So it wasn't even something that belonged to her?"
Oliva's brow furrowed in playful disbelief. "Don't say something so foolish! A
handkerchief she actually owned? If I had that, the sensory overload would be
way too intense for me to handle!"
Guevara was lost. "How on earth does that make sense...? Aren't you two lovers?"
"We are. Deeply, passionately in love."
Oliva puffed out his massive, slab-like chest, emphasizing every word. "And it's
completely mutual, too."
Guevara rubbed his temples in frustration. "I swear, I will never understand
you..."
"That's fine. It doesn't matter if you understand. Kids just aren't equipped to
grasp these heights!"
Oliva spread his palms wide, displaying the patterned handkerchief for everyone
to appreciate in all its glory.
"Just the thought that this handkerchief once existed in the same neighborhood
she breathed in... lets me feel her living presence right here in my hand."
"It's like a tourist visiting Liverpool feeling the presence of the Beatles."
"I am just that utterly obsessed with her..."
"She is simply that breathtakingly beautiful!"
With that, Oliva lifted the handkerchief higher, displaying it proudly to
Guevara.
"Well? Don't you want to come take a whiff?"
"This is, without a doubt, the most fragrant handkerchief in the entire
universe!"
Obliging the request, Guevara slowly leaned his face forward.
The next second—Ptui!
Guevara hawked a thick, wet loogie and spat it directly onto Oliva's
handkerchief with a wet splat.
——!?
The sheer audacity of the act made the eyes of every single spectator bulge out
of their sockets.
As for Oliva himself, his jaw dropped so wide his face drained of all color,
leaving him frozen in a mute, raspy shock.
"Oh..."
"..."
He cradled the soiled handkerchief in both hands, dropping into a deep squat as
he stared down at the ruined fabric, his eyes welling up with genuine tears of
distress.
"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-oooohHHH!!!"
He let out a wailing shriek, squeezing the tears straight out of his ducts as he
scrambled away, sobbing and running blindly at the same time.
He plowed straight through a cluster of nearby gang members, scattering them
like bowling pins.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump!
His heavy frame barrel-rolled through the crowd, vanishing down an alleyway in
the blink of an eye—presumably to go track down a washing basin or a body of
water.
An Oliva displaying that level of emotional devastation was so terrifyingly rare
that the onlookers could only stand there with slack jaws, utterly speechless.
Meanwhile, the instigator of the chaos—Guevara—simply kept his hands buried deep
in his pockets.
"..."
At that exact moment, Fusui Kure and the rest of the crew arrived, drawn in by
the commotion.
Whether it had been Guevara and Ren's high-fives, Oliva and Guevara launching
Ren into the stratosphere, or Oliva's frantic wailing—each sound wave had been
louder and more piercing than the last, making them impossible to miss.
Tap!
Fusui's combat boots crunched against the rubble-strewn street. She rested her
hand casually on the holster at her hip, her black-sclera, white-pupil eyes
darting back and forth.
The young sniper scanned the battlefield, taking in the chaotic aftermath at a
glance.
"Did some other syndicate try to pull a sneak attack? Looks like they got
totally wiped out. Did Ren-chin and Mr. Guevara run a tag-team match? The
property damage here is insane."
"And that hole in the iron bulkhead over there... was that caused by artillery?
No... looks like it was ripped open barehanded?"
"Who's that long-haired guy standing next to Ohma-chin?"
Fusui had spent the entire afternoon browsing the black-market stalls in the
Tokita Niko District, picking up rare smuggled weapon accessories.
Right now, she felt like she had walked into the middle of a movie halfway
through, leaving her head spinning with question marks.
And weighing in at a light 49kg, she had one overriding concern above all else:
"Where the heck is Ren-chin?"
...
While she was deep in thought, reinforcement arrived from the other side.
The 82kg [Ice Emperor] Ryo Inaba stepped up next.
He hopped lightly onto a pile of broken brickwork, landing with perfect balance
before staring in horror at the devastation.
"Did we get hit? Where's Ren? Is he okay?"
"..."
And then came the towering 206cm, 165kg [Umibozu] Yoshinari Karo, stepping
heavily over the mound of rubble.
The ruined, battered street was spread out before him in all its panoramic
glory.
Even the steady, seasoned fisherman couldn't help wide-eyed shock. "My word...
looking at the scale of destruction here, it's no different than a typhoon
touching down! This is terrifying..."
Finally, the 193kg behemoth [The Wild Tiger] Takeshi Wakatsuki stepped up, his
solid, heavy tread carrying him right up onto the heap of debris.
The level-headed Wakatsuki analyzed the situation coolly. "Can't find him,
huh...? But given Ren's durability, he'll be fine."
"..."
49 + 82 + 165 + 193 = 489.
Four people with a combined weight of roughly 489kg were currently standing
together on top of a pile of hollow bricks, scanning the horizon for any sign of
Ren Shiroki.
Fortunately, Fusui's eyesight was sharp. In the distance, she spotted Tokita
Niko waving his arms, signaling toward them.
"Ohma-chin looks like he's doing alright!"
"Wait, is Ohma-chin trying to say something?"
Fusui raised a hand to shade her eyes, activating her [Removal] just enough to
read Ohma's lips across the distance.
"He says: Ren is right underneath our feet."
"Oh..."
The four of them folded their arms across their chests in synchronized
contemplation for a brief second before processing the words, simultaneously
dropping their gazes straight down.
Right beside an unremarkable, half-buried brick, a familiar pair of shoes poked
out from the rubble—shoes belonging to Ren Shiroki.
"Yikes~!"
The four of them jumped backward in unison, scrambling off the unstable pile of
debris and immediately setting to work shifting bricks, frantically digging Ren
out from beneath the collapsed wall.
While everyone was making a commotion over unearthing Ren from the rubble,
Guevara sighed softly, casting a final glance toward the direction Oliva had
fled.
"There really is such a thing as a fragrance more intoxicating than any
handkerchief in this world..."
With that, Guevara stretched his arms overhead with a lazy yawn, turned around,
and strolled away.
Having finally been hauled out from under a mountain of masonry by his friends,
Ren sat blinking blankly, his mind still slightly scrambled.
Wait... didn't he take a secondary impact after getting buried under those
bricks?
"Hah—"
Ren let out a long, wheezing breath, spitting a speck of dust out of his mouth.
Supported on his left by Ryo Inaba and on his right by Takeshi Wakatsuki, he
managed a wobbly stand, blinking out at the now-deserted battlefield.
"—They're all gone?"
Confused, Ren turned his attention back to Fusui standing right in front of him.
The two of them stared at each other, tilting their heads in unison as they
looked left and right, sharing the exact same sensation of having skipped five
chapters of plot, their heads practically sprouting visible question marks.
Then—
Ren burst out laughing with a sharp, explosive "Pfft!", his eyes crinkling shut
as his shoulders shook with mirth.
"Pfft—Hahahaha!"
Following his lead, Fusui let out a bright, bubbling giggle. "Pfft—!"
The rest of the crew couldn't help it either, breaking into helpless,
wide-grinned chuckles, washing away the chaos with a strange, refreshing sense
of catharsis.
"Hahahaha!"
The turf war over The Inside—which should have been a grim, blood-drenched
struggle—had been thoroughly hijacked by the distinct personal eccentricities of
these overpowered interlopers, warped into something entirely different.
In the end, all those elaborate schemes, political plots, and grand
conspiracies... had quietly faded into something utterly inconsequential.
☆☆☆
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