Chapter 466: The Duel's Options
This sort of thing was common enough on the streets.
Two people, weighed down by lingering grievances and unresolved friction,
finally reach a breaking point and start throwing punches, drawing an instant
crowd of rubbernecking onlookers.
Ren Shiroki and J. Guevara—the brawl they were currently staging was precisely
that kind of street fight.
Extravagant and oversized as the stage had become, it strictly adhered to street
rules: no commentary, no opening bell, and certainly no referees.
"..."
"..."
Ren brushed off the seat of his trousers, muttering a low complaint, "Mr.
Guevara, that kick really hurt."
Guevara arched those thick eyebrows of his, a faint, razor-sharp glint shining
in his eyes.
"Since that's the case, if I don't let you return the favor, you're gonna toss
and turn all night, unable to sleep a wink, aren't you?"
The moment the words left his mouth, both men shifted simultaneously.
Their footwork slid in subtle, synchronized arcs, the soles of their feet
scraping faint patterns into the dirt as they adjusted their core weight,
constantly testing and probing each other's optimal striking range.
Curiously, however, both fighters kept their arms pinned loosely to their sides,
showing zero inclination to ball their hands into fists.
The surrounding spectators murmured in confusion. "Are those two seriously not
going to drop into a fighting stance...?"
Watching from the front row, Oliva let out a helpless sigh.
"Such stubbornness from both of them. It's almost like a pair of western cowboys
facing off in a duel."
He bit his lower lip into a fond smile, offering an explanation to those around
him. "Cowboy duels—that's a staple in movies I enjoy watching."
"Two opposing cowboys, standing at an agreed-upon time and place, drawing and
firing their revolvers at each other, aiming to put a bullet in their opponent
first."
"However, victory doesn't always belong to the man who draws first."
"If the challenger draws first and drops his opponent, it's generally frowned
upon as unchivalrous. Conversely, if the man who fires in retaliation takes the
win, it's regarded as a mark of true honor."
Oliva raised an eyebrow, shifting his gaze back to the two men refusing to use
their hands. "Since Guevara kicked little Ren first, from Ren's perspective,
he's obligated to return that kick in kind."
"It's a form of stubborn obsession you'd never see on a formal ring stage, but
it fits the unwritten code of the streets."
"As for the other man—J. Guevara..."
Oliva's obsidian eyes rolled as he continued his breakdown for the audience.
"Guevara's grandfather was a grandmaster of the Mugen-ryu Ninjutsu style, and he
personally forged Guevara's body from childhood."
"The training regimens were brutally extreme. For instance, hand conditioning
would start with doing handstands on five fingers, gradually scaling down until
he could support his entire body weight using just his thumbs."
"Because of that, his finger strength alone is monstrous, and the punches he
throws carry incredible concussive force."
Oliva offered a soft chuckle. "Choosing to drop his arms and voluntarily
surrender that natural advantage... is that an expression of absolute, arrogant
self-belief in his overall combat capacity?"
"..."
Not far away, Guevara overheard Oliva's commentary.
"Knowing me inside and out like that—do you moonlight as a stalker, Mr.
Unchained?"
He kept his eyes locked on Ren, calmly emphasizing, "This young man's striking
has been refined to the level of a genuine 'secret art.' Just looking at his
posture, you can tell he's capable of devastating blows."
"Even so, he remains stubbornly fixated on kicking me back. Looks like he's
equally confident in the lethality of his legs."
"..."
As the two men bantered back and forth, Ren broke into a self-deprecating
chuckle and shook his head.
"Can we call it even yet? If we keep going back and forth like this, it'll never
end. Are we just gonna take turns playing the victim?"
Tap, tap, tap—
Ren and Guevara stepped forward in unison until the distance between them shrank
to less than a single pace.
"Shall we?"
"Yeah, of course—"
The next second—Whish!
Almost simultaneously, both men erupted into action.
Ren planted his right foot hard into the earth, twisting his hips and pivoting
on his heel as he chambered his left leg, whipping the blade of his shin outward
in a lightning-fast lash.
[RYU: JODAN SOKUTO GERI (HIGH SIDE KICK)]!
The blazing high front-kick sliced through the air like a heavy meat-cleaver,
moving with such vicious velocity it tore a sharp rip into the wind.
Swish—!
On the flip side, Guevara dipped his upper body backward at an extreme,
near-impossible angle, using his left calf as a pivot while his torso hovered
parallel to the dirt, showcasing mind-boggling flexibility.
Whish-la—!
Twisting his hips off the ground, Guevara used his upper body as a
counter-balancing weight, sweeping his right leg upward in a low-line spinning
crescent that carved a wide circle through the empty air.
Whoosh!
Every single line defining Guevara's frame—from the muscular gorges running
across his torso to the tight ripples in his work trousers—seemed to morph into
taut, whip-like arcs.
As his leg swept through, those physical arcs pulled taut like giant bowstrings
wound to their absolute breaking point!
Whack!
Guevara ducked neatly under Ren's high side-kick, immediately catching Ren's
left shin with his sweeping heel, driving the leg violently downward toward the
dirt.
BOOM!
Ren was forced to stomp his foot down to absorb the kinetic recoil, smashing a
shallow crater into the earth as a ripple of dust exploded outward in all
directions.
"Tch—!"
Stung by the concussive pressure, Ren violently twisted his torso to shed the
lock, immediately springing both feet off the ground into a full 360-degree
aerial spin, hammering both heels down toward Guevara in a crashing axe-descent.
[RASHID: CRESENT KICK]!
Bang!
Guevara hopped backward, dodging by a hair's breadth as the soles of Ren's boots
grazed the bridge of his nose, missing his skull by mere millimeters.
—?!
"Ha!"
Guevara instantly retaliated with a rapid front-thrust kick, which Ren neatly
intercepted by snapping his knee upward into a textbook Muay Thai defensive
guard.
Thud!
In the blink of an eye, the two traded a flurry of lightning-fast blows, their
sheer lethality making the spectators hold their breath in unison.
To operate at this level—
While mutually sealing away each other's "fists," how were they still managing
to fight with this level of ferocious intensity?!
"..."
Yet, for both Ren and Guevara, the consensus was clear: this level was nowhere
near enough!
The man standing right in front of them could never be put down by mere "kicks."
No matter how vicious or savage the strikes, neither of them was going down from
this!
And even if they couldn't knock each other out, that wasn't the point.
The entire exercise was essentially a childish, stubborn game of chicken.
Whoever was forced to throw a punch first—whoever had to resort to their
complete, unsealed technical arsenal—would implicitly be admitting that they
were the more impatient, less disciplined party!
Crush-la—!
Guevara whipped his hip around, driving a mid-level roundhouse kick that carried
the devastating force of a coastal gale.
In response, he was met with a whirlwind born of desert storms!
Ren elevated slightly off the ground, tucking his right knee into his ribs
before unleashing a high-speed spinning roundhouse that whipped up a localized
vortex of air.
[RASHID: ARABIAN WHIRLWIND]!
Whack-la!
The kick clipped Guevara's ribs, drawing a wince of pain, but he countered
instantly without missing a beat.
Whoosh!
He snapped his right knee upward in a vicious vertical thrust, driving it
straight for Ren's chin.
Though Ren managed to throw his head back to shed the kinetic energy, the sheer
concussive shock of the knee strike still flipped him backward in mid-air,
sending him sprawling.
Whish—!
That's it! Guevara thought.
All he needed to do was trigger Ren's deeply ingrained martial arts instincts,
forcing him into an involuntary defensive or counter-attacking reflex.
Keeping your hands locked away from a fight was a massive violation of
fundamental combat science; if you let your focus slip for even a microsecond,
falling back on your fists was second nature!
—?!
Thud—
Ren crashed backward onto the dirt.
Guevara reacted with explosive speed, leaping into the air with a heavy thud as
he aimed his right heel directly at Ren's throat, preparing to stomp down.
Swish-la!
The angle of the downward stomp was too tight to dodge sideways, but throwing up
a pair of hands would have blocked it instantly!
That was what Guevara expected. The next instant—
Ren's eyes flew wide open, the whites shot through with a dense network of
crimson veins that stretched like taut chains across his pupils.
Every trace of subconscious hesitation purged. Absolute synchronization
achieved—[ENGINE] disengaged!
Arching his spine like a coiled steel spring, Ren leveraged his core strength to
bounce his entire torso back off the ground while firing his right leg straight
upward like a piston.
[JAMIE: REVERSE BOW KICK]!
Whack-thwack!
The rising right kick connected, immediately followed by a snapping left
front-thrust. The double-impact caught Guevara dead-center, launching him
backward as twin trails of white vapor plumed off his heels.
Crash-shatter—!
Guevara skidded back several paces, nearly losing his footing entirely. Though
he managed to salvage his balance, his posture had fundamentally shifted.
To keep from falling over, his arms were no longer pinned to his sides; instead,
they had snapped out in front and behind him to stabilize his center of gravity.
Seeing the shift, the crowd leaned in.
"Guevara's posture changed!"
"Did he use his hands?"
"Idiot, he's just balancing! That doesn't count!"
"Does that really not count?"
"..."
Ren planted his feet firmly into the earth, shifting his weight smoothly to the
rhythm of his breathing while keeping his arms pinned dead against his sides
once more.
He looked at Guevara's defensive adjustment, flashed a wide grin, and laughed,
"Nice. That's perfect!"
"When it all comes down to it, avoiding a fall isn't some exclusive martial arts
secret—even toddlers who've just learned how to walk figure that out."
As Ren spoke, he did something entirely unexpected.
He slipped both hands completely behind his back, voluntarily discarding not
just the "technical option" of balancing with his arms, but forfeiting the very
concept of physical balance itself!
"Come on..."
Ren's bouncing footwork grew heavier, practically hammering into the dirt until
he summoned the phantom image of a fierce tiger, concentrating his energy into
an even purer, unadulterated display of Muay Thai kicking technique.
☆☆☆
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