Chapter 470: Though the Wind Rises!
In order to precisely track J. Guevara's coordinates, parts of the global GPS
network experienced sudden, localized drift errors.
At the exact same time.
Tokyo, outside Baki's house.
A tall, cigar-chomping American military officer stood staring down at his
smartphone navigation app. He scratched his head in bewilderment as he looked at
the wildly erroneous pin floating on the screen.
"Baki's house should be... right around here, right? Is the system bugging out?"
He muttered to himself, only to bump straight into Baki as the boy was walking
home.
"Oh—"
Baki caught sight of the visitor and looked genuinely surprised.
The tall American officer was none other than Commander Strydum—the man
responsible for maintaining "friendly diplomatic relations" with Yujiro Hanma,
who also happened to be an old acquaintance and occasional sparring buddy of
Baki's.
"Commander Strydum?"
"..."
Strydum had come all this way specifically to share a piece of news with Baki.
Deep in the heart of an African savanna, an oversized African elephant had
recently been spotted—one whose dimensions far exceeded any known biological
parameters, as if it had clawed its way straight out of a prehistoric epoch!
According to records, its average daily food intake reached a staggering 21.2
tons.
Driven by a relentless urge to forage, the colossal beast had gone on a
cross-country rampage, destroying 977 animals and leaving a confirmed death toll
of 41 human lives in its wake.
Even when local military divisions deployed armored tanks against it, the
monster had flipped them over like toys!
Ultimately, however, that living calamity had crossed paths with [The Strongest
Creature on Earth] Yujiro Hanma, and had been beaten to death barehanded,
battered into submission with nothing more than raw flesh and bone.
"—That's the gist of it."
Strydum exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke. "Do you know what this means?"
Baki smiled faintly, his lips curving into a dry line. "He's accepted it, hasn't
he...?"
"YES."
Strydum's expression turned dead serious. "Yujiro has officially recognized you
as his challenger. How do you intend to respond?"
"..."
Baki thought about it for a moment, then abruptly let out a loud yawn, rubbing a
stray tear from the corner of his eye as he adopted a carefree, breezy
expression.
"Commander, this is strictly a family dispute between a father and son—the sort
of common domestic argument that happens in every household. As an American, you
really shouldn't stick your nose into our family business."
Hearing that, Strydum actually looked mildly annoyed.
"Baki, my friend, I got dragged all over town by a scrambled GPS just to find
you today, which means I am officially sticking my nose in."
"You think your thing with Yujiro is just a normal family squabble? Then you're
missing the big picture."
"That's a crisis on the scale of a global satellite network going offline, or a
full-blown geopolitical border dispute!"
With that, Strydum turned on his heel and stomped away.
Realizing the man was genuinely a bit miffed, Baki couldn't help a soft chuckle.
He raised his voice to call after him:
"Anyway, I'm planning to put myself through some independent training soon
anyway—gotta track down a few decent sparring partners."
"At a bare minimum, I need something that'll match the level of... oh, say,
knocking out the global satellite network?"
"..."
Strydum wasn't actually mad at Baki, but his pride required him to maintain a
dignified exit, so he simply threw up a hand without looking back to signal that
he had heard him loud and clear.
Still... why had the GPS gone haywire?
Could Yujiro be in the middle of beating up the President...?
The Inside.
The Conflict Zone.
Right before the eyes of the gathered spectators, a scene rivaling a satellite
explosion unfolded—
Thump-thump-thump-thump!
Ren threw punches from both sides, unloading rapid, bruising blows that rained
down relentlessly upon Guevara.
If punches could be likened to falling raindrops, the onslaught Guevara was
experiencing felt like a torrential downpour!
"Hah—!"
Ren chained into a heavy volume of strikes.
Face, nose, chest, stomach, arms...
Every single inch of Guevara's frame was targeted and struck, driving him down
into the dirt where Ren capitalized with a brutal soccer-kick smash that slammed
him face-first into the soil.
BOOM——!
Guevara crashed into the earth, his spine carving a deep crater into the dirt as
the perimeter dust outlined the shape of his collapsed body.
"Hah!"
Ren didn't break momentum, raising his heavy boot and bringing it down in a
crushing stomp.
[ZANGIEF: ENERGY STOMP]!
CRASH!
His heel hammered squarely into Guevara's face, spraying blood like a ruptured
water pocket and staining Ren's trousers and shins a deep, dripping red.
Having expended a colossal amount of energy on that final stomp, Ren was visibly
winded, desperately needing to draw a deep breath.
He stumbled backward, putting a safe buffer of distance between them.
Meanwhile, Guevara lay flat on his face, drenched in blood, his eyelids
fluttering half-mast while his unfocused pupils stared blankly up at the sky.
Yet, his song had not stopped.
"Iiyer——yahha——time to set sail..."
With a loud crack, he wrenched his body free from the crater he had carved into
the earth, rolling over onto his stomach as his fingers clawed frantically into
the sand and gravel.
Hiss——!
Wisps of hot white steam vented from Guevara's nose and mouth.
Propping his palms against the earth, he slowly began to push his frame upright.
Seeing that sight, the surrounding spectators erupted into a roaring wave of
cheers.
"Oh-oh—he wants to stand up!!"
"Guevara's trying to get back up—!"
"Can he actually make it?!"
"Ren Shiroki is swaying on his feet too. Is he about to drop?!"
"..."
Strangely enough, the chaotic din of the crowd gradually faded into the rhythmic
crashing of ocean waves, rolling right into Guevara's ears and bringing a
profound, unshakable calm to his mind.
Guevara lifted his head. Through the blur, he saw Ren barely managing to
maintain a side-facing stance, though his head hung heavy, his chest heaving as
hot air and fresh blood dripped onto the dirt.
Taking the full brunt of Guevara's earlier barrages had exacted an astronomical
physical toll on Ren as well.
Of course... after all, those were 'my' punches...
Guevara propped himself up on his hands, looking across at Ren.
Can he still fight?
Ah-ah... looking at his posture, he definitely still wants to fight...
But what on earth is driving him? What is he fighting for?
——What about me?
Guevara suddenly caught himself wondering.
He had told Oliva earlier: If you need to rely on an external person or a
specific cause to motivate you to fight—that sounds more like a weakness to me.
Yet, watching the battered, trembling, yet stubbornly unyielding Ren standing
across from him, Guevara's perspective underwent a subtle, profound shift—or
rather, he finally woke up to the core truth.
What am I fighting for? I am fighting for—
The impoverished people.
Skinny, starving mothers; wailing, malnourished infants; helpless, abandoned
elders; exhausted, broken men; sick and dying patients in tattered rags...
It was precisely because he had witnessed all of that, that the young pirate
captain J. Guevara had sworn an oath to win independence for his home island!
For their sake, he had knelt upon the earth with folded hands, praying for the
weak;
For their sake, he had rallied the people of his island, fighting tooth and nail
for freedom!
Even when battered and bleeding, even when drowning in agony, he had dared to
challenge massive cruise liners thousands of times the size of his tiny pirate
vessel!
Just like a tiny island daring to challenge the colossal leviathan of the United
States.
To protect the weak by challenging the behemoths!
For the sake of the impoverished people—
That was what J. Guevara fought for!!
As long as that reason remained alive within his chest, Guevara could stand back
up a thousand times over!
Fueled by that realization, Guevara pushed himself fully upright, placing one
hand casually on his hip.
The crowd's cheers hit a deafening crescendo.
"He's up!"
"Guevara's back on his feet!"
"He really is gonna keep going!!"
"..."
Guevara opened his eyes wide, locking his gaze straight ahead onto the
recovering Ren.
He couldn't help wondering: What was Ren Shiroki fighting for?
However, Guevara didn't bother voicing the question aloud.
Some things didn't need to be asked, because the answer was written plainly in
the fire of combat; if you kept fighting, it would reveal itself crystal clear!
"..."
Guevara's hair whipped around in the intensifying wind.
"Today is a good day to die."
He repeated his signature line of intimidation, though this time, he added a
quiet explanation of his own volition: "That phrase originally circulated among
American soldiers."
"Veterans returning from the jaws of a bloody, unforgiving battlefield always
loved keeping those words on their lips."
"Yet, the true meaning behind the phrase is a complete and total lie."
Guevara stated softly, "It isn't a phrase uttered because you wish to die. It is
a phrase spoken to remind yourself that you must live."
"To survive the carnage of war, to fight with absolute courage, and to live to
return home to your homeland——"
"..."
"..."
Ren understood instantly, taking a smooth, deep breath to reset his internal
rhythm.
He settled back into his side-facing stance, finally grasping the true soul
behind Guevara's words.
On a good day to die—there is no need to die.
No matter when—there is only ever one thing to do, and that is to live in the
present!
"Nice. That's perfect!"
A brilliant, dazzling light ignited deep within Ren's eyes. As his body bounced
rhythmically, he left two distinct trails of glowing afterimages suspended in
the air.
The kinetic pressure radiating from his frame warped the surrounding spatial
geometry.
Punches, kicks, elbows, knees, tackles, grappling, leaps—
A hundred distinct martial techniques obeying a single unified will, translating
into the supreme freedom of absolute spontaneity—[Satsui Choice]!
The spectators swallowed hard, but before they could even draw breath to gasp, a
second wave of warped atmospheric pressure rolled over them.
?!
Turning their heads, they realized that a violent gale was already howling
around Guevara, twisting his silhouette into a distorted blur and knotting the
very air around him into a tight, pressurized spiral!
"The wind... is just right—"
Guevara took a step forward, bringing his boot down hard against the earth.
Though the rising wind blows fierce—abandon hope of surrender!
The climax was upon them!
☆☆☆
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