"That was boring..." Sett muttered, shaking his head as he walked away from the underground arena. "Not a single fighter here who didn't need a weapon. Can this audience really get their fill just from watching blood spill?"
He emerged onto the street and froze.
Neon signs. Every single one was in Japanese.
"Wait... this is still Earth, right? This is Japan?"
"Haah... haah... Mr. Sett!"
A out-of-breath voice called out behind him. Sett turned to find a sharp-featured man in sunglasses, still panting from running.
"Mr. Tokugawa requests your presence. Please come with me."
Sett didn't hesitate for even a moment. "...I'll go."
He had no idea why he could suddenly speak and understand Japanese, but one thing was clear: when you're new in a place, it's better to meet the boss sooner rather than later. That way, he could establish his dominance properly. More benefits would follow. Experience could be gained by beating up thugs, but gold coins? Those only came from money bets or fighting truly strong opponents.
With that settled, Sett shrugged. "Lead the way."
"R-right! This way!"
---
The elevator descended ten floors underground. When the doors opened, Sett found himself facing a long corridor. No lavish decorations—just tatami mats lining the floor, a common sight in traditional Japanese homes.
Sett barely registered it. He stepped forward, his bare feet pressing into the woven rush mats, feeling the cool texture against his soles. Hands in his pockets, he strolled down the hallway like he was out for a walk.
At the end waited a thoroughly Japanese-style room. Sett took two steps forward and slid open the closed door.
Exactly as expected—tatami mats, two floor cushions (zabuton), and a low table positioned in the center. It couldn't have been more Japanese if it tried.
An old man was already seated on one of the cushions, calmly sipping tea. The more Sett looked at him, the more familiar he became...
After a long moment, the name slipped out involuntarily.
"...Tokugawa?"
During his years in the underground fighting scene, Sett had developed simple hobbies that didn't cost money—manga, anime, light novels. And the old man before him, despite his frail appearance, was instantly recognizable.
The organizer of countless battles in Baki the Grappler. The indispensable mediator who arranged fight after fight. An utter battle junkie. Fans jokingly called him the Bloodthirsty Old Man.
But... this guy was actually real? Had he somehow reincarnated into the world of Baki? Was this some kind of kung-fu tunnel situation?
Tokugawa, hearing his name spoken by this stranger, raised an eyebrow. He hadn't even introduced himself yet. How did a fighter from such a small-time operation know who he was?
Then another possibility occurred to him. This boy with the unusual hair color and overwhelming power—maybe he was another child of Yujiro after all. Perhaps he'd already met Jack or Baki before coming here. In that case, knowing his name wouldn't be strange at all.
For a long moment, the two men simply stared at each other, something unspoken passing between them.
Tokugawa, for his part, felt genuine excitement. As a true battle fanatic, more of Yujiro's descendants was always better. Jack and Baki had already brought him countless surprises. He wondered what this Sett was capable of...
Meanwhile, Sett's mind was racing.
What was the world of Baki? A place overflowing with monstrous fighters! Hanma Baki, Jack Hanma, Hanayama Kaoru, the five Death Row convicts who hadn't even escaped prison yet, the Shinshinkai Karate Association, Retsu Kaioh, Oliva, the three-strong, the Raging Sea King...
And that was just scratching the surface. There was Gouken—the ultimate crystallization of Chinese martial arts. Miyamoto Musashi—the Sword Saint of the Warring States period. Pickle—a primitive man from ages past. The Sumo wrestlers from the Fat Boy Road...
And at the very top, publicly acknowledged as the strongest in the world—Yujiro Hanma himself!
The list of names flashed through Sett's mind, and he couldn't suppress the tremor that ran through his body. His blood sang at the thought of fighting these monsters.
Not just fighting them—beating them! The system's feedback would be immense! Sett had always been a fight freak at heart, but in his old reality, there was no one truly strong to test himself against. In this world? They'd come knocking on his door whether he looked for them or not!
"Ahem."
Sett forcibly reined in his thoughts. The two of them had been staring at each other for minutes now, and he needed to break the silence.
"Old man Tokugawa, I know what you're thinking. But sorry to disappoint—I'm not related to that guy."
He saw the brief flicker of disappointment cross Tokugawa's face before the old man masked it. Sett continued, "I know you want to see me fight Yujiro's kids. But right now? This body can't support that idea."
He gestured at himself—his too-thin frame, the muscle atrophy. "My skills aren't unlocked yet. My body's still weak. If I showed up at Baki's door like this, he probably wouldn't even want to fight me."
Tokugawa studied him for a long moment. The initial bright-chrysanthemum smile had faded from his face, replaced by something more calculating.
He was still unsatisfied after watching Baki fight Jack... He'd been searching all over Japan, hell, all over the world, for anyone with even a trace of the Hanma blood in them. He craved another brotherly battle...
But even knowing Sett wasn't Yujiro's descendant, his interest hadn't faded. After Sett left the arena, Tokugawa had gone down himself to inspect the fighting pit.
The originally firm-packed sand had completely shattered—a deep ravine carved into its center by Sett's final blow. The displaced sand had piled up on both sides of the trench, like a child had been kicking and playing. But Sett's fist hadn't even touched the sand. The explosion had happened in midair, behind his target.
Even without knowing the source of Sett's power, that single move had awakened Tokugawa's curiosity. Kung Fu of this kind... he'd never heard of anything like it. The closest comparison might be certain Chinese martial arts techniques that struck from a distance, but this was clearly different. Sett's punch hadn't just carved a trench—it had fractured Razor's skull.
And this was Sett in his weakened state. Tokugawa had no doubt that at his peak, that punch would have instantly killed a strongman like Field from the steel-fisted fighting world. His entire head would have exploded.
That vicious fighting style... it stirred something deep in Tokugawa's soul.
Sett finally sat down across from him—not kneeling properly, but cross-legged, casual and unapologetic. He pointed at his thin frame.
"You saw the state I'm in. I don't even have a place to stay. I need money, food, and somewhere to train."
The words had been forming in his head since the moment he'd recognized Tokugawa. He'd squeeze this old man for everything. Even if Tokugawa deducted hundreds of thousands or millions from his cut later, Sett would still have enough to live and train.
Go earn money himself? Absolutely not. And Tokugawa couldn't refuse under these conditions anyway. The old man only cared about watching strong fighters battle. As long as he got a good show, he'd gladly burn through his family fortune!
Tokugawa blinked, then burst out laughing.
In all his years dealing with fighters, he'd never had one sit across from him and lay out their living expenses like a business proposal. Most martial artists had their pride. Money was like dung to them—beneath notice. But this boy? He'd taken the most pragmatic posture imaginable and made his demands without an ounce of shame.
How delightfully refreshing.
"Ha! You're an interesting one, boy."