Chapter 25: Bruises, Boasts, and Big Wall-Punching Energy
(Featuring: One Very Buff Sensei, One Very Beaten Teen, and One Very Honest Berserker)
Let me tell you something real quick—getting thrown across a dojo ten times in a row?
Not as fun as it sounds.
Unless you're me, in which case it's basically Tuesday.
Shōgo and I had been sparring for the past hour, and by "sparring" I mean he was using me as a crash-test dummy while I tried not to kiss the ceiling again. He wasn't going full Berserker mode, but he was serious enough that I had to learn fast.
Good news?
I was actually getting better.
Bad news?
My everything hurt.
"Time!" I gasped, rolling onto my back and panting like a fish out of water. "Five-minute break or I fake my death."
Shōgo cracked his neck and wiped the sweat from his brow like this was just a casual warm-up.
"You're improving," he said. "Slower than me, obviously, but still."
"Gee," I wheezed, "thanks for the encouragement, Captain Confidence."
But truth be told, he wasn't wrong.
With every punch I dodged, blocked, or ate like a breakfast burrito, I could feel myself understanding Kaito's body a little better. My instincts knew what they wanted to do. The problem had always been getting this body to actually do it.
Each bruise was basically another painful lesson in coordination.
"Hey," I asked, sitting up with my arms draped over my knees, "what do you think of Daigo-sensei?"
Shōgo raised an eyebrow.
"Daigo Shinomiya? The giant with the death stare and arms like construction cranes?"
"That's the one." I grinned. "He's kind of a beast. I like him. Old-school, but he actually teaches well, you know? No ego. Just strength."
Shōgo shrugged and took a sip from his water bottle.
"He's strong. Seen him fight a few times."
I tilted my head.
"You think you could beat him?"
Without missing a beat, Shōgo said:
"Easily."
I blinked.
"Wait, seriously?"
"Yeah."
He leaned against the wall.
"I've seen how he fights. Heavy strikes, solid fundamentals, good timing. But he's predictable. I'm faster and more adaptable. I'd break his rhythm and take apart his stance."
I stared at him.
"You do realize Daigo-sensei literally punched through a concrete wall because somebody scratched his motorcycle, right?"
Shōgo nodded calmly.
"Walls don't punch back."
…
Okay.
Fair point.
"But," he added, "I don't disrespect him. He's a real martial artist. Stronger than almost everyone in this dojo."
He blew a bubble with his gum.
Pop.
"He's just already found his style. Guys like us are still changing."
I looked down at my bruised knuckles and scraped elbows.
"Yeah. Leveling up with every painful XP drop."
Shōgo actually chuckled.
"Exactly."
It hit me then that Shōgo wasn't just strong.
He was aware.
He watched styles.
Patterns.
Timing.
Habits.
He understood fighting the way some people understood chess.
The guy probably dreamed in combos.
Still, that didn't change the fact that I respected Daigo-sensei like crazy. The man was nearly two meters of focused rage and martial wisdom wrapped inside a gi.
One time, he got so angry during an argument that he picked up a motorcycle.
Not metaphorically.
He actually lifted the thing.
I saw it.
"Guess that means I've got a long way to go," I said.
Shōgo glanced at me.
"Not as far as you think."
I raised an eyebrow.
"You're catching up fast," he continued. "Maybe too fast."
"That supposed to be a compliment or a threat?"
His mouth curved slightly.
"Both."
I laughed and flopped onto the mat.
"Man, I love training days."
Even if I'd probably have to crawl home.
Again.
In martial arts, there's a special kind of fear that comes from realizing the man standing across from you could probably tear a vending machine open because it ate his money.
That was the vibe Daigo Shinomiya gave off.
Tall.
Massive.
Wild dark hair.
Thick eyebrows.
Arms that looked less like human limbs and more like construction equipment someone had covered in skin.
Ren Kisaragi—still operating out of Kaito Hoshino's teenage body, mind you—had seen plenty of frightening things.
Abyss creatures.
Cultivators.
Monsters.
People capable of flattening mountains.
But there was something uniquely intimidating about a huge karate instructor smiling at you immediately after you asked him for a fight.
After wrapping up another brutal spar with Shōgo—where I collected bruises like trading cards—I approached Daigo-sensei while still trying to catch my breath.
"Daigo-sensei," I said with a grin, wiping my forehead. "Think you could spare a round?"
His eyes immediately brightened.
"You wish to spar with me?"
"That's the idea."
A broad smile appeared.
"Good."
Something about the way he said that made my survival instincts whisper:
Perhaps reconsider.
I ignored them.
Obviously.
We moved to the center of Shinomiya Dojo.
Several students shuffled backward.
That was probably a sign.
Daigo settled into his stance.
"Remember, Kaito. Strength without control is merely violence."
I raised my hands.
"Got it."
"And confidence without skill is stupidity."
"…That one felt targeted."
"It was."
Shōgo snorted from the sidelines.
I cracked my knuckles.
"Bring it on, old man."
Big mistake.
WHAM.
Daigo was suddenly in front of me.
I barely got my guard up before something crashed into my arms.
The next thing I knew—
I was airborne.
"WHOA—!"
I hit the polished floor and slid several meters like a mop with legs.
Silence.
I stared at the ceiling.
Then slowly raised one finger.
"Okay."
Pause.
"Respect the eyebrows."
Daigo laughed.
The spar was…
one-sided.
Very one-sided.
Daigo moved like a bear that had somehow learned proper footwork.
Every punch carried ridiculous force, but there was nothing wild about him. His weight shifted exactly where it needed to. His kicks came in wide, brutal arcs, and his balance barely moved no matter what I tried.
But I wasn't backing down.
Not a chance.
I slipped.
Blocked.
Rolled.
Got thrown.
Got up.
Got thrown again.
Got up again.
After one particularly nasty slam, I rolled with the impact and immediately swept toward his lead leg.
Daigo shifted.
I followed.
He expected me low.
So I came high.
My elbow slipped past his guard.
THUMP.
His head moved slightly.
My eyes widened.
"HA!"
I jumped backward.
"Tagged you!"
Daigo rubbed his jaw.
"Excellent adjustment."
I grinned.
"Thanks."
"But…"
His fist moved.
"…not enough."
CRACK.
For approximately three seconds, I became convinced my soul had left Kaito's body and gone sightseeing.
I landed flat on my back.
Again.
The ceiling and I were becoming friends.
"You learn quickly," Daigo said as he approached.
A huge hand appeared above me.
"But you are impatient."
I accepted it.
He pulled me upright like I weighed nothing.
"You already know how to fight. What you lack is familiarity with the body you're using."
I froze slightly.
Interesting choice of words.
He obviously didn't know how literal that was.
Daigo continued.
"Give yourself time. Your mind moves faster than your muscles currently allow."
I rubbed my ribs.
"So basically I'm halfway baked?"
Daigo considered this with complete seriousness.
"No."
"Oh?"
"You are the batter."
I stared.
Shōgo stared.
Daigo nodded solemnly.
"But promising batter."
Shōgo covered his face.
"Why do you always make things weird?"
Daigo folded his arms.
"Wisdom comes in many forms."
"That wasn't wisdom."
Despite the soreness, I couldn't stop smiling.
It wasn't just the fighting.
It was learning.
Every person here gave me something different.
Shōgo forced me to adapt.
Daigo made me refine.
Haruki reminded me why fundamentals mattered.
And somehow, I was getting better every day.
As the session ended, I bowed deeply.
"Thanks for the fight, Sensei."
Daigo bowed back.
"Thank you for challenging me."
Then he pointed toward my ribs.
"Now go home."
"Yes, Sensei."
"Rest."
"Yes, Sensei."
"Ice that."
"Yes, Sensei."
"And don't challenge another gang leader today."
I froze.
Daigo narrowed his eyes.
"…Kaito."
"Bye, Sensei!"
I escaped before the interrogation began.
You'd think after getting tossed around by Daigo Shinomiya for the better part of a spar, I'd want to spend the rest of the day lying in a soft bed with a bucket of noodles and somebody massaging my back.
But nope.
This was war.
Arcade war.
So there I was—technically Kaito, actually Ren, inside a body containing far too many bruises and nowhere near enough durability—lounging in a hot bath like the king of sore muscles.
I soaked until my fingers went wrinkly and my eyes started closing.
Then I remembered.
Today was Nemesis day.
My eyes opened.
Right.
Nemesis.
Real name: Reina Tachibana.
I'd never actually met her, but she was supposedly one of the best teenage martial artists in the area.
Which automatically made her interesting.
According to Hermes—yes, that Hermes, otherwise known as Kazuki Saejima and otherwise otherwise known as Rich Guy Who Owns Too Many Gadgets—Reina and her crew liked hanging around a local arcade.
So after lunch—two bowls of curry, a meat bun, and a soda of questionable chemical composition—I met up with Haruki and Shōgo at the park.
Haruki was stretching like we were preparing for a marathon instead of walking into a building filled with claw machines.
"Are we sure this is a good idea?" he asked. "I mean… Reina doesn't exactly talk things out."
Shōgo grinned, hands behind his head.
"That's the point, Haruki. She kicks things out."
I smiled.
"Much more efficient."
Haruki stared at both of us.
"I regret becoming friends with you."
"Too late," I said.
Shōgo nodded.
"Permanent."
I gave them both a grin that I hoped looked cool and not like somebody who had gotten punched through several layers of dignity that morning.
"Look, we're not going there to destroy anybody. I challenge Nemesis. We fight. Winner wins. Nobody gets seriously hurt."
"Mild concussions?" Shōgo asked.
"Mild concussions."
Haruki sighed.
"I still don't know why I'm coming."
I clapped a hand onto his shoulder.
"Because we're friends."
"That doesn't explain anything."
"Friends challenge terrifying high-kicking queens together."
Shōgo nodded.
"Also, you need the XP."
Haruki blinked.
"The what?"
"Experience points," Shōgo said as he started walking. "How are you supposed to level up if you keep skipping boss battles?"
Haruki stared after him.
"You know life isn't actually a video game, right?"
Shōgo glanced back.
"Sounds like something a low-level character would say."
"Why am I friends with you people?"
But he followed.
We jogged toward the glowing neon lights of the arcade like three idiots preparing for a raid boss.
Inside, Reina Tachibana was absolutely murdering a Dance Dance Revolution machine.
Or maybe Nemesis was more accurate right now.
Her feet flew across the arrows so quickly that even I stopped for a second to watch.
Fast.
Precise.
Great balance.
Good rhythm.
Interesting.
Bright green eyes focused on the screen. Maroon hair stuck out beneath a dark green cap, while torn jeans and heavy boots completed the whole I might kick your teeth in but look good doing it appearance.
Okay.
Hermes hadn't exaggerated.
Nearby were three members of Predator who apparently acted as Reina's core team.
First was Tōma Igarashi, the Judo specialist. Tall and lean, with a scar beneath his chin and sunglasses indoors because apparently common sense had died sometime this morning.
He looked like the kind of guy who enjoyed throwing people.
Literally.
Next was Ryōhei Sakamoto, the boxer. Silver-blue hair, wrapped wrists, relaxed posture, and a blade of grass hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth.
I had no idea where he'd even found grass inside an arcade.
Finally came Sora Minazuki, their Capoeira fighter. Loose posture, headband, permanent smirk.
He had the kind of face that said:
I am definitely going to kick you from an angle you weren't watching.
My kind of people.
I stepped forward with Haruki and Shōgo behind me.
The three stopped their game.
Tōma lowered his controller.
His eyes narrowed.
"Can we help you?"
Interesting.
Polite threat.
I respected it.
Sora stepped forward.
"You here for Nemesis?"
"Yep."
"Then leave."
"Nope."
He sighed.
"Had to try."
He put a hand against my shoulder and tried to push me backward.
I slipped aside.
His arm passed me.
My palm landed lightly against his face.
Not hard.
Just enough.
Don't touch me.
The arcade seemed to become quieter.
Even the DDR music suddenly felt too loud.
Reina stopped moving.
The game continued flashing behind her.
She turned.
Green eyes landed on me.
Then Haruki.
Then Shōgo.
Finally back to me.
"You're Kaito Hoshino."
Technically.
I grinned.
"That's what people call me."
Her eyes narrowed.
"And you're the idiot who's been asking about Nemesis."
"Also me."
Reina stepped away from the machine.
There was something immediately different about her compared to Hermes.
Hermes enjoyed control.
Shōgo enjoyed fighting.
Reina?
She looked like she needed to prove something.
She stopped a few meters away.
"You must either be crazy…"
Her mouth curled into a confident smile.
"…or very confident."
My heartbeat sped up.
Finally.
I smiled back.
"A little of both."
Haruki leaned toward Shōgo.
"Maybe we should've brought snacks instead of fists."
Shōgo cracked his knuckles.
"We can get snacks afterward."
Because this wasn't an ordinary arcade visit anymore.
This was a boss battle.
And I?