The next morning, the wind had completely shifted on the newspaper racks of Tokyo's convenience stores.
The Yomiuri Shimbun, which had previously lamented the situation on its social affairs page, quietly withdrew all related coverage.
Meanwhile, Nikkan Sports ran a follow-up story on its front page, prominently headlined: "Behind the 'Beast': The Ironclad Rules of Upbringing! A Strict Father's 'Three Rules' Forge a True Champion!"
The article meticulously detailed Umehara Masao's three seemingly harsh yet profoundly insightful rules.
The "troubled youth" previously portrayed as a gaming addict had been transformed into a "disciplined genius" who balanced academics and his passion under his father's guidance.
"Wow, turns out his dad's actually a great parent!"
"Only two hours of gaming a day? That's even worse than my allowance!"
"Making him hand over all his prize money? This father knows what he's doing!"
The tide of public opinion surged quickly and receded just as swiftly.
Yesterday, the public had been lamenting the "tragedy of society." Today, they were enthusiastically discussing the "Umehara Family's educational methods."
At Sega Headquarters, in the Managing Director's office, Yamamoto respectfully placed a stack of newspapers on Takuya Nakayama's desk, his face barely concealing his excitement.
"Executive Director Nakayama, the tide has completely turned. Also—Shūkan Bunshun's editor-in-chief just called personally, requesting a private meeting with Mr. Umehara to offer their sincerest apologies in person."
"Oh? Apologies? They're quick to react, aren't they?" Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his executive chair, picked up the Nikkan Sports newspaper without glancing at Yamamoto, and smirked slightly.
Yamamoto paused, then caught on and chuckled.
Nakayama set down the newspaper and tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. "Tell them the Umehara Family wishes to be left undisturbed."
"Understood!" Yamamoto nodded knowingly and turned to leave.
In Adachi Ward, at Sato's Game Center, Sato chewed on a toothpick, humming a tune as he wiped down a King of Fighters arcade machine. A regular high school student burst in, waving a newspaper.
"Boss! Look! Daigo's in the paper! And this time, they're praising him!"
Sato snatched the newspaper. When he saw the massive headline and the familiar quote, "My son, Masao Umehara's son, can't be a blind fool who can't even read a contract," the toothpick in his mouth clattered to the floor.
"Hahahaha! I knew it! I knew Uncle Umehara was amazing!" Sato slapped his thigh excitedly, forgetting all about the shop. He grabbed his jacket and rushed out, shouting, "I have to get this newspaper to Uncle and Aunt right away!"
He sprinted to the Umehara family's door like a gust of wind and rang the doorbell with deafening force.
Mrs. Umehara answered the door, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Sato waving a newspaper.
"Auntie! Big news! The best news ever!" Sato burst into the living room and slammed the newspaper onto the table. Pointing wildly at the article, he exclaimed, "Look! All of Tokyo now knows Uncle is a great father who knows how to raise his son!"
Umehara Masao emerged from the inner room, picked up the newspaper, and silently began to read.
His expression remained unchanged, but the perpetually furrowed brows seemed to relax ever so slightly.
He carefully folded the newspaper, not discarding it, but placing it solemnly alongside Daigo's championship certificate.
"That's wonderful... truly wonderful..." Mrs. Umehara watched her husband's actions, her eyes welling up. The anxiety that had gripped her for days finally dissolved completely.
Only Daigo Umehara peeked out from his room, glanced at the scene, and silently retreated.
He seemed utterly indifferent to what the newspapers were reporting or how the outside world was reacting.
Umehara Masao glanced at his son's door, then at the newspaper, before his gaze finally settled on the calendar hanging on the wall.
The date at the end of the month was circled heavily in red ink.
He spoke in a low voice toward his son's door.
"Don't let this distract you. Your opponents at the Budokan won't show you any mercy just because you're in the news."
In the days leading up to the Budokan finals, Sato's Game Center in Adachi Ward had become Tokyo's most peculiar fighting game sanctuary.
Nagai Kenta and Shirano, two men who had once stood at the pinnacle of Tokyo's The King of Fighters scene, only to be dethroned by the same child, now appeared at the arcade almost daily.
They no longer played against each other. Instead, they stood behind Daigo Umehara, offering advice.
"That's wrong," Shirano pointed at the screen, his brow furrowed. "Mary's back-turn true fall has a long recovery time after the attack. Your pressure was too hasty. If your opponent had chosen to block in mid-air and counterattacked on landing, you would have been finished."
He was like the strictest math teacher, quantifying every action in the game into cold, hard data.
Daigo Umehara glanced at the screen, then at Shirano, saying nothing as he silently started another match.
This time, facing the same situation, his Mary didn't immediately press the attack after completing the command throw. Instead, she took a subtle step back.
This distance kept her just outside the opponent's counterattack range while maintaining the threat of an immediate follow-up.
Shirano's mouth hung slightly open, remaining that way for a long moment.
"Hey, hey! I just explained the theory—how did you pull it off on your first try?" he couldn't help but complain. "I got my ass kicked for two whole days trying to master that retreat!"
Nagai Kenta leaned against another arcade machine nearby, arms crossed, smiling silently.
Unlike Shirano, who was obsessed with frame data and combos, Nagai taught something more intangible.
"Daigo, look," Nagai pointed at the character Shirano was demonstrating on the screen. "Shirano's habit is to pressure opponents on wakeup with jumping heavy attacks. But before each jump, he subconsciously takes two extra steps back to give himself room to run up."
"Remember this subtle movement. In a match, it's his signal to jump. At that moment, don't bother guessing whether he'll attack high or low. Just unleash a Rising Dragon Fist the instant he leaves the ground."
Shirano's face turned green beside them.
"Hey! Nagai-senpai! Are you really selling out your teammate like this? This is my signature move!"
"We're all part of the Tokyo Team now," Nagai Kenta said, patting Shirano's shoulder with a calm expression. "In the Budokan, our only enemy is everyone outside Tokyo. Hand over all your little tricks."
Game center owner Sato had been completely relegated to logistics manager.
One moment he was serving chilled barley tea, the next he was bringing out freshly cooked takoyaki, his wrinkled face beaming brighter than anyone else's.
"Come on, come on! Special supplies for the Tokyo Team!" He handed over the plate, lowering his voice conspiratorially to Daigo. "Daigo, let me tell you, in the national tournament, momentum is everything! Start with Chang Koehan, spin that iron ball, and make them all dizzy!"
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