Hey, what's up? How's everyone doing? Honestly, I'm pretty nervous doing this. This idea came to me during a sleepless night, and I'm not really sure if it's gonna work. Also, English isn't my first language, so I obviously got a lot of help writing it. I know it's probably not perfect, so if you've got any advice about the story or the writing, don't hesitate to drop a comment.
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Nogi Hideki was a self-made man.
He had directed and succeeded with a small company that now generated millions of dollars in annual profits, with a projected expansion rate of twenty-three percent.
How had he done it?
That was the recurring question — the one that arose the moment people realized who they were talking to.
The answer, in general, was a short fable where factors such as effort, planning, and luck intertwined to create the perfect vehicle that carried an ordinary man to the top.
He usually ended it with a brief reflection about the importance of responsibility and willpower — and how to use them to achieve success.
Of course, it was nothing more than a mix of nonsense and carefully crafted motivational charlatanism prepared by his public relations team, all meant to build the image of a humble yet talented man.
Although, like every good lie, it contained a grain of truth.
The real reason for his financial success, as cliché as it might sound, was the same one shared by many of Japan's largest corporations.
And that was...
"ALRIGHT! EVERYONE, GET READY! THE FIGHT IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!"
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A young blonde woman, who barely looked to be in her early twenties, walked through a massive crowd of people who made no effort to hide how thrilled they were to see the next two men—both of whom were about to hurt each other until only one remained standing.
Why would Akiyama Kaede, an excellent and highly competent secretary, be in a place like this?
Well, for the same reason those men who were about to tear each other apart had dared to step into the ring in the first place.
The pay was really good.
The fighters —or those who fought in their names— battled until one of them was defeated… or dead.
For the regular spectators, that had long since stopped being a surprise.
"Miss Akiyama, tell me, what were you able to find about him?"
Of course, she knew exactly who he was referring to. After all, that was the main reason they were there.
"Takuya Yamashiro. Twenty-two years old. Height: one meter seventy-eight. Weight: eighty kilograms. Representative of Tsubaki Motors Group. He lives with his family—two uncles and a sister. His father died when he was twelve. He dropped out of school at sixteen and has no recorded experience in any sport or martial art prior to his debut"
Sponsors, send your representatives to the ring now!
The referee's voice thundered so loudly that it echoed off the narrow warehouse walls.
From the left came a massive man who seemed to stand more than eight heads tall, and thanks to his bulging musculature, looked even wider than he was tall.
His pale complexion and straight blond hair betrayed his origins from the other side of the world.
He called himself Sergei, the Giant.
The company Shinoda Engineering Co. Had recently acquired a few foreign investors who, as a show of goodwill, had sent this fighter as a way to secure their rights over the next operation they intended to launch within the Land of the Rising Sun.
From the right, an obese man sporting one of the fakest toupees ever seen—supposedly the owner of Tsubaki Motors Group—seemed to be shouting something into the ear of a man who, at first glance, looked completely out of place among everyone else there.
His torso revealed a rather enviable physique, though not impressive enough to suggest he actually lived off it.
His messy hair and unkempt beard made it clear how little he cared about his personal appearance.
And, God, the way his hands were bandaged was a disaster.
But perhaps the most striking thing about him was his vacant expression.
It was an expression Nogi and Akiyama recognized instantly—the kind you'd find in any office, the kind that silently screamed:
"I hate my job."
The referee called out one last time, and the bald man finally let the young fighter approach the ring.
The towering mountain of muscle that was the other fighter completely overshadowed the boy, radiating an overwhelming sense of disadvantage that only grew stronger as they came face to face.
"Miss Akiyama, what is he saying?"
"My Russian isn't exactly reliable, sir, but I think he's calling him a 'herring,' sir."
"Oh."
Akiyama watched the other boy closely. He was the same as before: motionless, in a stance that seemed to indicate he would rather be anywhere else, while the shouts of the crowd and the man in front of him struck him in the face.
He surely didn't understand the nonsense the other one was spouting… or maybe, he simply didn't care.
"NOW!"
The referee gave the signal, and the massive figure of Sergei moved first.
Watching a man of over a hundred kilos of pure muscle launch himself toward someone two heads shorter could only mean one thing—this was going to end badly for one of them.
—SLASSHH!
Abruptly, a sound—one that Akiyama swore was a gunshot—echoed through the entire hall, drowning out every other noise in the place.
A blink later, something shot through the air, crossing the boundaries of the ring and traveling several meters before stopping.
The dull crash of Sergei's enormous body hitting the ground was the only thing that followed.
The fight was over.
It was quite the feat to send flying an opponent several times larger—made even more impressive by how utterly one-sided it was, enough to silence the excitement of the crowd completely.
Yet the boy who had just achieved such a thing looked as disheartened as he had when he first entered the ring.
Ignoring the unconscious Sergei, he turned toward his sponsor.
Though, strangely enough, Akiyama could've sworn she saw his face twist in disgust when he noticed the bloodstains that had appeared at some point on his bandages—obviously the result of whatever he had done to cause the massive bruise that now covered almost the entirety of the other man's face.
A few seconds later, the referee declared Tsubaki Motors Group the winner, and while the fat man seemed delighted, that didn't stop him from shouting at the boy who had just earned him a multimillion-dollar contract.
Shortly after, and with professional efficiency, the staff began escorting every member of the audience out, and soon enough, everything ended as if that gathering had never taken place.
Of course, it was quite a sight to see how it took four men to carry Sergei's enormous body to the ambulance, but everything else went on with complete normality.
"Miss Akiyama, tell me—what do you think of Mr. Takuya?"
"Sir, do you mean…?"
"Yes. Tell me, what do you think happened at that moment?"
"Mr. Takuya defeated Mr. Sergei unilaterally, sir."
"Good. But tell me… how do you think he did it?"
Akiyama considered herself, humbly, a competent person—someone capable of adapting and fulfilling any demand her boss required without compromising her own professional standards.
But for the first time in her career, she had no idea what kind of answer her boss expected.
It was obvious, judging by the condition of his right-hand bandages, that it had been some kind of blunt strike.
But whatever had knocked out Mr. Sergei had happened so fast that the only real hint something had even occurred was that horrible sound Takuya had produced.
Perhaps it was some fighting style she had never seen before—or one of those unique abilities she sometimes witnessed in fighters, the ones that seemed to brush against the impossible.
Yet she couldn't say that was the case for sure. Takuya hadn't even altered his posture, so any conclusion would be pure speculation.
Like throwing a dart into the air and letting fate decide.
And she hated leaving things to chance.
Noticing his assistant's effort, Nogi stopped playing around and answered the question he himself had put on the table.
"It was a slap."
"…Excuse me?"
"I said, Miss Akiyama, what sent Mr. Sergei flying almost to the other side of the warehouse was, quite simply, a slap delivered by Mr. Takuya."
He said it with such certainty that he even mimicked it—making a delicate hand motion that looked more like brushing away an annoying mosquito than executing a technique capable of producing such an effect.
"Sir, forgive me, but that doesn't seem humanly possible."
"I know, right? But do you remember this?"
Her boss pulled a small bundle of photographs from his jacket, ones he'd ordered after becoming interested in the boy.
Several showed the seconds before and after what appeared to be previous matches, but in many others, there was nothing but a blurred space where his arms should have been.
"I've had it verified a few times. And after calculating the position of his hands before and after sending his opponents flying, that was the only possible conclusion—a simple flick of the wrist."
Nothing more.
And yet, somehow, the boy had used it to remain undefeated in each of his fights.
Physics wasn't his strong suit, which was obvious, since he had chosen to specialize in business administration and international finance, after all.
However, he understood enough to know that, for a body the size of that Russian's to be thrown like that, Takuya must have exerted, in less than a second, a force comparable to a small hydraulic piston, which completely explained that sound that had nearly left her deaf.
And if that had been caused with just one of his arms… well, the implications were, at the very least, terrifying.
She ignored the slight shiver that ran down her spine. There was no point in looking for a logical explanation for something she barely understood and that, after all, had already happened.
She preferred to focus on what was expected of her with that information.
"So, are you considering having a meeting with Mr. Takuya?"
"Well, I won't deny it, I'm genuinely curious to see what kind of man he is."
"If I may, sir, I believe you are forgetting Mr. Shigeru and the initial investment we made to bring him. Unless he declines on his own, we won't be able to recover it. Not to mention the negative image a unilateral cancellation would create for future fighters, as well as…"
"Miss Akiyama, relax, there's no need to rush. I am aware of my position. I only wanted to express the origin of my interest in Mr. Takuya, that's all. Perhaps keeping him as a possible backup… it never hurts to be cautious, especially in this kind of world."
"...Understood, sir. I'll keep him as a secondary emergency option. Should I contact him from this moment on?"
"That won't be necessary. Just stay on the sidelines and let me know if he catches the attention of someone worth worrying about."
"Understood, sir."
Akiyama didn't know. As she hurried to continue with the rest of the day's agenda, Nogi Hideki pulled a small newspaper clipping from his pocket. The headline read:
"Hiroshi Yamashiro, decorated police officer, found dead after three days of searching."