CHAPTER 1: REN SHIROKI
Tokyo. The border of Bunkyo and Toshima Ward.
On a plot of land next to a dilapidated, condemned building stood two makeshift corrugated iron shacks.
"Onii-chan, I'm heading to school! I have the night off from my part-time job today, so I'll be back early. Don't go wandering off, okay?"
Ren Shiroki's younger sister, a high school sophomore, gave him a stern, lingering look before turning to leave.
Ren's head felt like it was being split open by a rusted saw. He waved a hand instinctively. "Yeah, get going. Get to class... Wait, why would I wander off?"
"...Actually, knowing me, I probably would."
As he watched his sister's receding back, Ren's eyes snapped open. Memories of a past life flooded into his brain like a tidal wave, making everything feel both familiar and terrifyingly alien.
He had been jumped last night. Someone had caught him from behind with a lead pipe.
He'd been rushed to the hospital, gotten a quick bandage, and then—terrified of the mounting medical bills—had stumbled all the way back home and collapsed onto his bed in a dead faint.
"Ugh..."
The pain was excruciating.
Ren stepped outside, turned on the outdoor tap, and splashed cold water onto his face. He looked up at his reflection in the cracked mirror hanging by the sink.
A thick layer of gauze was wrapped around his head, the bloodstains already dried into a dark, crusty crimson. He gingerly touched the wound.
"Gah!"
It wasn't just his scalp. It felt like his very brain was aching.
Then, the memories clicked into place.
Once, there was a kind-hearted old man. He had taken in the homeless Ren and his sister, Arisa, whose parents had perished in a massive earthquake. The three of them had pieced together a makeshift family.
On his deathbed, the old man had left the siblings his only inheritance: a small plot of ancestral land and the crumbling martial arts dojo that stood upon it.
Ren had planned to keep them afloat by teaching karate to local kids. But then, after a training session, the headaches started. A trip to the hospital confirmed a grim diagnosis:
Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE). Commonly known as "Punch-Drunk Syndrome."
It was the curse of professional boxers—the result of repeated sub-concussive blows to the brain. It led to microscopic hemorrhages, brain atrophy, and the degeneration of nerve fibers. In short: permanent brain damage.
The early stages involved slowed movements and slurred speech. The middle stages brought on Parkinsonian tremors. The final stages? Dementia, epilepsy, and a total breakdown of personality.
There was no cure. Only "management."
The doctor had told him: "Decades ago, a rising star named Joe Yabuki was set to conquer the world stage. He collapsed after his final match. This disease was one of the reasons why."
Since the diagnosis, Ren's health had plummeted. He couldn't run the dojo anymore, and the once-quiet hall had fallen into ruin.
Over the last two years, his symptoms had progressed to the intermediate stage. He often suffered from "absent spells," where he would lose consciousness and wander the streets aimlessly.
To pay for his treatment—or at least to slow the inevitable—Arisa had scavenged for money everywhere. After exhausting their meager savings, she had been preyed upon by local Yakuza and tricked into signing a predatory high-interest loan.
The medical bills were astronomical, but with the interest compounding, the debt had swollen into a cosmic figure. The Yakuza's goal was clear: they wanted the "land deed" to the dojo to settle the score.
Ren knew the truth. These thugs were bottom-feeders with zero honor. Even if they handed over the land, the Yakuza would never let them go. The moment he signed those papers, they would be stripped of everything—and likely sold into "labor" to squeeze out the remaining value.
Ren had refused to sign. Their retaliation had been swift: a heavy blow to the back of the head in a dark alleyway.
Ren stared intensely at his reflection.
Amidst the throbbing pain and dizziness, the world began to warp. Everything slowed down. His own reflection started to shimmer and distort like ink dropped into water.
Am I having another episode?
But something was different. Ren's consciousness was unnervingly sharp. He could hear his heart beating, but the intervals between the thumps were stretching out.
The world was freezing in place.
Only his reflection continued to change, swirling like black smoke until it solidified into a completely different person.
It was a powerfully built man in his prime. He wore a dark red karategi top draped over one shoulder like a monk's robe, white martial arts trousers, and a weathered red headband.
His brow was thick, his eyes fierce like a tiger's, and a light stubble dusted his jaw. He didn't look unkempt; he looked like a masterpiece of calligraphy—bold, powerful, and timeless.
"...Ryu?"
The name surfaced from the depths of Ren's memory.
Standing before him was a martial artist who shouldn't exist in this world—the legendary "Seeker of the Ultimate Truth" from Street Fighter.
Ryu. A man who lived for the fight, mastering the "Ansatsuken" style while tempering it into something pure. His fundamentals were flawless; his style, the gold standard of combat.
In the mirror, Ryu's form flickered like an ink painting.
Behind him, more shadows loomed: a massive pro-wrestler, a sumo wrestler with face paint, a drunken master with a gourd at his hip, and a soldier with a gravity-defying flat-top haircut...
Only a second had passed in the real world, but Ren's mind was firing at a million cycles per second. His thoughts were exploding with clarity.
"Time has slowed... but I can still think."
"That's Ryu. The man who isn't from this world. He's... staring at me."
"What is he trying to say?"
"No. He doesn't want to talk. He wants to—"
Ren's instincts screamed.
In the mirror, Ryu stepped back into a low stance. His right fist tightened at his waist. With a sharp, rhythmic breath, his eyes locked onto Ren's.
BOOM!
Ryu lunged, throwing a straight punch aimed directly at Ren's face!
It was a strike of absolute purity. No wasted motion, just a fist wrapped in a shockwave of Ki that could shatter stone. The pressure alone made Ren's skin crawl; he could barely keep his eyes open.
The tension hit its peak. Ren's blood began to boil. His body, which hadn't been trained in five years, was forced into a violent awakening!
SHING!
Ren jerked his head to the side. He was half-a-second too slow. Ryu's knuckles grazed his temple, the sheer force of the "near miss" sending Ren spinning to the ground.
Only then did Ren's throat catch up to his brain. He let out a sharp gasp.
"AH!"
It was like waking from a nightmare. The Ryu in the mirror vanished, dissolving back into the water.
The frozen flow of time snapped back to normal the instant Ren moved.
"..."
Ren felt something warm under his nose. He wiped it. His fingers came away red.
A nosebleed.
"Everything stopped... including me. Only my mind was running at high speed. It let me process a mountain of information in a split second..."
"Did Ryu actually hit me?"
"Could I have dodged that? Can I spar with him again? What about the others?"
"Wait... I dodged?"
Ren's spirit jolted. He scrambled off the ground, his arms naturally falling into a guard. His center of gravity was perfect. He bounced on the balls of his feet, then executed a lightning-fast forward-and-back dash.
Zip—Zip!
He ran through a series of tests. The "Punch-Drunk" symptoms—the stumbling gait, the sluggishness, the tremors—were gone. Not a single trace remained.
He was... cured?
"My brain doesn't ache. My vision is crystal clear. My hands are steady. Did that lead pipe—or that punch in the mirror—actually fix me?"
"I need to get to a clinic for a checkup! No, wait... I don't have a cent. I have to wait for Arisa."
"Calm down. If I act too crazy, Arisa will think I've finally hit the terminal stage and lost my mind..."
CLANG!
A loud crash from the street shattered Ren's train of thought.
He looked toward the sound. A Yakuza sub-boss in a striped suit with slicked-back blonde hair was leading two thugs in black suits toward him.
The crash had been the boss kicking the metal gate.
"Oi! You pathetic cripple! Long time no see!"
The thug strolled onto the property, spat on the ground, and sneered at Ren. "Where's Arisa-chan? A dump like this needs a woman's scent to be even remotely livable."
"Tsk. This place looks like a junkyard. What a waste of prime real estate..."
He glanced at the bandage on Ren's head and let out a greasy smirk.
"Injured? See, I told you this neighborhood was dangerous! That's why I brought you some good news. You're finally getting a chance to move out of this hole."
"..."
Ren narrowed his eyes.
This was the "Zanshi-gumi," the local Yakuza branch backed by a massive financial conglomerate. They were the ones who had trapped Arisa.
If they were here, it meant the deadline was up. They wanted the land.
"See how much I care? I even brought the paperwork to your front door so you don't have to walk."
The boss gestured to the two men in black suits.
"These gentlemen are representatives from the Teiai Group. They handle land foreclosures and debt settlement. Teiai is a legitimate, 'lawful' financial institution. Even if you call the Keisatsu... the cops won't do a damn thing. A debt is a debt."
Ren remained silent.
He was searching for a way out, but his mind snagged on a specific name the thug had mentioned.
Suddenly, the two Teiai agents pulled out two different contracts.
The Yakuza boss's tone shifted, turning mockingly helpful as he pointed to the second document.
"Of course, Arisa-chan is so cute that I really want to help you guys out. So, I've found an 'alternative' repayment plan."
"Your family runs a dojo, right? That means you know how to scrap."
"The Zanshi-gumi accepted a contract from the Teiai Group to provide a fighter for a specific event. But we're a bit short-staffed. It would be great if you could fill in."
The boss leaned in, his eyes gleaming with malice.
"You're going to step into a ring and test the waters against a certain fighter in the 'Kengan Matches.' Win, and a huge chunk of your debt is wiped. Lose, and well... maybe I'll give you a few more days before I kick you into the street. What do you say?"
"..."
Ren couldn't answer immediately. Those two names—names that should never have existed together—were screaming in his mind.
The Teiai Group? The Kengan Matches?
Ren's consciousness began to spiral into overdrive once again.