Chapter 479: Beyond Love
W—wait a minute, did things just flip upside down?!
The eavesdropping gang members thought to themselves.
Faced with Oliva's exaggerated self-aggrandizement, Ren Shiroki—who should have
been burning with absolute rage—had casually turned the tables and started
provoking Oliva right back!
"Little Ren."
Oliva lowered his head slightly, his entire face darkening into an ominous
shadow. "Are you deliberately trying to piss me off so you can place yourself on
equal footing with me...?"
"..."
The terrifying weight of his presence made it feel as though a physical fight
was about to break out on the spot.
Who would have guessed that the moment the question dropped, Ren let out a cold
snort.
"Don't flatter yourself!"
"Drink your liquor, finish your books, enjoy your cigars and tea until you're
completely sick of them, and sit on that sofa until your ass goes numb—stop
running away from it!"
Hearing that, even the eavesdropping thugs nearly bolted from their hiding
spots, terrified of getting caught in the crossfire of Oliva's impending fury.
What on earth had that [Soul Combatant] just said to [Mr. Unchained]?!
~~~~~!?
Stop running away...??
Was there actually a living soul on this planet who could survive saying those
words to Oliva's face?!
"..."
"..."
As expected, Oliva froze dead in his tracks. Veins bulged across his thick neck
and temples, making him look so incandescently furious that he momentarily
forgot how to shape his expression into a smile.
The massive slabs of muscle hidden beneath his thin cotton shirt radiated an
intense, shimmering wave of thermal heat, instantly driving up the ambient
temperature inside the reception room until sweat began beading on everyone's
skin.
——Cold sweat!
Even Ren, who had anticipated the blow, tightened his footing against the
Persian rug, coiling his calves to spring out of the way at a millisecond's
notice.
Yet, after holding his breath for a long stretch, Oliva slowly uncurled his
posture and muttered a quiet, contemplative response: "I see... you make a fair
point."
"I was only halfway through that book; I suppose I did prep a bit too much."
Oliva let out a hearty laugh, the bulging veins receding as his face melted
right back into the warm, hospitable expression of an amiable older brother.
"Should we call this greed?"
"I spotted a few interesting titles and wanted to bring the whole library home
with me, but it just ended up being extra dead weight. You've got a sharp eye,
kid."
"..."
Watching the exchange, the peeking thugs secretly wiped the sweat from their
brows in relief.
As expected of Oliva; his age, status, and emotional maturity completely
outclassed Ren's, allowing him to field the jab with absolute, unflappable
grace!
To the thugs' utter shock, however, Ren followed up with a heavy sigh.
"Mr. Oliva, your answer is entirely too by-the-book."
"Faced with my rude provocation, you—as the elder statesman, as the universally
recognized [Unchained]—delivered a reassuring, textbook response."
"It reads almost exactly like a sample answer printed in a reference manual!"
"You put standard 'freedom' on a pedestal, and as the gatekeeper of that
'freedom,' you dutifully perform your assigned script."
"The world-famous [Unchained]—how could he possibly genuinely lose his temper
over a minor dojo owner like me?"
"You have to maintain your elegance, you have to suppress your anger, you have
to project your effortless composure..."
Ren lifted his chin slightly, analyzing the dynamic.
"Looked at that way, you might carry the title of the [Freest Man on Earth], but
at this very moment, you are anything but truly free."
"..."
"..."
That final line made the thugs outside break out in a fresh wave of cold sweat,
soaking their shirts clean through.
Oliva, however, clearly had his emotional conditioning dialed in to perfection.
"My, my, little Ren, you sure are full of strange theories!"
"I just bought too many books! And you're spinning it into video games and
reference manuals—are you just looking to stir up extra entertainment?"
With that, Oliva stood up, reached over to physically haul Ren up from his
armchair, and dragged him right over to the towering bookshelf, giving him a
friendly pat on the shoulder.
"Here, since I honestly don't have the time to read 'em all anyway, I'll gift
you a few to keep you occupied. Take 'em all if you want—don't be shy~!"
Ren didn't bother refusing.
As he sifted through the collection, however, a dry smirk tugged at the corner
of his lips.
"..."
"You know what? Unlike adventure video games, whether you're fighting or
brawling, you only ever need your bare hands. Traveling light is the way to go."
"You don't need a backpack, and you sure as hell don't need inventory slots..."
As he spoke, Ren pulled a thin firearms magazine off the shelf—he had been
meaning to brush up on his technical knowledge of small arms components lately.
"A thickness like this is just right. Anything more than that is entirely
redundant."
"I'll actually bring this back when I'm done reading it, so don't run away—"
Clutching the single magazine, Ren offered Oliva a polite nod of thanks for the
hospitality, turned around, and pushed the door open to step out into the
hallway.
The thugs crouching outside scattered like startled mice as the door swung wide:
"——Whoa!"
Terrified of getting caught in the dead-zone between Oliva and Ren, they
scrambled backward to clear a wide berth.
They could only watch in trembling silence as Ren walked away, clutching a
single, solitary magazine.
"..."
"..."
"Hey..."
"Hey————!"
Oliva called out casually twice.
The thugs outside finally snapped back to attention, realizing Oliva was
addressing them.
"Mr. Oliva, you, you called...?"
"Honestly, the youth of today have zero manners."
Oliva sighed with exaggerated helplessness, his tone as light and airy as a
parent complaining about a misbehaving teenager to a coworker. "Can't even
remember to close the door behind themselves."
"Oh, right————"
The thugs scrambled to their feet, rushing forward to pull the heavy reception
room doors shut.
And the exact microsecond the door latch clicked shut into place, a deep,
sub-audible BOOM echoed from inside the room, unleashing a concussive shockwave
that felt remarkably like a localized tornado touching down.
KABOOM-RUMBLE——!
In an instant, it felt as though an earthquake had struck. The entire villa
shuddered violently, making the thugs' soles itch and tingle from the structural
vibration.
The newly installed front entrance door rattled out of its frame, flying apart
like a child's building blocks.
Crash-shatter————
The heavy reception room doors had held together, but the wooden drywall
paneling immediately adjacent to them couldn't withstand the pressure,
shattering alongside the shelving units and causing a massive section of the
interior wall to buckle and collapse outward.
The thugs whipped their heads around, peering through the newly punched hole
straight into the reception room.
Right there, a massive, cratered sinkhole had appeared directly beneath where
Oliva was standing—as if a two-inch-thick iron spike had been driven into the
concrete floor with a pile-driver.
Spider-web cracks spidered out across the tiling in every direction, running all
the way across the floor, climbing up the structural support columns, and
terminating in jagged fractures right along the ceiling beams!
That... was a punch??
Oliva had driven a single, unmitigated punch straight into the floor, reducing
the freshly repaired luxury villa into a structurally compromised, unlivable
hazard zone in less than a second!
"Oh, please be careful."
Oliva turned his head back to look at the terrified thugs, offering an elegant,
apologetic smile. "The Inside is truly a dangerous place—someone actually went
and planted explosives right underneath the villa. Everyone's in one piece, I
hope?"
"..."
Not a single thug dared to voice an answer, their faces bleached entirely white
with terror.
After all, a single stray neuron was all it took to realize that wasn't a hidden
explosive charge going off; it was Oliva venting his suppressed, boiling rage
with a single physical blow.
With one punch, he had turned a luxury villa into a crumbling ruin that looked
like it would collapse if a strong breeze hit it!
"Gentlemen, it's unsafe in here. Let's evacuate at once."
Oliva snapped his fingers, issuing crisp instructions. "Oh, and do me a favor
and prep a room with top-tier soundproofing. I've got an important international
phone call to make shortly."
"I've got work to do... I need to go carefully select a bouquet of beautiful
flowers."
Since it was the command of [Mr. Unchained] Biscuit Oliva, the Tokita Niko
District subordinates scrambled to execute it without missing a beat.
A brand-new private suite was prepped and secured in record time.
By the time everything was in order, dusk had fully settled across the sky.
Oliva returned to the suite, locking the heavy door securely behind him.
A curious thug couldn't help whispering, "Who on earth is Mr. Oliva calling?"
An experienced underworld information broker lowered his voice to a hiss. "Word
is, he's calling his girlfriend. Mr. Oliva and his lover are supposedly
cohabitating over in Arizona State Penitentiary."
"Haah~? Cohabitating in prison?"
"To keep a man like the [Unchained] that satisfied... just what kind of peerless
beauty could she possibly be?!"
"Probably mythical, but I wouldn't know—nobody's ever laid eyes on the woman,
and nobody's ever had the guts to investigate."
"..."
Meanwhile, inside the private suite.
Oliva had changed into a sharp, formal three-piece suit. Every single
detail—from his silk bow tie to his pocket square—had been meticulously curated
with fastidious, flawless precision.
He had even spritzed himself with a generous mist of high-end cologne, terrified
that even a microscopic flaw might slip past.
And all of this meticulous preparation was for the sake of his "lover" waiting
far away in the United States—at Arizona State Penitentiary.
Maria.
Every single time his thoughts brushed against her, Oliva felt a profound,
aching truth: the human vocabulary simply possessed far too few words.
In fact, not a single word in existence could capture the sheer depth of what he
felt for Maria—not even a phrase as plain as "I love you"!
"..."
"..."
Cradling a bouquet of freshly trimmed, personally selected crimson roses in one
arm, Oliva placed his secure satellite phone on the desk, punched in the
satellite dialing sequence with utmost solemnity, and waited patiently as the
line connected.
Every single ring sent a synchronized, heavy throb straight through his chest,
flooding his slab-like frame—built on the strongest muscle mass on earth—with an
indescribable, heart-fluttering warmth.
That ineffable emotion transcended the boundaries of ordinary love!
Ah-ah, Maria————
No matter what happens, I want to see you. Every single day, without exception.
For a man notorious as America's most self-indulgent rebel... for a man revered
as America's absolute strongest...
Seeing you—this daily obligation I impose upon myself... or rather, this sacred
ritual... remains my absolute only sanctuary of peace and rest.
"..."
Strange as it might seem—
Oliva suddenly realized that just moments ago, he had been riled up enough by
Ren Shiroki's provocation to throw a catastrophic tantrum that wrecked an entire
apartment building.
And yet, none of that lingering static mattered anymore.
Even if Ren were to walk right back through that door right now, even if he
stood right in front of him and hurled insults directly to his face, Oliva
wouldn't feel so much as a 0.1% flicker of genuine annoyance; his soul was
anchored entirely on the prospect of seeing Maria.
After all, any extraneous speck of dust or petty anger would only dilute the
purity of this love. Was this what people called the true magic of romance————?
Oliva let out a soft, low chuckle.
Ah, I see... I suppose games of this type don't require any redundant hoarding
after all————
☆☆☆
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