Chapter Ten: A Morning Appointment

In the early morning, a handsome young man knelt on the floor beside his bed. With no shirt to cover his torso, the streamlined muscles clinging to his bones undulated like flowing water. His steady breathing combined strangely with the surging of his muscles, tranquil yet fierce.

Since arriving in Tokyo, after obtaining the "Dragon Blood Codex" through dimensional salvage in his first month, he had not slept in his bed again.

With a long exhale, a vaporous, sword-like wisp of energy drifted from the boy’s slightly parted lips in the newborn sunlight. The muscles of his back rippled in response—latissimus dorsi, trapezius, erector spinae interlaced and overlapped, forming an abstract mask of wrath, like the face of a furious demon. As those muscles contracted and released, the mask twisted and changed, resembling the asuras above the flames of karma in Buddhist paintings, locked in maniacal laughter.

Kagami Hakudo opened his eyes, but his brows knitted in a frown.

“Without spiritual energy or dragon blood, even if I circulate my energy all night, it still takes two days to replenish what’s been used. Advancement is out of the question!” The frustration of holding the path to superhuman power in his grasp, only to be stymied by lack of resources, was enough to drive one mad.

He sighed and let the breath out through pursed lips, but voiced no complaint. Years of rigorous training had honed his character. Whatever he could draw from the dimensional sea was a matter of luck, not something to be demanded. The only thing he could truly control in his life was his own effort.

Like now, of all the things he had salvaged from the dimensional sea—a dozen expeditions or more—the only truly useful ones were the Fate Reading of the Mud Buddha, the Bio-Intellect, and the Dragon Blood Codex. The rest were mostly useless junk: paper currency or garbage.

Composing himself, his joints cracking sharply, Kagami Hakudo rose slowly and steadily from the floor, using only the muscles from the tips of his toes to his calves.

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door.

“Kagami-kun, breakfast is ready.”

“I’m coming.”

As usual, when he opened the door, he caught sight of a slender figure with long violet hair, dressed in a yukata, making her way toward the kitchen.

After a year of living together, he and Saeko Busujima had developed a certain domestic understanding. Perhaps it was the influence of youthful hormones, but his gaze drifted downward against his will. Her hips were broader than her shoulders, her form full and shapely, her waist supple from years of martial training—an alluring curvature revealed with every sway beneath the thin yukata.

He shook his head violently, forcing the intrusive thoughts away. Without maintaining his purity, even this already snail-paced efficiency in energy cultivation would be lost! The Fate Reading of the Mud Buddha still hung over him like a sword!

Was it really just adolescent hormones? He tried to calm his mind, but even as he sat at the dining table, his eyes wandered, unsettled.

On the other side, Saeko handed over the utensils and, catching his heated glance, subtly looked down at her own deep cleavage and the gentle rise of her hips, a slight smile of satisfaction playing on her lips. She then sat beside him as if nothing had happened.

Yet Kagami Hakudo felt that the distance between them was far closer than usual, almost close enough to feel each other’s body heat. Suppressing his body's reaction, he found breakfast far from enjoyable; Saeko hadn’t even had time to bring out the other two pots of rice.

“Perhaps things can’t progress too quickly. After all, he’s only sixteen…” Saeko glanced anxiously at Kagami, who had stopped eating, worried that the boy she’d cared for over a year might not be getting enough to eat.

Just then, his phone rang, saving him from his discomfort. He slipped away from the table, putting space between himself and the alluring presence beside him.

“Hey, Kagami! Remember the last time we met at that club in Kamurocho? Come over quick!”

“Master, it’s only eight in the morning. Even if you’re a ‘Martial God,’ an old man over ninety… that’s asking for trouble.”

“Hahaha! You underestimate me! As long as Ai-chan’s around, I can do anything at any time! Isn’t that right, Ai-chan?”

Before Kagami could reply, a girl’s playful protest and the old man’s laughter came through the phone.

“All right, all right, I’m joking. You’re still young. Now’s the time to focus on your martial path. I called you for a serious reason.”

Hearing his master’s tone finally turn serious, Kagami Hakudo let out a breath of relief.

“Kamurocho, then… I’ll be there in an hour.”

Martial artists spoke with brisk decisiveness. After ending the call, he turned to see Saeko, still in her yukata, holding out his jacket like a wife seeing her husband off.

Her sword-trained hearing, even when unintentional, had caught every word of the conversation between master and disciple. Even so, hearing words like “Kamurocho” and “club” from the phone, the beauty’s gentle smile never faltered.

A woman raised in the martial tradition didn’t care how many flowers a man dallied with, as long as, in the end, he returned to her.

Under Saeko’s tender gaze, Kagami Hakudo—who just last night had shattered the throats of thirty-some men and crushed one’s heart without batting an eye—now felt almost guilty, stiffly making his way out of the dojo.

Thanks to Saeko’s father, Master Takemoto’s friend, Yoshiro Busujima, the dojo’s teaching focus was mainly overseas, leaving the domestic branch little more than an empty shell. In the year he’d lived here, Kagami had never seen anyone come by to learn the sword.

~~~~~~

With a taxi receipt in hand, Kagami returned once more to Kamurocho, the neighborhood famed for its adult entertainment, still early in the morning. The driver, clearly amazed, kept glancing at him in disbelief—after all, coming all the way here at the crack of dawn suggested a recklessness that bordered on self-destruction.

A few “Yukichi Fukuzawa” bills quickly distracted the driver from his appraisal.

Having memorized the labyrinthine alleys of Kamurocho thanks to his Bio-Intellect, Kagami navigated the streets like a regular, heading straight to a shop whose neon lights burned suggestively even in broad daylight.

Inside, it was clear his master truly did have business to discuss. The booth, almost always reserved for Takemoto Hisayasu, now seated not only the burly, kimono-clad old man, but another individual as well.

There sat Tetsusaki Akano, president of Hakuyo News Group, a man at the pinnacle of Japan’s media industry.

Kagami recognized him at a glance. After all, with the goal of pursuing wealth, power, and strength to survive the unknown disasters to come, it would be absurd if he couldn’t recognize one of the key players in domestic media.

Yet here was this titan of business, repeatedly dabbing his brow with a handkerchief, eyes darting about in nervous agitation. Meanwhile, the old man beside him sipped sake and made jokes at his leisure.

“Hey! Kagami, you’re here! Come over!” Takemoto Hisayasu, sake cup in one hand, released his other from Ai-chan’s waist and beckoned.

As Kagami approached, Tetsusaki Akano’s eyes had already swept over him several times from head to toe. With glasses and loose hair, the young man looked like a harmless college student, tall but utterly unthreatening.

But Akano had not come here today to settle for harmless mediocrity. His grip on his handkerchief tightened, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper until, at last—

“Takemoto-san! This is no time for jokes! This is the Kengan Deathmatch! The Kengan Deathmatch elimination tournament! I pride myself on my eye for talent, but this kid—he’s barely old enough to be in high school! And you want him to fight for my company in your place? There’s a limit to how far you can stretch a joke!”

Akano sprang from his seat, jabbing an accusatory finger at Kagami and shouting at the unruffled old man.

He clearly saw Kagami as nothing more than a pretext, not even bothering to acknowledge him directly.

Unfazed by the outburst, Kagami, though surprised by Akano’s perceptiveness, was much more intrigued by something else the man had said. Ignoring the agitated executive, Kagami sat down on the booth’s sofa and turned to his master with keen interest.

“Kengan Deathmatch? What’s that?”