Chapter 138: The Gap (Please Subscribe)

"Bang!"

Doppo Orochi, whose karate uniform had been ripped to shreds in the fierce grapple, delivered a devastating low side kick that once again snapped his son's lower leg, which had bent backward into a recurve shape.

Then, with a grim smile on his blood-stained face, he grabbed Katsumi Orochi by the neck and slammed him straight into the warped, all-steel exterior wall of Kureha Shinogi's laboratory.

Under the influence of his feral state, Katsumi's formidable regenerative powers immediately reset his shinbone. Roaring and struggling, he prepared to charge forward once again.

However, the rugged, heavily-muscled Doppo was already standing right in front of him.

A single punch to the abdomen.

Amidst a deafening crash, Katsumi's body was driven directly into the steel outer wall.

Doppo withdrew his fist and stood upright. The distance and stance between him and Katsumi now perfectly mirrored a posture familiar even to the most novice karate beginner.

It was the ultimate foundation.

The stance a karateka uses more than any other throughout their entire lifetime.

The very essence that runs through the entirety of a martial artist's training career—the straight punch combination!

"Ha!"

Exhaling sharply to muster his power, Doppo's fist—as large as a human head—slammed mercilessly into his son's flesh, his expression fierce and unyielding.

The disparity in physical performance was overwhelmingly one-sided.

He drove the behemoth strength, which had pushed human flesh past the "feral stage," down with punch after relentless punch!

Katsumi's body was sandwiched between the fist and the steel exterior wall.

Amidst a continuous roar resembling a giant temple bell, the spikes on his skin were crushed into dust, and the regeneration of his bones and muscles simply could not keep pace with the sheer speed of destruction!

The skeleton of the all-steel laboratory had already been twisted out of shape under Takeshi Wakatsuki's punches.

Now, it was turning into a ruin at a speed visible to the naked eye!

"Wake up, Katsumi!"

The pool of blood beneath Doppo's feet grew larger and larger—the tangible manifestation of life pouring from his son's body.

On his rugged, bald head, alongside a ferocious fighting spirit and a grim sense of satisfaction, lurked a trace of internal conflict and anxiety.

Yet, his fists did not hesitate or soften for even a fraction of a second!

If the man named Katsumi Orochi were to degenerate into a third-rate martial artist addicted to borrowed power and devoid of the ambition to progress further,

then, in the eyes of his father, Doppo Orochi, he would rather die by his own hands right here and now!

Rapid, consecutive punches thrown and retracted.

Doppo's arms blurred into a wall of impenetrable mirages in the eyes of ordinary people.

The tide-like barrage of punches gradually eroded the feral physique.

The arms Katsumi had raised to shield his chest were mutilated to the point where his deformed bones were exposed.

The bizarre swelling in his abdomen looked like the churning remains of shattered internal organs.

Yet, precisely at this juncture, when his body was damaged almost beyond the point of sustaining itself,

Katsumi, pinned deep within the steel wreckage, subtly began to shift the position of his feet.

His feet and legs wedged aside the metal indentations restricting his body, setting into an inverted-toe Sanchin stance.

His mutilated arms slowly clamped tight against his ribs.

The moment the posture was finalized, it felt as though Katsumi's body had instantaneously gained a profound and unshakable stability out of thin air!

"That is..." Takeshi Wakatsuki, draped in a heavy coat, had initially thought Katsumi would be beaten to death on the spot by his own father.

However, this movement of his sparked a sudden surge of hope in Wakatsuki, a man immersed in karate for many years.

—The Sanchin stance!

The Goju-ryu technique renowned for the absolute axiom: "Once the stance is set, it cannot be broken."

"Swish—"

The massive fist, which had halted abruptly right at Katsumi's throat, generated a violent gust of wind purely from the sheer momentum of its velocity.

Beneath that fist stood the robust young man, the ferocious, feral exterior having completely faded away, reverting to human form.

The overwhelming barrage of blows had forced Katsumi back into his human state, instantly restoring a significant portion of his injuries due to the permanent upgrade in his physical foundation.

Even so, he could only stare blankly ahead.

His eyes were wide open, yet he was unconscious.

Assuming the rigid Sanchin stance had been his absolute final act of will.

"Hmph... Not a hopeless case yet, after all."

Doppo looked at his unconscious son, and after a long moment, let out a satisfied chuckle.

He turned and walked away.

Naturally, professionals would handle the aftermath of the ruined arena and the heavily injured Katsumi.

Once researchers learned that the behemoth's power possessed a subsequent phase beyond the feral state, their attentiveness toward Katsumi would undoubtedly surpass even that of his own old man.

Parting like the Red Sea, the crowd divided before the blood-drenched Doppo.

This man, who had shown almost zero mercy and shattered his own son's entire body, did not even pant from exhaustion—his breathing remained steady, save for the tears in his clothes.

The gap between the stages of physical enhancement after a human accepts the power of the behemoth was unimaginably vast.

Moreover, it had only been half a month since the experiments began, and already two distinct tiers of power had emerged.

Who knew what even more exaggerated phenomena might manifest in these martial artists in the future?

Doppo thought with idle boredom, strolling back toward Wakatsuki with a relaxed expression.

Ever since receiving the transplant, even a man like him—who frequently visited the hostess bars of Kamurocho—couldn't help but feel that the chasm between himself and ordinary people was widening by the day.

After all, everything about ordinary people seemed... far too fragile.

Even if a martial artist could fully control their own strength without causing collateral damage, who would want to live their entire life hunched over and holding back?

Thus, consciously or not, the post-surgery martial artists naturally gravitated toward one another, bridging the social vacuum created by their reluctance to interact with ordinary folk.

Surrounding Wakatsuki were not only Kureha Shinogi and Raian Kure, who had recovered enough to stand, but also Tenzan Nakadaka (Takajo), Kuroki, and three unfamiliar citizens of the Republic.

"Hey, hey, hey, you've gotta be kidding me, Four-Eyes?" came Raian Kure's raspy, wicked chuckle. Ever since the Kengan Annihilation Tournament, he had insisted on calling Tenzan "Four-Eyes," refusing to change his moniker even though the young man's face was bare today.

"This underground laboratory pools the power of the United Nations' permanent five and their affiliated nations. That's the only way a project of this scale could be completed so rapidly. You really just walked in here completely blind to all of it, didn't you?"

"Not just that," General Quan added.

"Organizations that operate outside national jurisdiction yet command genuine power are also involved—such as the Kure Clan of Hinomoto, represented by our friend here."

Tenzan had no trouble understanding the preceding context. But "the Kure Clan of Hinomoto"?

Judging by the annoyed yet utterly speechless expression on Raian's face when he heard this, it was evidently true.

He turned his gaze of quiet inquiry toward his newly acquainted friend—the warm-hearted and obliging Retsu Kaiou.

"The birthplace of the Kure Clan is the Republic," the long-braided martial artist murmured quietly, which, in Tenzan's eyes, was a deliberate gesture to spare Raian's pride. "They were originally a family of assassins, until the Sea King paid them a visit fifty years ago and beat the entire clan into submission."

Understood.

Tenzan nodded.