Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Martial God Versus the Beautiful Beast

Kuroki Gensai’s match was not particularly dazzling. The kind of overwhelming solidity and strength he displayed, if not viewed with a professional eye—even with Sayaka Katagiri’s commentary—did not impact the average spectator as much as the previous bout, where Raiden’s lightning-fast instant kill had left a shockwave of awe.

“Now, the contestants enter the arena!” Sayaka’s formal dress fluttered like flower petals as she spoke. “The martial artist undefeated for decades! The eldest participant in this deathmatch! The merciless ‘God of War’ who has crushed countless challengers without a trace of compassion!

Height: 188 centimeters! Weight: 90 kilograms! Representing White Night News—Hisashi Takemoto!”

Amid the stirring stage effects that set hearts pounding, a robust old man, hands folded within the wide sleeves of his kimono, strolled out at an unhurried pace.

“My, my, what a lively crowd,” he remarked, his face radiating a kindly smile, looking nothing at all like a man here to fight. He waved up at his disciples in the stands as he marveled at the spectacle.

On the other side—

“A man who shot through the Kengan Association like a comet! Beautiful and mysterious! Height: 180 centimeters, weight: 75 kilograms!

Representing Imperial Cherry Academy—the ‘Beautiful Beast,’ Setsuna Kiryu!”

With hair down to his waist and clad only in long trousers, Setsuna Kiryu emerged from the tunnel like an elegant beauty.

In the audience, Saeko’s brow creased in concern.

“Mikage, shouldn’t you warn Uncle Takemoto? Kiryu’s spiral technique deals massive damage to the muscles—one hit and…”

“Absolutely not, Saeko.” Mikage Hakudo folded his arms, a wry, interested smile curving his lips. “You still don’t truly understand Master’s character.”

“True, once the fight begins, the Takemoto school of practical combat will gouge eyes, aim for the groin, insult, intimidate… nothing is off-limits. But that’s after the match starts, when both sides have agreed to settle the score.

If you try to slip Master some extra ‘chips’ for victory before a proper match, I might just end up with his hand straight through my skull!”

“Trust me,” the youth added, as if recalling some amusing memory, smiling at Saeko, “even in your bloodthirsty state, you wouldn’t want to see that scene a second time.”

“The match begins!”

As they spoke, everyone unrelated to the bout had already cleared the stage. Only the two fighters remained—the air between them as relaxed as a conversation between grandfather and grandson.

“Young man, don’t be nervous,” Hisashi Takemoto said kindly. “You may take the first move.”

At that moment, Setsuna Kiryu, with the bearing of a courteous nobleman, showed none of the madness from his previous fight with Mikage Hakudo. His handsome face wore a gentle smile, enough to make the little secretary from Imperial Cherry Academy gush with a spontaneous nosebleed.

He bowed slightly. “My apologies, but in order to meet Ohma—”

Before the words had even fallen, a whirlwind of dust burst up at his feet, and his bowing figure vanished instantly from the old man’s sight!

Fox Shadow Style—Blink!

With footwork from ancient martial arts, Setsuna Kiryu cut into the old man’s blind spot, appearing as if by teleportation less than an arm’s length from his side.

“Please leave the ring.” His long hair flew as he spoke with polite words, his palm swinging towards the old man’s head!

Fox Shadow Style—Rakshasa Palm!

“Pa-boom!”

In a flash, two figures intertwined, and two thudding impacts rang out as flesh collided. Then they leapt apart.

“My, my, this really is…” Hisashi Takemoto peered with interest at the twisted whirl of flesh and blood on his forearm. “Remarkable technique!”

The violent deformation had even torn open the surface skin, blood and bits of flesh running down onto the sand.

Not far away, Setsuna Kiryu, except for a footprint on his side, showed hardly any injury. He maintained his courteous smile as he spoke.

“You are old. Your reflexes can’t possibly keep up with my speed, and your left hand should now be completely unusable, correct? With no chance of victory, why not withdraw? At least you could drag your battered body away and cling to life like an old hound.”

“No, no!” The old man seemed not to hear the venomous words at all, swinging his injured arm carelessly as if shaking a rag. “The fun’s only just begun!”

Blood dripped down.

In his twisted grin, a killing intent as sharp as a blade leaked through his clenched teeth.

Setsuna Kiryu, too, dropped his princely facade, revealing once more the twisted, fervent expression he’d worn against Mikage Hakudo.

“As you wish, then.”

“Let me send you to your grave!”

Once more, a swirl of dust burst up from Kiryu’s feet, and he appeared within striking distance of Hisashi Takemoto in a blink!

Kiryu’s spiraling power began at the ankle.

Knee, hip, shoulder—right through to his palm!

Layer upon layer of spiral force gathered in his hand.

From the old man’s visual blind spot, the long-haired youth’s palm shot toward his head, a flicker of boredom glinting in his eye.

“If only I could meet Ohma sooner… Ah! My Ohma!”

And just as Setsuna Kiryu’s thoughts began to drift toward that one who haunted his dreams—

“Boom!”

The old man’s aged arm snapped up and smashed Kiryu in the face with the back of his fist!

“What?!”

Blood spurted from Kiryu’s nostrils before he even had time to recover from his shock.

The Rakshasa Palm, its structure destroyed by that punch, lost its most threatening spiraling power.

Decades of combat experience guided the old man: after the punch to the face, he didn’t retract his arm, but instead let it follow through, his hand forming a tiger’s claw to seize Kiryu’s outstretched palm, now robbed of its threat.

Crack!

“Unngh—!”

The sound of dislocated finger bones echoed throughout the arena, amplified by the stage equipment.

Kiryu, stunned by the blow to his face, let out a muffled groan.

But his hard temper, honed in the underworld, allowed him to recover in an instant. With his still-usable hand, he formed another Rakshasa Palm and swept it in a feint, forcing Takemoto back, unable to analyze his opponent’s technique just yet.

Finally able to catch his breath, the long-haired youth stared at the old man across from him, clutching his nose in disbelief.

“What… what eyes are those?”

“What?!” Sayaka, at the commentary booth, excitedly switched the screen view to the old man’s face.

On that twisted, gleeful visage, in those clouded eyes, both pupils spun wildly and independently in their sockets, each moving in an erratic path!

A hush of astonishment swept through the arena at the sight of those bizarre, almost unsettling eyes.

“Just like an insect or a chameleon!” Sayaka, her bronzed, shapely body practically sprawled across the commentary table, exclaimed, “Takemoto’s eyes are spinning like a housefly’s! Is it really possible for a human to do that?!”

“That’s right! It’s something a human can do!” Jerry, freshly off the ring and with only a simple bandage around his neck, leaned out over the commentary table in excitement.

Drawing on his deep martial arts knowledge, he explained for the audience.

“That’s the technique known as ‘Chaos Eyes’!”

In the stands—

Mikage Hakudo adjusted his glasses and, smiling, spoke to the composed Saeko beside him.

“It seems Master’s getting excited now.”

“Come to think of it, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Uncle Takemoto this happy.”