Chapter 86: The Confrontation

“I-It’s been used!” Choka Kyoka’s passionate voice rang out through the venue. “Shirado Kyo has just used Tokise Ohma’s technique within the first two minutes of the match!”

“What’s going on here? Did they know each other before? Are they from the same school?” The melodious female voice now carried an air of mischief, as if eager to stir up excitement and watch the drama unfold.

“Are we, the audience present, about to witness the rare spectacle of disciples from the same master facing off?!”

The organizers had all the contestants’ information at hand—styles, records, physical data… nothing left out. She knew perfectly well that Shirado Kyo and Tokise Ohma’s acquaintance began only a few days ago. But as the commentator for a fighting match, it was second nature, almost an instinct, to incite the crowd and ignite conversation.

At this moment, the equally professional Jerry Tyson quickly picked up the thread. “Or perhaps, and I’m just saying it’s possible!” His wide, rolling eyes were fixed on the arena, the cadence of his baritone both suggestive and teasing, as if telling a fairy tale he himself didn’t quite believe. “Could it be he learned it on the spot?!”

An uproar swept through the crowd!

The man grinned, flashing white teeth in satisfaction. Though even he found his own words absurd, the atmosphere in the arena was now electric—wasn’t that what mattered?

On the stage, the two men locked in stalemate burst forth at the same time, both activating the “Indestructible” technique, each sending the other skidding back.

“This is ridiculous. To have your technique stolen mid-fight… What are you, some kind of monster out of a comic book?” Ohma huffed, rolling his arm to ease the swelling left by blocking that whip kick.

“Don’t say that, old man.” The handsome youth advanced with the light, nimble footwork of a boxer, a friendly smile on his face. “A young man like me, being called a ‘monster,’ that’s just heartbreaking, you know? Tsk—”

Ohma was about to retort to that infuriating remark. But then, a jab flashed toward him, slicing the air with a tearing sound, aimed straight at his face!

“When did he—?” Though his opponent had never stopped moving, Ohma was sure he’d never lose track of someone entering striking range. Even a novice wouldn’t make that mistake! As a seasoned fighter, he should instinctively raise his guard the moment the other stepped within arm’s reach.

“That footwork isn’t boxing... it’s ‘Fiery Step’ from the Fire Heaven Style?!”

The footwork flickered like flames, disrupting any sense of spatial distance. Not only that, Shirado Kyo had deliberately omitted the technique’s signature of landing only on the toes and heels. Instead, he’d wrapped it in the guise of the boxer’s butterfly step, masking it from Ohma’s notice. And so, he’d lured Ohma into striking distance without him realizing!

“Not only did he master techniques from the Twin Tiger Style, he’s adapted them on the fly? That’s insane!” There was no time to marvel at the boy’s monstrous talent. Unable to dodge, Ohma quickly raised his guard, blocking with the outside of his arm.

Thump—

The sound of flesh colliding wasn’t loud, but the force of the punch sent sweat and blood spraying from his arm in a fine mist, a shockwave rippling outward.

“The next strike will be…” Ohma’s eyes flicked downward to his abdomen, predicting Shirado’s next target. Jabs, with their low destructive power, were typically used for probing or suppression early in a fight. Usually, after a jab, a decisive heavy blow would follow as the true attack.

But suddenly, Ohma’s eyes widened in shock. For behind his guard, the youth’s handsome face was now obscured by a blur of incoming fists!

Bang, bang, bang!

A series of five shockwave mists burst along Ohma’s defending arm! Shirado Kyo’s friendly smile never faltered, but his right forearm became a blur, almost like an illusion. In less than half a second, five jabs had landed precisely on the same spot on Ohma’s arm.

“Hey, Gao Lang! Did you see that? That—” The ever-spirited voice of “Fighting Spirit” Sappayin rang out beside Gao Lang. But this time, Gao Lang’s usual weariness at his friend’s outbursts was nowhere to be seen. His heavy-lidded eyes and drooping brows now sharpened keenly.

“That’s… my jab?”

No, not quite. The frequency isn’t as fast as mine—maybe the difference between thirteen and twelve punches per second. But that Jeet Kune Do-style lead jab, its penetration is definitely stronger than mine.

The royal hound of Thailand, the King’s “sabre,” the “God of War”—Gao Lang—watched the match, lost in thought, deaf to his friend’s shouting.

To take a technique that took someone years, even decades, to master, just by watching—without simply mimicking, but adapting it on the fly. And all this… in just a few days?

“Can someone like that really exist?”

Five jabs, each with immense penetrating force and landing at the same height, had battered Ohma’s arm numb. The point of impact was already swollen and bruised. Yet Shirado Kyo had no habit of giving his opponents a moment’s respite. The youth drew his left hand to his waist, twisting his hips into a powerful punch.

Ohma, his eyes hidden behind his guard, did not disappoint. Even amid the relentless onslaught of jabs, his senses remained razor-sharp. Judging by the movement of his opponent’s shoulder, he expected a waist-level punch—ready to evade and counter as soon as the heavy blow passed. This move was known as “Sen no Sen”—anticipating and countering the attack in the same instant.

But that was exactly what the youth intended.

After twisting his waist, Shirado Kyo did not unleash a powerful punch using the force of his hips. Instead, he shifted his weight entirely to his left foot, lifting his right foot off the ground.

—It was a right side-kick!

But Ohma, lowering his guard, caught the blur of the kick in his peripheral vision and did not panic. Sinking his stance, he drew both hands to shield his ribs where the kick was headed, moving smoothly and swiftly, as if prepared all along.

This wasn’t a defensive stance for a counterattack; rather, it looked like a grappling maneuver!

“Ouryu Style: Thread Reversal!”

Ohma’s hands shot toward the youth’s right leg. As long as he made contact, the direct force of the kick could be easily redirected with “Thread Reversal.” But just as his hands, already swollen from repeated blows, reached for Shirado’s calf, the youth’s lower leg, pivoting at the knee, sliced through the air in a bizarre arc, aiming directly for Ohma’s neck!

—It was a feint kick, changing its trajectory mid-air!