"During tournaments, our boss is only allowed to take down one opponent per match—that's a rule of the event, not the limit of his strength!" Rindou Haitani smirked, cold and full of pride.
"He could get hurt! Even in kendo, there's no such thing as ganging up on someone!" Arisugawa Ren protested, her voice anxious.
She was slowly transitioning from being a fangirl of Kyousuke's reputation to being captivated by his sheer power.
"Hah. Just shut up and watch, Shizuka," Rindou said with a grin. "Aside from the members of Rampaging Angels and our enemies, you guys are the only ones—"
He suddenly paused, remembering the "sister-in-laws" in their group, especially that female swordsman from Nara—famous for her swordsmanship and trained under the same school as Kyousuke.
"Anyway, our boss's strongest weapon isn't just his unbeatable violence—it's style. That's what real men are made of!"
With his long black braided hair, Rindou Haitani looked more like a fanboy than a follower.
But that was part of his charm—the kind of loyalty that comes from pure admiration.
As long as Hojou Kyousuke remained strong, even the most devious of his men would behave like obedient kids.
It was like when Onizuka once got caught flirting on another gang's turf and was beaten half to death—he never begged for mercy.
The only thing he said before passing out was, "Makki-ani will avenge me."
After Kyousuke became the Second Generation Boss and kept pulling off one jaw-dropping feat after another, that worship reached godlike levels.
Members of Rampaging Angels couldn't go a day without saying, "My boss this," "My leader that." If they swapped "boss" with "mom," they'd be total mama's boys.
Japan's gang structure was modeled after feudal family hierarchies—the boss as the "parent," subordinates as "children," held together by a fictional sense of blood ties.
But Kyousuke had no intention of turning Rampaging Angels into that kind of cult.
He didn't care about fake family bonds—hell, he'd even cut off greetings if he could.
Still, just because he didn't want sons didn't mean others didn't want to be his.
That overwhelming charisma showed in every one of his men.
Watching the Haitani brothers beside them, Himeno Seiko and Arisugawa Ren couldn't help but think.
If Kyousuke threw them a blade and ordered them to end their own lives, they'd probably do it without hesitation.
Now that was what it meant to be a man!
The two girls said nothing more, their eyes sparkling as they stared at the arena.
They wanted to see for themselves what kind of presence Kyousuke possessed—what kind of man could make the infamous Haitani brothers of Roppongi act like starstruck kids.
———————————————————————
In the center of the hall, Hojou Kyousuke stood tall, bamboo sword in hand.
At 180 cm, he already towered over most Japanese men, but the Higashi High fighters were absolute tanks—muscular, broad-shouldered, and wearing full kendo armor.
They looked like warlords ripped straight out of the Sengoku era.
As Kisaki swung his arm down, the two muscleheads let out a battle cry and charged without hesitation.
Their footwork was impeccable—each right step slammed the floorboards so hard it creaked, while their left foot glided across the ground like silk, never lifting higher than the thickness of a sheet of paper.
Their advance was both explosive and perfectly balanced.
"Woah!" cried Mikiyo from Kaihin High, awestruck.
Just from that single movement, she could tell how solid their fundamentals were.
It was terrifying.
The two attacked Kyousuke from front and back, their coordination seamless.
Amakawa Toru the front attacker—stepped into issoku itto no maai (one-step strike distance), raising his bamboo sword high toward Kyousuke's head for a clean men strike.
His partner went low, sword angled toward Kyousuke's stomach for a do strike.
Front and back, up and down—their attacks crisscrossed, leaving no room to dodge and ensuring they wouldn't hit each other even if Kyousuke moved.
Mikiyo was stunned.
What the heck?! This wasn't kendo anymore—it was team battle tactics! Why were Higashi's guys training for this?!
Rindou Haitani chuckled quietly. "Your kendo's for tournaments. Ours has other uses."
The two attackers showed no mercy.
With perfect coordination and fierce spirit, they put everything into their strikes.
In an instant, Hojou Kyousuke was cornered.
Himeno Seiko and Arisugawa Ren clenched their fists, forgetting to breathe.
The three men's long reach and quick steps made their movements blindingly fast—one moment.
They were still beyond the starting line; the next, their bamboo swords were already above Kyousuke's head.
Seiko wanted to shout "Look out!" but she couldn't—her mind was already too immersed, feeling his tension, almost sensing phantom pain as if her own head were about to split open.
Normally, in a one-against-many situation, Kyousuke—who had years of real fight experience—would've repositioned long before being surrounded.
But this was practice. He wanted to teach his juniors how to deal with that kind of pressure.
So instead of dodging, he simply raised his bamboo sword.
His stance shifted—one basic kendo move, open step (kai-ashi).
With a twist of his waist, his entire body slid from in front of Toru to his side.
Now, instead of facing front and back opponents, they were standing to his left and right.
Toru's strike came down hard—right where Kyousuke had been a second ago—and if Kyousuke hadn't moved, it would've connected cleanly.
But now it was about to hit his teammate instead.
Normally, you'd pull back—but not these two.
Toru pressed forward, using his own body to block Kyousuke's view, giving his partner the chance to land a solid strike on their boss's unarmored stomach.
Even if it meant getting hit himself, he didn't care.
The other fighter, sword dragging low, didn't hesitate either. He lowered his body, eyes burning with devotion.
'Hit him. Just once.'
The crowd held their breath—Kaihin High's students and Roppongi's rich girls looked worried, while the Rampaging Angels members were practically buzzing with excitement.
Could it be…? Was Takagi Kazuki really about to land a clean hit on their boss?!
Onizuka even raised his phone, ready to record the moment for glory.
'Boss, watch closely!' he thought. 'This is the bond between me and Captain Amakawa!'
Kazuki roared, saliva flying as he put all his strength into one devastating swing toward his boss's unprotected torso.
"AAAAAH! DŌ—!!"
But just as his sword was about to connect—Kyousuke vanished.
In a blink, he'd slipped backward, his footwork and waist rotation so smooth it looked like teleportation.
Even with Kazuki's arm fully extended, his bamboo sword couldn't reach him anymore.
"Wha—?!"
With a furious roar, Takagi Kazuki gripped his bamboo sword with one hand, trying to extend his reach—but it still wasn't enough.
'Smack!'
"Hand!"
'Smack!'
"Hand!"
Two crisp cracks echoed through the hall.
In the blink of an eye, Hojou Kyousuke struck twice, his movements clean and precise.
Both blows landed squarely on the hands of Amakawa Toru and Takagi Kazuki.
He took another step back, dusting off his uniform before any of the dirt kicked up by the two collapsing men could touch him.
"Toru, you idiot. You can't even keep zanshin and you still tried to hit me? A ref would've called that a dangerous move and deducted two points on the spot!
And you, Takagi—using one hand to attack like that? Even if you'd hit me, they'd rule it invalid for lack of power!"
Kyousuke's tone was calm, but firm—purely instructional.
In truth, he could've easily sliced Toru's head and Takagi's arm in a single stroke, but Toru's sheer determination to land a blow had forced him to adjust mid-swing.
The guy twisted his body in a desperate attempt to strike even after losing balance—so Kyousuke had no choice but to target their hands instead, disarming them both.
"Heh, I wouldn't pull something like that in a real match, you know? It's just… you're the boss." Amakawa Toru grinned sheepishly.
The guy pinned under him, Takagi, was laughing too.
"Haah… knew it," came a synchronized sigh.
The Rampaging Angels members all slumped in disappointment.
"Toru, Takagi—you two were pathetic! You've still got a long way to go!" Onizuka shouted, prompting the others to burst into teasing laughter.
The two on the ground barked back, unwilling to accept defeat.
Sure, they hadn't even grazed their boss's sleeve, but their burning desire to land a clean hit was 100% real!
Meanwhile, the reaction from Kaihin High and the Roppongi "princess squad" couldn't have been more different.
Applause and cheers filled the air.
Himeno Seiko and Arisugawa Ren even jumped to their feet, faces flushed red, eyes sparkling like stars.
"He's amazing, Hojou-kun!"
"He's so cool—fighting two at once and still that calm! That's insane!"
"He's on a completely different level!"
Their voices blended into a chorus of admiration, like villagers seeing the city for the first time.
As two more Higashi High students stepped forward to join the sparring, Seiko quickly called out,
"Hojou-kun, that move just now—"
She paused, unsure how to phrase it.
"I mean… when you slipped out of their attack range like that—it was like you teleported! How did you do that?"
Her words tumbled out, half-gasp, half-wonder.
The moment had been like magic—no space to dodge, nowhere to run, yet somehow Kyousuke had vanished and reappeared out of reach.
The other girls started chattering too, echoing her question.
Even the Kaihin High students were watching Kyousuke with pure curiosity.
Kyousuke smiled, ready to explain—after all, this was a joint training event, and sharing techniques was part of it.
"I know, I know!"
Suddenly, Hatano Gorou raised his voice, waving an arm to grab everyone's attention.
"I've been hit by that move hundreds of times! No one understands it better than me!"
Kyousuke chuckled softly and stepped back, giving him the stage.
With this many girls watching, maybe Gorou could finally score himself a date if he didn't mess it up.
Feeling dozens of eyes on him, Gorou straightened his back and began loudly:
"That move is called The Devil's Step! Boss developed it from Okinawan shukuchi techniques—the art of shortening distance.
But even the best Okinawan martial artists can only move their lower body while keeping their head still.
Boss? He keeps his whole upper body still while moving! It takes insane leg strength and core power—especially the waist!"
He pointed dramatically toward Kyousuke.
"They call it The Devil's Step because our boss's nickname is 'Handless Demon!' But the real name, the one that spread through the underground, is Ghost Walker!
Once he moves, it's completely silent—like a ghost gliding on air! If you want to learn it, you have to be able to do over a hundred hip bridges with two truck tires pressed against your abs, and then—AAARGH—!"
His scream cut through the hall.
"Huh? Why'd he stop?" Seiko blinked.
"Hojou-kun's waist strength—how strong is it? Come on, tell us!"
The girls leaned forward, hanging on every word.
Kisaki jogged over, picked up Kyousuke's bamboo sword from beside Gorou's twitching body, and handed it back respectfully.
Kyousuke forced a laugh.
Yeah, definitely shouldn't have expected Gorou to give a normal explanation.
"Gorou's still in training," he said wryly. "Let me explain it properly."
"Wait!"
Seiko suddenly spoke up again. Kyousuke paused and gestured for her to continue.
"Never mind the technique," she said eagerly, "but… is your waist really that strong, Hojou-kun? Like, can you actually do those hip thrusts with truck tires on your stomach?"
As she spoke, her voice dropped an octave, and she unconsciously swallowed hard.
Kyousuke blinked.
Something about her gaze made him uneasy—like she was looking through his kendo armor at his abs and that sharply cut V-line.
"Well… technically, yes, it's possible," he admitted. "But I don't actually train that way. Physical conditioning is about the body as a whole, not just the—"
Before he could finish, a wave of squeals erupted from the girls' section.
"He can really lift truck tires with his waist?!"
"If it were me, I'd probably get sent flying~"
"Don't worry! Even if you did, Hojou-kun would totally catch you!"
"..."
They whispered among themselves, thinking no one could hear—but Kyousuke's sharp senses picked up every word.
'Uh… yeah,' he thought awkwardly. 'It's not like my waist could actually send people flying.'
He remembered lying on the floor that one time when Mitsuha and Kasumigaoka-senpai had been sitting on him, arguing over something stupid.
He'd held them both up just fine.
Like he always said: the body had to be trained as one.
Hojou Kyousuke's physique wasn't just about a powerful waist.
His whole body was forged from years of discipline and swordsmanship.
After all, his true gift wasn't just strength—
It was the sword itself.