The second clash was heavier.
Oren's brute force didn't stop at muscle. Something old and mean rode his blood—a giant's echo beating in his bones. Every step cratered cobbles; every swing pushed a pressure wave that blew dust sideways and rattled shutters.
Kai felt it. He let it roll past him, not through him.
"Soru!"
He split to the left, reappeared at Oren's hip, and drilled a tight Tekkai jab toward the kidney.
"Gh—!" Oren half-turned, bulwark-thick forearm catching enough of it to dull the shock. His other fist came down like a stamp.
Stone burst. Air screamed. Market stalls buckled in a chain of collapsing canvas.
A splintered awning pole skittered toward the Marine line; Colonel Miz booted it aside. "Hold the perimeter! Civilians clear!"
Kai slid back, boots skimming. He exhaled. The dark lines across his shoulders tightened—ink that wasn't ink, pattern that wasn't just skin.
Something in him clicked.
A quiet chime rang where no bell hung.
[Ghost Back Completion: 10.01%]
[Cultivation Efficiency Multiplier: ×50]
Heat lifted from his back like mist, then settled deep into bone and tendon. The world sharpened by a degree—edges cleaner, weight easier, the timing of Oren's next step obvious before it landed.
At the curb, Aokiji's eyes thinned. "There it is," he murmured. "So that's what Garp meant."
Oren didn't care about systems or numbers. He charged. Kai met him—and didn't give ground.
Their fists touched once.
BOOM!
Shock stacked between them and came back. Oren's heel skidded a handspan. Kai's frame didn't waver.
"Again," Kai said, voice soft.
They traded in bursts:
Soru to flank, a heel whispering past fur.
Shigan to tendon—three short thrusts mapping wrist, elbow, shoulder.
Tekkai to core, folding power into inch-long arcs that Oren felt through hide and bone.
Kami-e to slip the backswing, body loose as paper riding wind.
Oren snarled and doubled his pace, hands open now, swatting for a hold. He clipped Kai's sleeve—just enough to twist the boy mid-step.
"Got—"
"Geppo."
Air held; Kai kicked a stair-step nobody else could see and reset his angle above Oren's shoulder.
"Rankyaku!"
An air blade stitched a long white line across Oren's trap and deltoid. Blood followed a breath later.
Oren grinned, more animal than man. "Now we're talking."
He bent, ripped a half-buried anchor free, and flung it. The iron spun end over end—straight for the Marines.
"Tch." Aokiji flicked two fingers. Frost raced. The anchor froze mid-arc, then shattered into glittering hail that chimed against stone.
"Eyes on me," Kai said—
—and Oren looked back just in time to meet a fist.
"Tekkai — Steel Fist!"
CRACK.
The bear-man's jaw snapped to the side. He plowed two trenches with his heels, caught himself on one knee, and smiled through blood.
On the fringe of the square, a Den Den Mushi lens clicked softly beneath a tarpaulin.
"Confirm: Rokushiki-capable minor," a clipped voice whispered. "Conqueror's Haki previously verified. Unknown Ghost Back pattern displays surge behavior at threshold. Flag for Cipher Pol."
The lens irised smaller. A second snail farther off repeated the words into another line entirely.
Kai's head tilted. He didn't look up. But the new weight of the air—someone watching who wasn't a pirate or a Marine—registered.
Oren pushed to his feet and rolled his shoulders. Veins stood like cables. "You're sturdy for a brat. Let's see you bend."
"Try," Kai said.
They crashed again—shorter exchanges now, cleaner. Kai began to win the beats: half-steps stolen, angles trimmed to razor margins, strikes landing where hide ran out and nerve began.
A meaty paw closed on Kai's forearm—finally, a grab. Oren heaved.
Kai sank his weight, shoulders flaring with that black geometry. The arm didn't move. The grab was already a mistake.
"Break," Kai said—almost gently.
A twist. A pop. Oren roared and let go.
Fur drifted in the air like ash.
At the curb, Aokiji didn't move. But frost feathered the ground a meter farther than before.
"Enough warm-up," Oren growled, voice rumbling the windows. "Let's see your limit."
Kai drew one breath, center settling. The Ghost Back lines seemed to pulse once—like a heartbeat answering a drum.
"Okay."
They stepped.
To be continued…
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