One of the '12 Royal Guards,' the most glorious position for those who follow the God of Destruction, Ivan,
Captain Boris Makarov thought as he looked down at the oriental man standing before him.
'Unexpected.'
It was surprising that a fighter of this caliber still remained in this island nation of the Far East.
Though he couldn't guess his age by appearance, even to him, who had trained his body for decades, the physique of the man before him was flawlessly sculpted.
If it weren't for this situation, he would have liked to sit down for a glass of vodka and have a long talk.
But right now, they were 'enemies.'
It seemed he'd been hired as a bodyguard for a day by the young lady who had fled the hotel, but from his perspective, with his men taken down, that didn't matter at all.
'I will face you with everything I have.'
As Boris spread his feet shoulder-width apart, extended both arms forward, and lowered his center of gravity, his trapezius and latissimus dorsi muscles naturally bulged upward.
He looked like a massive tank aiming its cannon at the enemy.
Boris, the 'Heavy Tank,' assumed the distinctive offensive stance of the Russian martial art Sambo. Yet, despite being ready to attack, he remained wary of the oriental man who still stood in a natural posture.
A fight between masters is often decided by a momentary lapse in concentration.
This was even more true in a street fight with no rules, where strikes to vital points were permitted.
'Is it a feint? Why isn't he moving?'
A fight only begins when someone strikes first.
But no matter how long he waited, his opponent showed no signs of movement, so Boris finally decided to take the initiative.
"Hup!"
Kicking off the ground with force, he launched into a shoulder tackle, leading with his massive, bear-like frame.
Most who had assumed Boris would be slow due to his size failed to even react, getting slammed by his tank-like body and taken down.
Just before impact, the oriental man, who hadn't moved until Boris was nearly upon him, finally pulled his hands from his pockets.
*CRACK—!!*
In an instant, the oriental man's fist was buried in Boris's face.
His neck, which had been facing forward, snapped to the side.
'Wh-what!'
His eyes couldn't follow it.
No, it was faster than that.
An attack speed like a flash of light!
Boris had heard of a similar technique before.
'Iai!'
He had heard that Japanese samurai practiced a technique to counter surprise attacks by instantly drawing their swords from their scabbards to counterattack.
The man before him had just replicated it with his pants pockets and bare fists!
'But it's not over yet!'
He'd lost the first strike, but his endurance wasn't so weak that he'd go down from a single blow like that.
To the former Captain Boris Makarov, who had successfully led various special operations and infiltration missions, including the war in Afghanistan, pain was proof of life.
"Uraaaaaaaah!"
Unleashing a roar from the depths of his lungs, he fought against the inertia trying to send him flying backward, forcing his body to stay put!
Barely planting his feet, Boris managed to wrap his arms around the man's tree-trunk-like body and legs.
'If I can just take him down!'
*Thud.*
'What—'
It felt like he was trying to move a boulder the size of a house.
Despite pushing with all his might, the oriental man before him didn't budge an inch.
'Where does this strength come from?'
Weight class plays a huge role in a fight.
Moreover, in Boris's case, he had traveled the world with Commander Ivan but had rarely met an opponent of a similar weight class.
But the oriental man standing before him possessed an incomprehensibly immense strength.
As if the difference in their weight class meant nothing at all!
In that moment, his opponent grabbed Boris's suit belt.
A tense standoff between the two men.
As they entered a full-blown power struggle, a vein popped on Boris's temple.
"Uraaaaaaaaaaah!"
If strength won't work, then I'll win with technique!
"Kuh!"
*CRASH!!*
He instantly shifted his center of gravity from front to back, breaking his opponent's posture, then swept his legs out from under him, successfully executing a takedown.
The oriental man's back slammed hard against the asphalt, his poker face breaking for the first time, but there was no time to celebrate.
Immediately after the takedown, Boris seamlessly transitioned into a submission, the hallmark of Sambo.
He grabbed one of his opponent's arms, pinned his body with both legs, and pulled with all his might!
'Huh?'
But a sudden feeling of weightlessness enveloped him, and Boris's eyes widened involuntarily.
The black-haired oriental man, whom he thought he had completely subdued, had lifted Boris—who boasted a weight of 150kg—with just one hand, using pure brute strength!
'Impossible!'
He hastily released the armbar and tried to escape, but his body, already accelerated by his opponent, wouldn't obey.
His massive body was flipped over.
The cold asphalt floor, slowly drawing closer.
Predicting his imminent future as he was about to be slammed headfirst into the ground, Boris quietly closed his eyes.
'My apologies, Tsar.'
*CRRRRAAAAAASSSSH!!*
***
Having barely managed to defeat the leader of the fiercely attacking kidnappers, I let out a dry cough.
'I thought I was screwed.'
I usually try to use proper language, but today was an exception.
Because I was, quite literally, about to get screwed.
'He was definitely going for an armbar at the end.'
Just imagining the pain I would have felt if the technique had been properly applied sent shivers down my spine.
Ever since I realized I was at the same school as the protagonist, Sakamoto Ryuji, and started training in earnest, I've never been called small, but this bear-like man was on another level.
Since we couldn't communicate, the fight started abruptly without any introductions.
The man waited for me to move, but when he couldn't wait any longer, he attempted a tackle first.
Fortunately, I had learned how to defend against a single-leg tackle from Director Nakayama, so I didn't fall. But the man immediately followed up by sweeping my leg, breaking my posture and throwing me onto the asphalt without hesitation.
Honestly, it was the first time in the last three years that I'd been in that much pain.
That's probably why I snapped.
At the end, I was so afraid of getting caught in the armbar that I used every ounce of my strength, practically fighting for my life, to lift the man with one arm and slam him into the ground.
"Haa... haa... haa... haa..."
As I stood on the now-empty street, catching my ragged breath, Sasha, who had holed up in a phone booth until the end, cautiously opened the door and came out.
Then she muttered in a dazed voice.
"...You defeated Boris?"
"Boris? Is that this guy's name?"
"Huh? Y-Yeah. He's incredibly famous in the Russian underworld."
I dusted off my hooded sweatshirt and asked her.
"He seemed to be the leader of the kidnappers. Does this mean they'll stop chasing you now?"
Sasha replied with a peculiar expression.
"Maybe... I think so?"
"That's a relief, then."
At least all that blood, sweat, and tears paid off.
"More importantly, you're bleeding a lot. Are you okay?"
"Ah, this isn't my blood."
As I said that and glanced around at the other Russians scattered on the ground, Sasha seemed to have a delayed realization and let out a small, "Ah."
We had caused this much of a commotion in Akihabara, a place already crowded with people during Golden Week, and in broad daylight, no less.
Honestly, it wouldn't be strange if a video had already been filmed and was circulating online.
I guess... I'll just have to trust in the kindness of this manga world, huh?
"Let's get out of here for now. We've drawn too much attention."
As I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt, Sasha nodded and pulled her baseball cap down low.
The people who had been watching the fight from a distance were already starting to creep closer, so we decided to flee before it was too late.
***
*Drrrrrrrrr!*
"Hmph. It's me."
[Tsar, Captain Boris has been defeated.]
"...Boris? There shouldn't be any martial artist in Japan capable of taking him down."
[He is an oriental man, about 190cm tall. He has black, wild hair, like a beast's.]
"Don't tell me it's him."
[Tsar, do you have someone in mind?]
"There is one Japanese man who fits that description. Someone who vanished without a trace ten years ago."
[You don't mean... the Black Yaksha?]
"Yes. If it's Fuma Kotaro, it wouldn't be strange for him to defeat Boris. He is one of the Seven Fists, just like me."
[If the man the young lady hired is truly Fuma Kotaro, then we cannot retrieve her on our own!]
"I know. That's why I'm going myself."
[What? But Tsar, you were supposed to be eliminating the remnants of the Shichieizan hiding in Hokkaido...]
"That business just ended."
*BOOOOOM!!*
[...Understood. I will send the private jet to you immediately.]
"Yes, please do. In the meantime, I'll play a little game of hide-and-seek with these cockroaches."
[Good luck.]
*CRUNCH!*
After the communication with Nikolai, one of the Royal Guards dispatched to Tokyo, was cut off, the muscular man crushed the radio in his hand with sheer grip strength. He smiled cruelly, a burning factory blazing behind him.
"It's been a while since I've had some fun."