Chapter 243: A Wolf in Front, a Tiger Behind
This battle wasn't a transition from the ring to the street; it was a forced
ascent from the battlefield back onto the stage!
"I understand now..."
Sikorsky pressed his lips into a thin line, his knuckles whitening as he
clenched his fists. He scanned his surroundings. On the ceiling, tucked into the
corners, and even pinned to Ren Shiroki's ear—micro-cameras were everywhere,
broadcasting his struggle to the world.
"So that's it. I've been standing in the center of a ring this entire time!"
Sikorsky arched an eyebrow, a look of grim realization washing over him. "The
one who needs to adapt isn't my opponent... it's me! I'm the one who was out of
his element!"
"Then let's stop wasting time!"
His roar was met with a crackling response from the PA system—Mitsunari
Tokugawa's voice.
"Heh! It started a long time ago, boy!"
Sikorsky looked up at Ren Shiroki, whose battle intent was practically visible
as a shimmering haze. Thinking of the youth's bottomless arsenal of techniques,
Sikorsky couldn't help but swallow hard.
"This place can be a warzone, or it can be a ring. The boundary is a blur," Ren
said, rolling his wrists. He bared his teeth in a savage grin. "Is this your
first time in a televised match? It feels pretty good, doesn't it?"
"Heh..."
Sikorsky let out a soft, dry laugh. He could feel it now—behind those camera
lenses were dozens of eyes, maybe hundreds, watching his every move. Even
without the roar of a stadium or the glare of spotlights, he could feel the
heat.
This... is exhilarating!
He gripped his collar with both hands and yanked outward. With a violent Rrip,
he shredded his shirt and tossed the rags into a corner. His hyper-defined,
functional musculature was revealed in all its glory.
"Mm," Ren noted, studying the Russian's build. "Nice. That's perfect!"
Veins throbbed on Sikorsky's forehead. He locked his gaze onto Ren and let out a
primal shout:
"COME AND GET IT!"
He was no longer agonizing over the rules. He was fully immersed in the hunt.
His movements became fluid, devoid of hesitation.
ZIP!
Sikorsky lunged, dropping low as if to go for a double-leg takedown. But the
moment he entered Ren's reach, he drove his feet into the carpet and pivoted.
His middle knuckle protruded in a reinforced grip as he unleashed his signature
[KNUCKLE STRIKE].
Whoosh!
The sharpened knuckle, backed by his freakish finger-strength, was designed to
act like a surgical drill, capable of gouging through human muscle.
But Ren did the unthinkable. The moment the fist moved, Ren stepped forward half
a pace, jamming his crossed forearms against Sikorsky's chest.
THUD!
The knuckle strike hit Ren's forearm, but it was stuck at the point of origin.
Without the "Acceleration Distance," the strike lacked the torque required to
penetrate the skin.
"One of my Hub members uses a move called [RAZOR'S EDGE]. I saw it get
dismantled recently, so I did some homework on the physics," Ren mused with a
faint smile. "If I jam the start of the swing, the acceleration never happens.
If the speed isn't there, the impact is harmless."
"I don't need to dodge. If your attack has no logic behind it, it can't hurt
me!"
Hearing the lecture, Sikorsky actually laughed.
"As expected."
He had made his peace with death. Ren's analysis didn't shake him. "It's
ineffective against you... exactly as I thought!"
Zip!
Sikorsky performed a lateral slide to the right, twisting his hips to launch a
heavy left roundhouse. Ren raised a knee to parry.
BANG!
Sikorsky didn't stop. The moment his left foot touched the ground, he drove his
right palm-root forward, aiming for Ren's solar plexus.
POW!
Ren leaned forward to absorb the force, but the impact gave Sikorsky a narrow
window. The convict exploded into a frantic barrage—fists and feet falling like
a Siberian blizzard.
Bang-bang-bang-bang!
Ren took a hit to the nose, blood spraying, but he used the momentum to press
forward again. Sikorsky grinned with sadistic glee.
"You want to jam my knuckles? Try jamming this!"
Zip!
Sikorsky leaped into the air, coiling his core like a spring. He intended to
finish the exchange with a mid-air double-stomp.
In that heartbeat, Ren twisted his core, coiling for a [QUICK SPIN KNUCKLE]. But
at this range, a back-fist was impossible to execute. Ren knew it. He shifted
his technique mid-motion, his left elbow snapping upward.
[SAGAT'S TIGER STONE]!
BANG!
The elbow caught Sikorsky flush on the jaw. Blood geysered from the convict's
mouth as his mandible underwent a violent deformation. The rising force of the
Muay Thai strike caught Sikorsky while he was still ascending, flipping him
backward.
He spiraled through the air, trailing blood, before slamming into a pile of
maintenance crates at the end of the hall.
CRASH!
Sikorsky hit the floor, his face a mask of gore. Several teeth lay scattered on
the carpet. His jaw was hanging at a crooked angle.
"Ungh..."
He let out a low, wet groan, spitting out a blood clot.
I knew this would happen too...
In a pure technical trade, Sikorsky knew he was outclassed. He had intentionally
used the impact to retreat into the debris.
For now... this is fine!
Sikorsky ground his teeth against the pain. He palmed a jagged shard of wood as
he stood up. He reached out, grabbed a heavy metal clothing rack, and with a
violent jerk of his "Magical Fingers," he tore a solid iron bar—over a meter
long—from the frame.
SHINK!
Sikorsky gripped the iron bar like a spear, holding it bladed.
Ground Floor, Command Post.
Oliva was currently digging into a plate of bear-meat tartare. The pellet wounds
on his chest were visibly closing, his recovery rate bordering on the
supernatural. He watched Sikorsky's movement on the tactical screen and shared a
look with Tokugawa. Both of them grinned.
"A mobster to the end. Sikorsky actually knows how to use a short spear!"
"Spear technique, huh?"
Ren Shiroki looked at the iron bar in Sikorsky's hand. He beckoned with a curled
finger. "Come on then. Let's see it!"
Sikorsky didn't hesitate. He lunged forward. As he closed in, he performed a
rapid-fire feint with the "spear," shifting the point of the attack at the last
micro-second.
"HA!"
Sikorsky lunged, the iron bar whistling toward Ren's heart.
But the heartbeat before the metal could pierce his skin, Ren spun his entire
body. He entered the dead-angle of the thrust.
Sikorsky reacted instantly, letting go of the bar. Simultaneously, he crushed
the wooden shard in his other hand, spraying a blizzard of sawdust and splinters
into Ren's face.
Zip!
But Sikorsky hadn't counted on one thing. Ren's spin wasn't just an evasion. It
was the start of a high-speed rotation.
[RASHID'S ARABIAN CYCLONE]!
FWOOSH!
The centrifugal force of the spin created a mini-vortex that swept the sawdust
harmlessly aside. Ren emerged from the spin and drove his palm forward into
Sikorsky's chest.
[JAMIE'S FREEFLOW STRIKE]!
BOOM!
The palm-strike shattered two of Sikorsky's ribs. The Russian was launched into
the air once more, letting out a ragged, agonizing shriek.
THUD!
Sikorsky hit the floor, retching blood. He doubled over, his body trembling so
hard he could barely stay upright. His gulag-forged physique was tougher than
any mercenary, but even he was reaching his limit.
He didn't hesitate. Following his instincts, he scrambled to his feet and fled,
heading up the stairs. Along the way, he kicked over furniture and tore down
ceiling panels, creating a trail of obstacles to slow Ren down.
As he ran, Sikorsky replayed the exchange. I can't break him! No matter what I
try—street tactics or ring logic—there isn't an angle that leads to victory!
"..."
His mind was a chaotic mess. He wasn't even thinking anymore, just climbing
higher, searching for some kind of miracle.
As he rounded a corner on the 10th Floor, he ran straight into a man who had
just finished dismantling a squad of IDEAL hitmen.
Ohma Tokita.
Ohma had stayed in the building to train and to avoid the frantic advances of
Karura Kure. He looked at the bloodied Russian and smirked.
"Oh? You want a piece too?"
Sikorsky's expression was dark. He couldn't afford to get stuck here; Ren was
right behind him. He tightened his fist, his middle knuckle aimed at Ohma's
throat.
Zip!
But before he could swing, a massive hand reached out from the wall beside him,
seizing his wrist.
Sikorsky gasped, thinking Ren had caught up.
He turned his head, only to see that the hand hadn't come from a person—it had
emerged from the "wall" itself. He looked closer and saw a masterfully painted
piece of camouflage fabric. Someone had been hiding behind a fake wall-panel.
Sikorsky reacted with pure trauma-fueled reflex. He swung his other fist, his
knuckle-strike slicing across the hidden person's wrist, forcing a release.
"Oho! Interesting. Your fists are as sharp as knives!"
A man tore away the camouflage fabric and stepped into the corridor.
He wore plain casual clothes, a headband tied around his brow, and heavy
military boots. He looked like a veteran soldier.
"Individual sweeps are more efficient," the man noted, rolling his wrist. "There
aren't many terrorists left in this building. I've got to bag as many as I can
to keep the MPD happy."
The man looked at Sikorsky and gave a sharp, professional grin. "What a stroke
of luck... a 'Counter-Terror War' in the middle of Ginza."
He drew a military tactical knife from his belt.
"Entertain me for a bit... at least until Captain Gaia gets here."
(End of Chapter)
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