Chapter 279: Much Appreciated
In the world of combat, there is one universal truth: Training!
Aside from the rare anomalies like Kaoru Hanayama—men born with a silver spoon
and iron bones—every master in history relies on a grueling daily routine.
Whether one is lost in confusion, suffering through pain, or riding a wave of
pure euphoria, the only path forward is to keep moving, keep wandering, and keep
refining the self.
"..."
The pro-wrestlers inside the gymnasium lived by this creed.
The elite members of the SJPW squad often trained for hours until their motor
functions failed or they collapsed into unconsciousness. Only then would they
permit themselves a moment's rest.
Yet, even these hardened titans felt a surge of adrenaline as the next session
was announced.
Ren Shiroki & Gouki Shibukawa vs. Kugo Kurachi & Jose Kanzaki
2-vs-2 Tag-Team Ring Drills!
"Aha! Senior Kurachi actually used his catchphrase! He's really fired up!" "Is
the Spartan Uncle finally going to face a Master who's even more Spartan than he
is?" "Put those cameras away, boys! If the Kure Elders see us losing to an old
man, we'll never hear the end of it!" "Jose! Don't you dare drag the Senior
down!"
The spectators buzzed with excitement, and even the MPD Judo Division officers
were drawn to the ring, their own training forgotten for the moment.
"Shibukawa-sensei is actually stepping into a wrestling ring? This is gonna be a
riot!" "The 'Saint of War' vs. the 'God of Pro-Wrestling'? In a backyard gym?
This is pure luxury!"
As the crowd of thirty or forty people gathered, both Ren and Shibukawa couldn't
help but smirk. No matter how many matches they participated in, this specific
atmosphere—the raw, vibrating energy of an expectant crowd—always made their
souls sing.
Kugo Kurachi and Jose Kanzaki took their positions. Shibukawa arched an eyebrow,
looking genuinely intrigued.
"So, what are the parameters for this 'Wrestling Drill'?"
Kurachi thought for a moment. "Complex rules are a buzzkill. Let's keep it
classic: 1-v-1, tag-team style. You have to touch the corner post or slap your
partner's hand to swap. Sound fair?"
Ren and Shibukawa nodded. As Ren prepared to step forward, Shibukawa held out an
arm to block him. "Let the senior citizen have the first turn, kid!"
Ren felt a twinge of disappointment, but knowing Shibukawa's stubborn nature, he
hopped over the ropes and onto the apron, settling in as the "Second."
Kugo Kurachi stepped into the center of the ring, tearing off his shirt to
reveal a physique carved from granite. "Master Shibukawa, aren't you going to
warm up? At your age, a cold start is an invitation for an injury."
Shibukawa waved him off dismissively. "No, no. You athletes can handle the
stretching. A true martial artist is always in a state of 'Battle-Readiness'."
"That is... Super Fantasticly impossible to argue with!"
Kurachi cracked his neck and turned toward the spectators, his voice booming.
"Gouki Shibukawa!"
"Anyone who has even dipped a toe into the world of martial arts knows that
name!"
"The Tiny Giant! The Pinnacle of Modern Budo! The No. 1 Powerhouse! The
Embodiment of War! The Master!"
"Even the legendary Igari spoke of the 'Saint of War' with awe!"
Kurachi bowed respectfully to Shibukawa, but then his tone shifted as he stroked
his handlebar mustache. "But I don't believe in titles!"
"If you want to win the roar of the crowd in a Wrestling Ring, a fancy nickname
won't save you, Sensei!"
Zip!
Kurachi dropped his center of gravity, his arms spreading wide in a classic
grappling posture.
The "promo" was over. Now, it was time for the "Real-Fake" struggle.
Despite being a veteran nearing retirement, Kurachi radiated the pressure of a
hungry tiger. He was 184cm and 110kg of pure, functional mass—the "God of
Pro-Wrestling."
Since this was a "Drill," there was no bell.
The moment Kurachi lowered his weight, he launched. He dove forward, intending
to seize the tiny old man in a crushing bear-hug. He was ready to take a hit; he
was prepared to "sell" the strike.
Once I get my hands on a 47kg target, it's over—
Wait, I'm an idiot, Kurachi thought with a grin.
If it were that easy, the name "Saint of War" would be a joke. But a
pro-wrestler gives his everything to the ring, no matter the odds. That was the
"Fantastic" way to live!
"――!"
Kurachi soon realized he had underestimated the Master's "Stillness." Shibukawa
stood with his right foot slightly forward, his hands low and relaxed. He looked
like an immovable iron tower.
Zip-zip-zip!
Kurachi shifted laterally, trying to find an angle of entry, but the Master's
centerline followed him like a compass needle.
"Standing around like this isn't very Fantastic, Sensei!"
Kurachi gritted his teeth and exploded forward in a frontal tackle.
The moment he made contact, Shibukawa's right arm snapped upward. He didn't
block the tackle; he caught the momentum and redirected it upward.
WHOOSH!
Using only one hand, Shibukawa upended the 110kg giant. Kurachi was launched
into a counter-clockwise spin in mid-air.
"Waaaah—!"
Shibukawa flicked his wrist, accelerating the rotation. Then, he suddenly
withdrew his hand, letting gravity take over. Kurachi spiraled downward,
slamming into the ring floor with a thunderous BOOM.
Kurachi was plastered against the canvas. He struggled to find his breath, blood
leaking from his nose and the corner of his mouth.
Shibukawa squinted and offered a word of praise. "Impressive resilience. You
wrestlers are like Sumo practitioners; when you prepare your 'Body for the
Blow,' you're as tough as old leather!"
"Haha!"
Kurachi wiped the blood from his lip, his eyes wide with excitement. "Master...
if I want to make this a 'Great Show'... I only have one move left."
Shibukawa laughed. "Oho? Well, I happen to have a similar idea. Should we use
them together?"
Both men nodded. The spectators leaned in, their focus narrowing.
The next second—SLAP!
Shibukawa and Kurachi both spun around simultaneously, racing to their
respective corners to slap the palms of their waiting partners.
Ren Shiroki: "...?"
Before he could process the swap, Shibukawa seized Ren by the waist and
literally "tossed" him into the ring. Ren stumbled for a second before finding
his footing.
A Tag?
So that's what he meant by 'Great Show'?!
Ren realized that if Kurachi had tagged out too, his opponent was now—
BOOM!
A heavy sound echoed from the opposite turnbuckle.
Ren looked up. The space in front of him was empty. A shadow had launched itself
into the sky, vaulting high above the ring.
It was Jose Kanzaki!
The 175cm, 115kg wrestler was soaring through the air. Like a high-jumper with
the mass of a boulder, he performed a perfect "Moonsault" (Moon-Surface
Somersault).
Zip!
Mid-descent, Jose adjusted his trajectory. He curled into a ball and then
snapped open, his heels driving downward like twin hammers aimed directly at
Ren's skull.
BANG!
Ren raised his forearms in a tight guard. The sheer weight of the falling strike
was staggering, sending a jolt of pure combat adrenaline through his nervous
system.
"Finally! Someone to trade hits with!"
[RYU'S HEEL DROP]!
Whoosh!
Ren snapped his own leg upward, a vertical kick intended to force Jose to touch
down. The two men finally stood face-to-face, and the exchange exploded into a
frantic symphony of fists and feet.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Ren stood 187cm tall, giving him the reach advantage. But in a pure slugfest,
the 115kg Jose carried significantly more "Thud" in every hit.
POW!
Ren landed a right straight. Jose didn't block; he tensed his massive pectorals
and took the hit flush. A red welt formed instantly, but the wrestler didn't
even flinch.
"Even in practice, those hands are heavy—for a 'Martial Artist'!"
Jose bared his teeth, his voice muffled by his mask. "In your world, it's fine
to avoid a move. You pride yourselves on your 'Clean' defense!"
"But for a Pro-Wrestler? Avoiding a move is a sin we wouldn't even dream of!"
"We aren't allowed to be that naive!"
Jose unleashed a barrage of heavy-handed strikes, forcing Ren to retreat step by
step.
"Even if a 250kg giant is diving at us from the top rope, a Pro-Wrestler doesn't
dodge! We catch it! We absorb every bit of the opponent's 'Finish'!!"
BANG!
Another heavy punch slammed into Ren's guard, followed by a relentless series of
kicks.
"You're sturdy, Ren Shiroki...!"
Jose growled through gritted teeth. "I don't know what that 'Spartan' Senior of
mine is trying to teach me by letting me spar with you, but all I know... and
all I'm proud of... is Pro-Wrestling!"
ZIP! ZIP!
A series of elbow smashes and heavy hooks rained down. Ren was forced to weave
and parry, his options shrinking by the second. To the crowd, he looked like he
was in deep peril.
Ringside, Sonoda noticed that Fusui was cheering along with the crowd, looking
positively delighted.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Sonoda asked, bewildered.
The girl winked, her black-and-white eyes glowing. "Because it's magnificent!
Can't you feel the soul in those hits?"
"I suppose..." Sonoda murmured, shaking his head. "You and Ren-kun are a perfect
match..."
Fusui just grinned.
In the ring, Jose continued his offensive. But as the flurry progressed, his
brow furrowed behind his mask. Something was... wrong.
Whether Ren blocked or not, Jose's strikes were landing. But no matter how hard
he swung, even when he intentionally exposed a gap to maximize his power, he
wasn't dealing "Effective Damage."
It didn't feel like hitting a wall or a rock. It felt like hitting a human...
but a human that was somehow "Buffered." He couldn't find a path to a clean KO!
BANG!
Jose threw a desperate "Suicide Strike," a heavy punch that forced Ren back
several steps until his hands touched the ring ropes.
Ren didn't bounce off. He leaned against the elastic cords, looking at Jose
Kanzaki with a wide, exhilarated grin. He loved the dim, industrial spotlights.
He loved the iron-scent of blood in the air.
"Thank you, Jose-kun. And thank you, Senior Kurachi... and your
'Pro-Wrestling'."
"Just like you're obsessed with absorbing every hit to satisfy the crowd—"
"I've finally realized exactly what I want to do, and just how far I'm willing
to take it. The 'Heat' of this ring... it gave me the answer. Much appreciated."
WHOOSH—
Ren straightened his back and began a slow, leisurely walk toward Jose.
"—?!"
Before Jose could react, Ren's left hand snaked out. He didn't punch; he clamped
his hand onto Jose's left cheek and yanked it violently toward his own left
flank.
Simultaneously, Ren's left leg snapped forward in a lateral sweep, catching the
inside of Jose's right knee. The wrestler stumbled, his 115kg frame bucking as
his center of gravity was deleted.
Zip!
Ren capitalized instantly. He drove his right foot onto Jose's left knee, using
the leg as a ladder to launch his entire body upward. While still ascending, his
left foot snapped out, catching Jose flush on the face.
Ren's arms swung back to maintain his balance. He looked like he was walking up
a staircase made of his opponent's body. He looked down at Jose from his
elevated position.
In Ren's mind, the ink-wash lines pulsed with a wild, tropical rhythm. His
Master's voice boomed with laughter.
[Standing still is a waste of a life! MOVE!]
[The Rhythm is everything, Buddy!]
[What you're about to use is the signature throw of the Kickboxer, the 'Southern
Comet'—Dee Jay!!]
[DEE JAY'S STEPPING BEAT]—!!
(End of Chapter)
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