Chapter 312: A Battle Never Understood
The night was deep.
Kure Village was, at its heart, a quiet town. Aside from the main commercial
arteries pulsing with festival energy, the winding back-alleys had surrendered
to a heavy, peaceful silence.
It was the perfect atmosphere for a stroll.
Ren Shiroki and Fusui Kure walked hand-in-hand, their pace leisurely, feeling
the warmth of each other's palms. They were following the metallic scent of
blood trailing through the air, seeking the final curtain of the death row
convict.
As they rounded a corner, they encountered another familiar face.
The "Grand Senior" of Super Japan Pro-Wrestling, the man who had guided
Sekibayashi to the ring—Kugo Kurachi [The God of Wrestling].
Clearly, Kurachi had heard reports from Kure scouts about the clash between
Sekibayashi and Doyle and couldn't resist seeing how his student was handling
the "Script."
Ren and Fusui raised their hands in greeting.
"Sorry about the mess, Kurachi-aniki," Ren said, glancing at the droplets of
blood on the pavement. A hint of guilt touched his voice. "I wanted to test
Doyle myself, but I ended up letting Seki-aniki take the heat."
"Hahaha! What are you talking about? It couldn't be helped!"
Kurachi put his hands on his hips, his tone easygoing. "Jun wanted to fight. It
was his choice. In our world, if you try to stop a man from following his own
script, he'll usually hit you harder than the opponent would!"
Kurachi began to walk with them.
"Besides, that convict is quite Fantastic, isn't he?"
"To trade souls with the [HELL'S ANGEL], [MARVELOUS SEKI], and [MARVELOUS SEKI
II] all in one night? The kid is incredibly lucky! And he's definitely got the
durability for the business!"
Ren thought about it and nodded with a smirk. "You've got a point."
The trio turned into a narrow alley, where they found Doyle cornered once again
by "Sekibayashi."
The giant's hulking frame was drenched in blood. The white greasepaint on his
face looked demonic under the flickering streetlights, his teeth bared in a
jagged snarl as he loomed over the mangled Doyle.
"Good... eeee-vening!!"
Sekibayashi cracked his knuckles with a sound like dry wood snapping.
"My brothers from the Netherworld tell me you still won't admit defeat? In that
case... allow me, MARVELOUS SEKI III, to provide the final verdict!"
"..."
Doyle was beyond exhaustion. His eyelids drooped as he stared at the giant, his
throat too dry to even offer a sarcastic retort. His lips were cracked and
bleeding.
"Heh. Here!"
Sekibayashi let out a short laugh and tossed a bottle of ice-cold water to the
convict.
"Clear your head with this. The match is about to resume. No food, though—I
don't want you retching all over the stage."
"..."
Doyle didn't respond. He opened the bottle, took three massive gulps, and then
poured the rest over his head, washing the gore and soot from his face.
"Phew..."
After thirty seconds of heavy, labored breathing, the vacant look in Doyle's
eyes vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp focus. He tossed the empty bottle
aside.
Zip!
He dropped his center of gravity. He extended his left arm straight ahead,
resting his right forearm across his left elbow—the optimal combat posture for
his modified body.
Seeing the stance, Marvelous Seki III let out a manic cackle.
"GYA-HA! Didn't run? Didn't try a sneak-attack with the bottle?"
The giant bared his teeth. "It seems my brothers finally beat some sense into
you. You've realized that petty tricks don't work in a real battle!"
Doyle said nothing. He had no breath left to waste.
WHOOSH!
He drove his foot into the ground, twisting his hips to launch a high-velocity
right-leg scan-kick. It caught Sekibayashi flush in the side.
Sekibayashi didn't dodge. He tensed his core, his obliques turning into a slab
of industrial rubber to absorb the force.
"Hiss—!"
Doyle felt as if he had kicked an iron pylon. The recoil rattled his own ankle,
and a bead of cold sweat appeared on his brow.
"HA!"
Sekibayashi roared, driving his right palm forward in a massive thrust that
caught Doyle square in the chest.
THUD!
The impact was heavy, the force penetrating through Doyle's body and sending him
stumbling backward.
Sekibayashi's left hand snaked out, seizing Doyle by the collar. He pulled his
right arm back and bladed his hand into a rigid hand-sword. Veins throbbed
across his massive bicep as he coiled for the strike.
"Convict-kun. Since this is our first meeting, I'll offer you one courtesy."
Sekibayashi's bloodshot eyes bored into Doyle's. "My ** Reverse Horizontal
Chop** is more powerful than the Hell's Angel's. I can split reinforced concrete
pipes with this hand. Not even a professional wrestler can 'Receive' it
indefinitely."
"So, I'll ask you one more time—"
The giant's blood-smeared face leaned in close to Doyle's, his breath hot. "Do
you admit your DEFEAT in this battle?"
Doyle, held by the collar, planted his heels in the sand. He gritted his teeth
and pulled back, clearly trying to wrench himself free.
"Fools who seek death always find it!"
Sekibayashi roared, his hand-sword swinging in a horizontal arc. It slammed into
Doyle's clavicle with a sickening CRACK.
ZIP!
Doyle was launched off his feet. He hit the pavement and slid several meters,
leaving a dark crimson trail on the road. His right collarbone was visibly
deformed, caved inward by the force of the chop.
"..."
The agonizing pain paralyzed him. Doyle's narrow eyes were clamped shut, his
long limbs twitching in the dirt. Even though Sekibayashi had clearly pulled the
power of the strike, Doyle was on the verge of death.
In his daze, he tried to force his muscles to move. When his vision cleared, he
realized he was standing again. With his back to Sekibayashi, he began to
stumble away, a ghost of a man trying to maintain a final, pathetic
stubbornness.
Step... step... step...
Doyle wobbled through the dark. He didn't even know why he was running anymore.
It was just an "automated response" to maintain the illusion of his own
strength.
Strong... I won't lose to anyone... I am the strongest...
He rounded a corner and hit a wall of meat. Marvelous Seki III was already
there, blocking the path.
Is it the third generation? Or the fourth? Doyle's mind was a static mess.
Zip!
Sekibayashi's left hand snapped out, seizing Doyle's collar for the second time.
He pulled his right fist back, coiling for a strike to the head.
"Convict-kun. Are you really going to hold onto that stubbornness until the end?
Isn't it enough already?"
"..."
Doyle didn't answer, but his fingers twitched. Even with the blade in his elbow
jammed and broken, he tried to trigger the mechanism. He refused to look his
defeat in the eye.
"Hmph!"
Marvelous Seki III let out a cold snort, his fist firing forward.
Zip!
In the micro-second before impact—"Nngh!?"
The "Angel's" punch stopped dead.
He kept his left hand on Doyle's collar, but his right hand suddenly flew to his
own face. He wore an expression of intense, internal struggle, letting out a
ragged scream.
"AAAH—HNNGH—!!"
The roar was deafening, the pressure so intense that Doyle's nose began to bleed
from the shear sonic force.
After several seconds of agonizing screaming, the giant went quiet. His body
shuddered with a violent tremor.
Doyle stared, frozen in place.
Looking closely, he saw tears streaming down the giant's face. Using the blood
on his own skin, Sekibayashi wiped the white greasepaint from his face in a
single, violent motion.
"Thank you... Thank you, Convict-kun!"
Sekibayashi was weeping openly as he looked at Doyle. "Thank you for stalling
for time. You gave me the window I needed to suppress Marvelous Seki and seal
him back in the Netherworld."
"[HELL'S ANGEL] Jun Sekibayashi... has returned!"
Doyle: "..." Doyle: "...?"
The convict looked at the giant's tear-streaked face in total bewilderment.
Sekibayashi didn't care about the confusion.
"YOU WIN!"
Sekibayashi loosened his grip on the collar, setting Doyle gently on his feet.
He bared his teeth in a warm grin. "Can you hear me? As far as I'm concerned...
you won this battle!"
"..."
Doyle swayed on his feet, his eyes struggling to focus. This feeling... it
wasn't "nonsense." It was a profound, stinging Shock.
Sekibayashi didn't spare another word for Doyle. He turned and walked away,
heading toward the group standing at the alley's mouth: Ren, Fusui, and Kurachi.
Kugo Kurachi stood with his arms crossed, a silent, satisfied smile on his face.
He was clearly proud of his student's "Ending."
Ren Shiroki arched an eyebrow. "Seki-aniki, are you sure about that?"
"I am. Because it's the result I have accepted. I'm not a sore loser!"
Sekibayashi nodded firmly. "That kid tanked every move I had. If I kept hitting
him now, the 'Script' would turn sour. It wouldn't be beautiful anymore."
"Therefore, for my Pro-Wrestling... he earned the victory!"
"That's how a wrestler's battle ends!"
Seki paused, his expression wincing. "Man... that hurts like a bitch, though."
He touched the gash on his cheek and turned to Fusui. "Little lady, is the
medical tent still open? I need some stitches—"
Sekibayashi walked away with heavy, prideful steps.
Meanwhile, Doyle remained frozen in the alley, the giant's words echoing in his
skull.
A Pro-Wrestler's battle...
So... that is how you're supposed to fight?
It wasn't about "Admitting defeat" or "Being stubborn." It was about recognizing
an internal truth that no amount of lies or tricks could change.
I see now...
A real "Battle Result" wasn't something you could manipulate with flight, or
gadgets, or a big mouth. Those who cannot accept defeat are those who are not
qualified to fight at all.
I've never understood combat...
I've never truly 'Battled' in my entire life!
Tap.
Doyle turned around. He saw Ren Shiroki standing a few paces away. Doyle forced
his right arm up, beckoning Ren with a single, trembling finger.
Ren accepted the invitation, stepping forward and rotating his shoulders.
Doyle watched him approach. He knew he was about to be pulverized. He knew his
life might end in this alley. But for the first time, he couldn't stop the smile
from spreading across his face.
"What is combat? What is a match? What is defeat?"
"I see it now. I've lived in a fog until this very second. This... This is the
taste I was looking for."
Doyle dropped his weight. His gaze was no longer sharp and predatory; it was
clear, honest, and focused entirely on Ren Shiroki.
"I suppose this is the first time I have ever truly wanted to 'Battle' someone.
To truly decide a victory."
"Heh. It's quite a feeling."
He dropped into a shaky, broken combat stance—yet he stood taller than he ever
had in his life.
"—INSTRUCT ME, PLEASE!"
(End of Chapter)
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