Chapter 329: Visitors from All Over
The rowdy, adrenaline-fueled festival night was finally drawing to a close.
On the third-floor balcony of the Kure Patriarch's estate, a mahjong table had
been set up.
Metsudo Katahara, Baku Madarame, Arisa Sakurai, and Shigeru Akagi had been
playing "recreational" mahjong for several rounds. Since Arisa was still a high
school student, high-stakes gambling was strictly off the table. As a result,
even the three titans of the underground world were just playing for fun.
"Waaaah—!"
Seeing how late it had become, Arisa stretched her arms and let out a massive
yawn. "Should we call it a night?"
Akagi didn't care either way, and Baku had already achieved his goal of "making
contact" with the others. Only the oldest man at the table, Metsudo, was
unwilling to quit.
"Ehh?! I haven't played nearly enough! Just a few more rounds!"
Hearing this, Erioh Kure, who was sipping tea nearby, couldn't help but mutter
under his breath, "By the way... why did you have to come to my house to play
mahjong?"
Metsudo ignored him and looked at Arisa. "It's summer break, right? It's not
like you have to get up early tomorrow."
"I promised Karura-chan and Hina-chan that we'd get up early to catch up on our
summer homework," Arisa said, slumped in her chair with a look of pure dread. "I
still haven't touched my math assignments..."
Her eyes darted around the table, looking for a savior among the legends.
"Metsudo-jiisan?"
Metsudo just chuckled and remained silent.
"Baku-aniki?"
Baku Madarame shrugged. "I'm self-taught. I don't think my methods would help
you in school."
"Akagi-san?"
Shigeru Akagi gave a faint smile. "Back when I was young, one year of 'school'
felt like ten. Unfortunately, I'm not young anymore."
Arisa: "..."
She sighed and turned her desperate gaze toward Erioh Kure. The Patriarch
remembered a phone call he'd had with Karura earlier about her progress.
"Karura said her homework is already finished," Erioh said, his eyes sharpening
with protective instinct. "Little girl... you aren't planning on just copying
hers, are you?"
Arisa: "—!"
Arisa: "Heh!"
Chatting and playing cards with a group of legendary grandfathers and
underground kings felt strange, but Arisa didn't mind. Her luck had always been
unnaturally good. She believed that good things would happen eventually, no
matter how grim the situation.
Whether it was her grandfather's passing, her brother's brain injury, or the
Yakuza coming to collect debts... those were objectively terrible things. But to
Arisa, she lived every day with the expectation that the "next miracle" was just
around the corner.
She grinned and began reshuffling the tiles.
Erioh, acting as the stern elder, lectured her: "You are not allowed to copy
Karura's work. You two need to improve together!"
Arisa's grin vanished.
The festival lasted until dawn.
The original plan was to return to Tokyo the following day, but a few people had
played too hard and needed an extra day of rest. Among them was the Shiroki
household.
But play or not, training never stopped. Since his legs were fine, Ren Shiroki
couldn't stay still.
By the next morning, Ren had already stripped off most of his bandages, leaving
only the casts on his arm and fingers. He headed out for an early morning run.
Since he was still recovering, he kept the pace slow, mostly just looking to
break a sweat.
The sun hadn't even risen yet.
Starting from Fusui's doorstep, he did a light warm-up and then jogged through
the streets of Kure Village, eventually making a wide loop around the town's
outskirts. Along the way, he bumped into several early-rising members of the
Kure Clan.
"Morning, Shiroki-kun!"
"Body holding up? Don't overdo it!"
"Heading back to Tokyo soon? Did you get your souvenirs?"
"Don't forget to buy me a drink next time!"
Though his stay in Kure Village hadn't been long, Ren had made many new friends.
His relationship with the Kure Clan was now rock-solid.
On his way back, he stopped by a local photo studio to get the pictures from the
festival night developed. Once they were back at the Soul Combat Hub, he planned
to put them in the family album—or maybe frame them as decorations for the dojo.
Back at Fusui's house, Ren washed up, reapplied his medicine, and began packing.
They were scheduled to take a helicopter back to Tokyo today, landing at Metsudo
Katahara's private airfield. Arisa and Fusui would be traveling with him.
As for Marco, he had left the previous night with The Lie Eater, Baku Madarame.
Baku apparently needed Marco's "unique talents" for a specific job.
Fusui woke up, finished her own morning routine, and helped pack the various
gifts they were bringing back for their friends in Tokyo. Since it was a private
flight, there was no rush. The two of them laughed and chatted in the room,
occasionally teasing each other, until everything was packed into suitcases and
duffel bags.
Slide!
Ren pulled open the door and rounded the corner of the hallway, only to find
Raian Kure sitting right outside his room. The "Devil" was leaning against a
wooden pillar, yawning with boredom.
"Finally leaving, huh?"
Raian cracked his neck, looking annoyed. "You sure had a hell of a time playing
house in someone else's village. If you get dragged into what's coming next,
don't go regretting it."
"Aniki—" Fusui sighed, but then paused, catching his last sentence. "What do you
mean, 'dragged into what's coming'?"
"Kukakakaka!"
Raian gave a predatory, jagged grin. "The old man told me Tokyo is going to get
real rowdy soon. We might be heading up there ourselves in a few days."
The old man...
Fusui blinked. Raian's way of addressing the Patriarch was as disrespectful as
ever, but given his personality, it made sense.
"Now get lost. I want some peace and quiet." Raian waved them off, his smile
turning murderous. "Anyway, there's going to be plenty of interesting things to
kill soon. Tell Shiroki to keep his neck clean and wait for me!"
Ren, Fusui, and Arisa headed to the airfield and boarded the helicopter. As they
flew toward Tokyo, they took their time enjoying the scenery from above.
However, shortly after their departure, the Kure Patriarch's estate received
another visitor—an old friend of the Shiroki family and a master of Ancient
Combat: Motobe Izo.
Motobe's unannounced arrival surprised Erioh, but he still extended a warm
welcome to his old comrade.
"I apologize for the intrusion, but the situation is urgent," Motobe said,
getting straight to the point.
"Erioh-dono, you've likely heard the news. Baki Hanma, the son of the Ogre, is
currently being eaten alive by a potent toxin. Even the great Dr. Kureha Shinogi
is at his wit's end."
Motobe's expression was grim. "The culprit is Yanagi Ryuko, also known as The
Poison Hand. He used a technique called the 'Evil Fist'."
"I will not let such a villain go unpunished. But before I deal with him, I want
to do everything in my power to help that boy. A youth who carries the title of
'Champion' should not fall to such a cowardly, underhanded poison."
"Many martial artists are searching for a way. I am no different," Motobe said
sincerely. "Erioh-dono, I must ask—does the Kure Clan possess any secret records
or antidotes regarding the Poison Hand?"
Erioh Kure listened and nodded slowly. He wasn't particularly close to Baki,
having only met him a few times, but because it was Motobe asking, he wouldn't
refuse.
But...
"It is difficult," Erioh said, narrowing his eyes as he recalled the lore of the
Poison Hand.
"To create the toxin, one must grind specific, measured quantities of venomous
insects and plants into a powder. That powder is mixed into sand and treated
with medicinal liquids repeatedly until it becomes 'Poison Sand'."
"The practitioner then strikes the sand with their palms from dawn until dusk,
while using medicinal baths to neutralize the poison just enough so it doesn't
kill them. They alternate between the Poison Sand and the bath—every seven
minutes during the day, and every nine minutes at night."
"The pain is so excruciating that many practitioners end up hacking off their
own arms just to make it stop."
Erioh lit his pipe and took a slow drag.
"By the fifth day, the skin turns the color of a rotten sweet potato. That is
when the Poison Hand is complete."
"A single strike causes the flesh to rot. The toxin seeps into the marrow,
eventually leading to a slow, agonizing death. It is the ultimate 'Assassination
Evil Fist'."
Erioh exhaled a cloud of white smoke and looked at Motobe. "From a purely
'medical' standpoint, the Poison Hand is almost impossible to overcome."
Motobe caught the nuance. "What do you mean?"
Given the Kure Clan's vast history, Erioh was well-versed in many ancient
styles.
"The secret manuals of the Poison Hand are commonly thought to consist of seven
volumes. But in reality... there are five more."
"The first seven volumes describe the 'Yin Hand'. The final five describe the
'Yang Hand'."
"Only when Yin and Yang are combined—all twelve volumes—is the Poison Hand
complete."
"If you want to neutralize Yanagi Ryuko's 'Yin' poison, you may need to find a
martial arts master who has mastered the 'Yang Hand'. That is the only way."
Motobe Izo sat in silent contemplation, his brow gradually unfurrowing.
"So that's how it is." He felt a slight sense of relief. "Fortunately, we have
an extraordinary representative of the Chinese Kenpo world on our side."
"Retsu Kaioh—he might have already thought of a solution!"
[Tokyo—Baki's House]
Baki Hanma and Kozue Matsumoto were together.
The boy—whose muscles had once been as hard as forged steel—was now dangerously
thin. A visible, sickly pallor hung over him, making him look as though he might
collapse at any moment.
Baki knew his condition. He had refused to stay in the hospital any longer and
had returned home. He was facing a rival more formidable than any fighter: Death
itself.
Kozue stayed by his side, supporting the person she loved most.
Baki sat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I want to head into the woods
for a bit... find Ando-san, the forest ranger."
"That guy... he always knows a way. Maybe he can help me. And even if he can't,
I'd just like to see him again. It's been a while..."
The boy mumbled to himself. Kozue, of course, didn't object.
But as they were talking, there was a knock on the door.
Knock, knock!
"Excuse me."
Retsu Kaioh slid the door open, kicked off his shoes, and stepped inside. His
eyes scanned Baki's withered physique.
Before Baki could even get up to greet him, Retsu spoke with absolute authority.
"Baki. I want you to fight someone!"
Baki paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. But even with his body in
ruins, the thought of refusing never crossed his mind. He smirked. "Alright,
Retsu-san. Where do I need to go?"
"You don't need to go anywhere. You only need to fight. Because I have already
brought him here."
Retsu stepped aside slightly. "This is a master of the Poison Hand style—Li
Kaioh, practitioner of the 'Yao Ying Quan' (Medicinal Hard Fist)."
A tall, thin man in a white training uniform with slicked-back hair appeared
beside Retsu.
☆☆☆
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