Chapter 351: Doyle's Pilgrimage
It had been several days since the Summer Festival in Kure Village.
While Ren Shiroki was busy managing the Hub, the Metropolitan Police Department
had been equally occupied. They held Doyle in a sort of "protective custody,"
providing him with essential medical care. Because Doyle's body was a high-tech
nightmare—filled with hidden blades and even several carbon-fiber/iron
reinforced bones—he required a "specialist."
[THE DISSECTION FREAK] Dr. Hajime Hajo had taken on the responsibility,
thoroughly enjoying the chance to tinker with a "modified human."
Doyle recovered quickly. Having surrendered his will to flee, he accepted the
constant supervision of Inspector Morio Sonoda. After visiting the Super
Pro-Wrestling Club to pay his respects to Sekibayashi, Sonoda had helped Doyle
book a session with the Shinshinkai.
Sonoda and Doyle entered the dojo, removed their shoes, and stepped onto the
polished wooden floor. They scanned the room, slightly surprised by the group
gathered there.
Sonoda raised an eyebrow. "Oho, Shiroki-kun is here too?"
Ren grinned. "I drop by to clear my head sometimes and help out with
demonstrations."
"Heh. Impressive," Doyle said, stepping forward with a calm smile.
His ankles and neck were still wrapped in bandages, and more were hidden beneath
his clothes, but his biological modifications allowed him to move without much
hindrance.
Katsumi Orochi, acting as the Second-Generation Head, stepped forward to host.
"So... the Death Row convict who finally admitted defeat. What brings you to the
Shinshinkai?"
Doyle's expression turned solemn. "I wish to 'fight' against Shinshinkai
Karate."
The statement sounded like a challenge to a dojo duel, causing both Katsumi and
Doppo to sharpen their gazes. Doppo gave a low, sinister chuckle. "Red-haired
kid... you looking for another beating?"
Doyle realized the misunderstanding and raised his hands. "My apologies. I don't
know the etiquette of Karate. I'm still using the terminology I picked up from
the pro-wrestlers."
Doppo's expression relaxed. "Aha! Pro-wrestling? Well, those guys are loud and
boisterous, so I'll let it slide!"
Doyle exhaled. "Simply put, I want to experience your Karate. I want to see how
you fight."
"A trial lesson, then?" Katsumi tightened his black belt and stepped forward
with a grin. "Since the MPD introduced you, I'll give you the full 'guest'
experience!"
"Thank you..."
Doyle stepped into the center of the hall, facing Katsumi Orochi.
Katsumi pivoted side-on, his left foot sliding forward into a "False Lead"
stance. His palms were extended naturally, eyes fixed forward—the classic
"Pre-feather" (Maebane) stance of the Shinshinkai.
Doyle lowered his center of gravity, spreading his hands. Then, he flexed his
forearms.
SHICK!
Four surgical-steel blades snapped out from his wrists and elbows, gleaming with
a lethal silver light. But the aura radiating from Doyle was different than
before—the desperation of a cornered rat was gone, replaced by a quiet focus.
"Oho!" Katsumi's eyebrows shot up. "How do I put this? You feel a hell of a lot
more 'refreshed' than the last time I saw you!"
"Heh, sorry about that. These blades are the only way I know how to fight,"
Doyle smiled, his narrow eyes shimmering. "But full disclosure—I won't be using
any explosives today. I've realized I'm not very good at them."
Katsumi nodded. "Fair enough. Let's go!"
Whoosh!
Thud-thud-thud!
The two silhouettes crossed, a whirlwind of strikes and parries erupting
instantly.
Katsumi Orochi truly was a genius. Having survived the initial Death Row
invasion, he had spent weeks analyzing how to counter "Underground Combat." He
had learned that when facing blades or dirty tricks, one cannot afford a single
micro-second of hesitation. You have to commit to your strikes with absolute
certainty.
Clap!
Katsumi drove his palm-heel upward, swatting Doyle's wrist aside. In the same
motion, he executed a low sweep that caught Doyle's right leg, upending the
convict.
Doyle rolled back, immediately crouching low to the ground like a predator
before lunging forward with a rising right punch.
Whoosh—BANG!
Katsumi parried the blow with a forearm block and countered with a
lightning-fast left jab. The punch caught Doyle square on the nose, spraying a
mist of blood and sending the convict stumbling back.
On the other side of the dojo, the student Terae had prepared hot tea for Doppo,
Ren, and Sonoda.
Ren watched the exchange and turned to the Inspector. "Where is Doyle-aniki
heading after this?"
"Hard to say," Sonoda sighed. "Unlike the other convicts, Doyle was a government
operative. He knows too many international secrets. MI6 refuses to acknowledge
his existence—officially, he doesn't exist. So for now, he's in a legal limbo.
I'm just keeping an eye on him. Luckily, he doesn't seem interested in running
anymore."
The technical exchange between Doyle and Katsumi eventually came to an end.
Katsumi clearly held the upper hand, though he had taken a shallow cut on his
forearm from a glancing blade.
As Katsumi went to bandage the scratch, he returned to find Doyle still standing
in the center of the mat, waiting.
"I say," Katsumi said, surprised. "You want a second round?"
"No. I've had my fill of combat," Doyle said, wiping the blood from his nose.
"But I have one selfish request."
Katsumi blinked. "What is it?"
Doyle looked over at Ren Shiroki, then back to Katsumi. "I want to continue my
'pilgrimage.' I want to fight my way through the world, but I want to take a
memory of you all with me. I already learned a 'Chop' from the wrestlers, though
I'm still working on the form."
"So..." Doyle looked down at his hands. "Could you teach me a single Karate
move?"
Katsumi couldn't find a reason to refuse. He dropped into a deep horse-stance,
demonstrating the proper way to clench a fist—thumb tucked tight, knuckles
aligned. Then, with a sudden twist of his hips and core, he unleashed a
bone-shattering Seiken (Straight Punch).
SHOO!
The snap of the gi was like a gunshot. Doyle's eyes widened at the economy of
motion and the sheer destructive potential of the basic strike.
"This is the Seiken," Katsumi explained. "Plant your feet. I'll show you the
torque."
Doyle's physical stats were top-tier, so it didn't take long for him to grasp
the mechanics. Within half an hour, his basic punch was looking quite
respectable.
"Not bad," Katsumi praised. "You've got a knack for this. But remember—you have
to practice this a hundred times a day. Every. Single. Day."
Doyle let out a dry, helpless laugh. "Haha... the wrestlers told me I had to do
five hundred squats a day too..."
Katsumi shrugged. "That's 'Combat' for you!"
Satisfied, Doyle bid them farewell and departed with Sonoda. Katsumi watched
them leave, a small smile on his face. "That guy used to be a monster who'd do
anything to win. Now? He's finally learning the meaning of a 'Fight'."
"Quit acting like a philosopher, kid! You're still green as grass yourself!"
Doppo teased, then turned his focus to Ren. "By the way, Shiroki-kun... now that
the five convicts are out of the picture, what's your next move? How far do you
plan to go?"
"I... don't know," Ren said, thinking it over. "I don't really care about the
'End.' I just want the 'Process'."
"What?! You're starting to sound like a philosopher too? That's annoying!" Doppo
crossed his arms, assuming his 'Grandmaster' persona. "In that case, you two
brats better keep refining yourselves!"
The quote sounded so unlike the [BUSHIN] that it sent chills down their spines.
Ren and Katsumi couldn't hold it back; they doubled over, laughing until their
sides ached.
That afternoon.
Doyle and Sonoda finished lunch and continued their stroll through the city.
They were planning to visit another dojo—perhaps Jaku Kaioh's—before calling it
a day.
They turned into a narrow, quiet side-street.
Sonoda was checking his notes. "Should we visit the Kure Clan? No... maybe not.
How about Jaku Kaioh's 'Aiki-Kenpo'?"
Doyle was about to nod when his expression suddenly flipped. His operative
instincts, honed through years of spycraft, screamed a warning.
"Sonoda-san... do you have your sidearm?"
Sonoda blinked. "Ah... yes. I'm carrying my service pistol. Why?"
"Get behind me and stay sharp."
Doyle's face hardened. He urged Sonoda to take cover behind a stack of crates
while he stood rooted in the center of the alley. His eyes scanned the shadows,
eventually locking onto the far end of the passage.
"Come out," Doyle said coldly. "I'm not so dull that I wouldn't notice a
predator like you."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A blonde Caucasian man in a tailored suit stepped out from the shadows. He
looked completely relaxed, a faint, condescending smirk on his face. He was
powerfully built, but his most striking feature was his ears—they had natural,
distinct black markings.
Sonoda's eyes widened from his cover. He recognized the man from the MPD's
"Classified Threats" file.
He was a high-level enforcer for the international crime syndicate IDEAL—the man
nicknamed [THE CARACAL], Billy Greco.
Doyle, with his background in UK intelligence, knew exactly who he was facing.
"The Caracal of IDEAL. What business do you have with me?"
Doyle dropped into a low crouch, his right hand resting on his left elbow, ready
to trigger his blades at a moment's notice.
Billy Greco flashed a toothy, sinister grin. "Mr. Doyle. I'm here for a little
chat. I'm looking for intelligence regarding... 'The Inside'."
Meanwhile, Sonoda was already fumbling with his phone, sending out an emergency
signal to the MPD. But he didn't stop there. Having bonded with the "Hub Crew"
during the Kure Village trip, he sent a secondary SOS directly to Ren Shiroki.
☆☆☆
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