Chapter 357: Adam Dudley
While the fighters prepared to enter, Mitsunari Tokugawa stepped out of the waiting room and made his way to the promoter's booth.
In the row directly behind him—the prime seats for viewing the carnage—sat three familiar faces: Arisa, Marco, and a young man Arisa had bumped into in the stands, the Kengan fighter [THE KING OF STRANGLERS] Cosmo Imai.
The three of them greeted Tokugawa as he took his seat.
Meanwhile, inside the fighters' waiting room...
Several monitors were mounted on the walls, broadcasting live feeds of the arena from multiple angles. To keep his muscles warm and his focus sharp, Ren Shiroki stayed behind to watch the first match on screen. Fusui Kure and Mitarai remained with him.
Soon, two more visitors arrived: Rama XIII and [THE GOD OF WAR] Gaolang Wongsawat.
Rama, ever the impulsive free spirit, had decided on a whim that he wanted to see Ren again and watch the opening bout from the comfort of the private room. Ren welcomed them, greeting Gaolang with a respectful fist-bump.
The call for the fighters echoed.
Alai Jr. entered from the Blue Dragon gate. From the opposing White Tiger entrance emerged a massive American.
Height: 192cm (6'3"). Weight: 107kg (236 lbs).
He wore only fighting trunks and was barefoot. His physique was a wall of explosive, dense muscle, every line of his body screaming of raw, unadulterated violence. His appearance was loud and aggressive, dripping with "Texas" attitude.
His blonde hair was cut short, and intricate skull tattoos spiraled down both of his arms. When he bared his teeth in a snarl, the crowd saw that his four front teeth had been replaced with polished metal implants. Engraved on the metal were letters that spelled out a very clear message: "F-U-C-K."
His name: [THE EMPEROR] Adam Dudley!
"The fighters have entered the ring!" the announcer screamed into the mic.
"MOHAMMAD ALAI JR. vs. ADAM DUDLEY—The war is about to begin!!"
[Waiting Room]
Mitarai, the refined receptionist, pulled a digital tablet from his tuxedo pocket. He began to brief the VIPs in the room on the newcomer.
"In the USA, there is a thriving underground circuit, often referred to simply as 'Street Fighting'."
"These are unpublicized, unofficial matches held for those with absolute confidence in their own lethality. There are countless local variations of the rules."
"However, in Texas—the highest level of the circuit—the mainstream rule set is simple: No grappling. No ground game. The match is decided purely through the exchange of striking."
"Two months ago, Adam Dudley suddenly appeared on the scene. He systematically dismantled the reigning king, Punk Abbott."
"He became the undisputed King of Texas Brawling."
"Shortly after, he was scouted and hired by the CEO of BOS Burger, Haraguchi, to become a Kengan Association fighter."
"His Kengan record stands at 1 win and 0 losses, having secured assets totaling 7.64 billion yen for his employer."
"That is the file on Adam Dudley."
Ren looked impressed. "Mitarai-san, your intel is incredibly detailed!"
"This is the work of Tokugawa-sama," Mitarai smiled. "In his mind, there is a library of every warrior on the planet."
"Height, weight, chest circumference, reach, grip strength, back strength, bench press, squat capacity... he tracks every physical variable. Along with birthdays, blood types, zodiac signs, family members, lovers, and even mistresses—"
Ren shivered, pulling Fusui a little closer. "That's... actually a little gross. That's bordering on stalker behavior, isn't it?"
Mitarai let out a helpless laugh. "Hahaha! Well, Tokugawa-sama is a man of singular obsession."
Fusui, hearing the introduction, recalled her own recent investigations. "BOS Burger? Rumor has it they've been in contact with Hayami Katsumasa of Toyo Electric—the internal rebel faction of the Kengan Association. They're a restless group."
"But tonight isn't a Kengan match," Fusui noted. "I suppose the employer wants to use Alai Jr.'s name to boost their own prestige and increase their stock value?"
Ren looked puzzled. "And Tokugawa-jiisan is cool with that?"
"As long as there's a fight, Tokugawa-sama doesn't care about the corporate politics," Mitarai nodded. "The fourth tenet of the Underground Arena: 'He who stands upon the throne shall be remembered for eternity.' Everything else is just noise."
[The Arena]
Adam Dudley and Alai Jr. stood at the center of the Pit, facing each other.
Though both hailed from the USA, the stylistic clash was night and day. Adam was the embodiment of raw, American freestyle violence; Alai Jr. was the image of technical elegance.
"Heh!"
Adam bared his "FUCK" teeth, arching an eyebrow as he looked Jr. up and down.
"Hey. You really do look exactly like the guy on the posters. You're actually Alai's kid, huh?!"
Adam gave a jagged grin. "This place is great! Where else do I get a chance to beat the living hell out of a legend's son?"
"Oh, and if I win, can you get your old man to sign a glove for me? My girlfriend is a huge boxing fan."
Adam's killing intent was a physical weight, locked onto his target.
Unlike Adam, Alai Jr. was taking a moment to look around the Arena. He could feel the cheers of the crowd—a wave of energy far more concentrated and primal than any professional boxing match he'd ever attended. It felt like a wall of fire.
He smiled and gave a slight nod to Adam's request. "Sure. I'll ask my father. I'll even throw in my own signature for you."
The fighters returned to their respective sides. Adam cracked his neck, the sound echoing through the silence of the Pit. His dense muscles rippled with anticipation.
On the other side, Alai Jr. took a deep breath. His feet began to move in a rhythmic, bouncing skip. He began to shadowbox at a speed that blurred the air.
Whish—Whish-shish!
Alai Jr. had inherited his father's "Perfect Spec."
Height: 190cm (6'3"). Weight: 100kg (220 lbs).
He was undeniably a heavyweight, yet there was zero sluggishness in his frame. The speed of his hands, combined with the "Butterfly" movement of his feet, made him appear almost weightless.
[Waiting Room]
Rama XIII watched the screen with a discerning eye.
"Gaolang's stance is a refinement of the Philadelphia Shell," the King mused. "But Alai Jr. is different. He's using a completely different philosophy of boxing."
"In other words... the Mohammad Alai Style."
Rama let out a small, wistful laugh. "If the elder Alai were still in his prime and hadn't been struck by Parkinson's, I would have spent any amount of royal wealth to see Gaolang face him in the ring."
In the Arena, Alai Jr.'s warm-up reached its peak.
Zip! Whish!
After a flurry of high-speed strikes, he shifted his weight, darting across the sand in a series of sharp, arcing pivots.
Screee!
The friction of his shoes against the sand hissed as he executed a series of lightning jabs.
"Oh! Truly beautiful!" Rama clapped his hands. "Alai Jr.'s movement isn't a stance... it's a dance!"
"Fighters to the center!"
Adam and Alai Jr. turned to face each other. The tension snapped like a dry twig.
The announcer paused, then roared: "—BEGIN!!!"
Fwoosh!
Alai Jr. pushed off the sand, his body appearing weightless as he lunged forward.
The moment Adam entered his reach, Alai's relaxed arms suddenly snapped into a state of hyper-tension.
Whish!
A left hook, delivered with blinding speed, whipped from left to right across Adam's face.
It happened in the blink of an eye. The crowd didn't even see the impact—they only saw the follow-through.
The spectators gasped. A "Blood-Line" had appeared across Adam Dudley's face. It was a horizontal laceration, level with his earlobes and slicing straight across the bridge of his nose.
Squelch—!
Blood sprayed from the wound as if he'd been struck by a blade.
[Waiting Room]
Everyone leaned in, their eyes sharpening.
Rama XIII nodded slowly. "I see. My judgment was too narrow."
Gaolang crossed his arms, his voice heavy with respect. "The Mohammad Alai Style... it is certainly not a dance."
☆☆☆
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