Chapter 362: "Psycho Power"
Fwoosh—!
Naoya Okubo was sent flying, his back slamming into the wooden perimeter fence.
The heavy timber groaned and splintered—CRACK—as he left a massive indentation
in the wall.
Ren Shiroki stood his ground, spitting out a mixture of bloody phlegm and jagged
tooth fragments.
"This is... absolutely intense!" the announcer shrieked, his voice echoing
through the Pit.
"Even though both Ren and Okubo are 'All-Rounders,' their cores are
fundamentally different! Ren leans heavily into his striking roots—lunges, heavy
hits, and lethal kicks! He is a master of the neutral game!"
"But Naoya Okubo represents the pinnacle of 'Synthesis'! He seamlessly blends
stand-up with ground-and-pound! He is a grappler who strikes and a striker who
chokes!"
"And yet—" the announcer gasped. "Ren is the one bleeding from a punch, and
Okubo is the one being thrown! Both men have taken a hit in their own
specialty!"
[The Stands]
Cosmo Imai watched with wide eyes. "As expected of Tokugawa-sama's announcer. He
knows his stuff."
Tokugawa was vibrating with joy. "To think a public circuit fighter could push
Ren Shiroki this far through pure MMA!"
"He's the undisputed King for a reason," Cosmo explained. "According to the
trade journals, Okubo's career started in the wrestling club in middle school.
He was a gifted baseball player, but he was scouted by a top-tier wrestling
academy. He won the world championships by his senior year of high school."
"Then he conquered boxing, but walked away the moment he made a name for himself
to dive into MMA. People mocked him. They said he was a quitter who would give
up on MMA too."
Cosmo looked at the crater in the fence where Okubo was rising. "What they
didn't see was that Okubo never stopped training. He realized that in Mixed
Martial Arts, the strength of your 'Synthesis' is 100% proportional to your
effort."
"It's because of his 'Inevitable Synthesis' that he was able to land those clean
hits on Ren-aniki!"
"Cough...!"
Okubo pushed himself off the wall, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of
his mouth. His back was screaming in pain, feeling as though his entire skeletal
structure had been jarred loose.
"Damn... that was close. I almost lost it there!"
He stabilized his breathing, lowering his center of gravity and resetting his
guard. Across from him, Ren Shiroki stood in his side-facing stance, his face a
mask of dried blood, looking entirely unbothered. He was loose, his muscles
deceptively relaxed.
Okubo took the initiative!
Zip—!
He slid forward with a high-speed shuffle, unleashing a flurry of rhythmic jabs
and crosses. The whish-whish-whish of his fists sounded like a machine gun.
But Ren saw through the smoke. He could tell these were low-commitment probes.
He raised his left arm, using his wrist to deflect the incoming heat, allowing
the knuckles to graze past his ears.
Snap-snap-snap!
After the flurry, Okubo suddenly twisted his hips, whipping his left leg in a
low-line sweep.
Whoosh!
Another feint!
Ren lifted his lead leg, allowing the sweep to pass harmlessly beneath him.
"Aha!"
Okubo wasn't surprised. The moment his left foot touched the sand, he pivoted on
the ball of his foot, his entire body rotating into a massive, high-line
roundhouse kick with his right leg.
VROOM!
"This is the one!"
Ren's eyes sharpened. He slammed his raised left foot back into the sand to
anchor himself. He pivoted side-on, his fingers spreading into a claw-like grip
as he dropped his weight. This was a technique from the Russian wrestling
circuit—one designed to intercept a standing kick with absolute finality.
[ZANGIEF: TUNDRA STORM]!
Clap!
Ren's arms snapped shut like a bear trap around Okubo's flying right leg. Using
the man's own momentum, Ren twisted his entire torso, rolling his weight into
the ground to slam Okubo into the sand.
"Hah!"
BOOM!
Okubo's back hit the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust. But as he fell, he tucked
his chin and placed his left hand behind his head to prevent his brain from
bouncing off the floor. Using the impact as a spring, Okubo arched his back, his
legs shooting upward to wrap around Ren's neck.
He was going for a triangle choke from the bottom!
"A submission attempt?!" the announcer cried.
Ren had no intention of being strangled. Instead of pulling back, he dug his
toes into the sand and lunged forward before Okubo's legs could lock.
Zip!
Ren dove into the gap like a sprinter, his head passing between Okubo's thighs
and aiming directly for the man's stomach, then continuing upward. He was aiming
for the jaw of the man pinned beneath him!
"SHAA!"
[ZANGIEF: HEADBUTT]!
THWACK!
Ren's forehead slammed into Okubo's chin with a sickening crack. Blood erupted
from Okubo's mouth as several of his teeth were jarred loose.
"Urgh—!?"
Okubo's vision swam. A normal fighter would have been out cold. But the Combat
King's physical durability was unnatural.
"RAAAH!"
Okubo roared through the blood, his hands snapping forward to clinch around
Ren's head. But before he could secure the grip, Ren performed a sudden forward
somersault, using a rolling heel-drop to smash his back into Okubo's face.
SQUELCH!
Okubo's nose took the full weight of the roll. Because his grip had been
horizontal, he couldn't hold onto Ren's "vertical" rotation.
Whoosh!
Ren rolled through, springing back to his feet and clearing the ground-game
range.
"Brilliant!" the announcer shouted. "Okubo's desperate grapple was dismantled by
Shiroki's unpredictable acrobatics!"
Okubo remained on his back for a second, his nose a mangled ruin.
POW!
Ren leaped forward, his left arm extended to probe while his right was held high
for balance. He snapped his left leg out in a diagonal diving kick.
[CAMMY: SPIRAL ARROW]!
Whish!
The lightning-fast kick blazed toward Okubo's throat. Just as it was about to
connect, the dazed Okubo's eyes snapped open. He bridged his hips, executing a
perfect technical stand-up roll to the side.
THUD!
Ren's foot hit the sand where Okubo's head had been a millisecond before.
—Now!
Okubo bared his teeth in a savage grin. He lunged forward from his knees,
driving a heavy overhand right into Ren's face.
BAM!
The weight of a heavyweight MMA champion's punch was no joke. Ren's
consciousness flickered as his brain rattled.
Okubo didn't let up. He wrapped his arms around Ren's waist, hoisting him up for
a massive high-amplitude backdrop.
BOOM!
Ren hit the sand on his shoulders, coughing up a spray of blood. Okubo followed
him down instantly, transitioning into a full mount. He began to rain down
"Hammer-Fists" onto Ren's face.
"Hah! Hah!"
Thud-thud-thud!
Blood splattered across the sand. It was a grizzly sight. But Ren, having
endured Zangief's brutal Russian training, had a core of iron. He bridged his
hips with explosive force, bucking Okubo off his chest.
Whoosh—!
Ren scrambled to his feet, but Okubo was already there, launching a savage knee
toward his face.
CRACK!
Ren's nose erupted in blood, but in the same frame, he reached out, clinching
the back of Okubo's head. He yanked the man's center of gravity side-to-side,
breaking his balance.
Ren drove his own knee upward—a high-torque Muay Thai execution.
[SAGAT: TIGER KNEE]!
DOOM!
The sound of the impact was heavy and hollow. Okubo's front teeth shattered
against Ren's kneecap. He was sent sailing backward, blood spraying from his
mouth and nose.
The two men reset, creating space. Both were breathing heavily, their vision
tinged with red. Usually, this is where fighters would reset for a fresh probe,
but the logic of high-level combatants was different.
Zip!
Ignoring the throbbing pain in his face, Okubo lunged again. He landed a stiff
elbow to Ren's cheek, forcing Ren to pivot and roll with the impact to shed the
force.
Okubo didn't stop. He unleashed a relentless chain of "Synthesis."
[Waiting Room]
Fusui watched the feed. "He's strong! And... it's a different kind of violence
than Raian's. It's organized."
Mitarai nodded, adjusting his glasses. "This is Naoya Okubo's true strength.
Synthesis. It is a combat system where every attack method—striking, throwing,
choking, locking—is part of a seamless, flowing loop."
"He never lets the opponent settle. He breaks their rhythm by constantly
switching the 'Game.' He exploits the lag between a fighter's defensive
transitions."
Mitarai looked at the screen with concern. "Even though they are both
all-rounders, Okubo's system is more refined. How will Ren respond?"
Shick!
Okubo threw a heavy punch. Ren blocked it, but the impact caused a micro-second
of "Block-Stun."
Ren tried to counter, but Okubo had already transitioned. He snatched Ren's
wrist, flowing into a throw.
[STRIKE TO THROW]!
Thud!
Ren spun his body, staying close to Okubo's inner circle while twisting his
wrist to tech the grapple. He broke free, but in that same movement, Okubo's
left elbow hooked around Ren's neck.
[THROW TO CHOKE]!
Ren ducked beneath the arm, using a [JAMIE: DRUNKEN SWIRL] footwork pattern to
retreat.
Okubo pursued relentlessly, closing the distance to bear-hug Ren's torso.
[RETREAT TO LOCK]!
And then—[LOCK TO THROW]!
Whoosh!
Okubo arched his back for a belly-to-back suplex, intending to spike Ren's head
into the sand.
At the apex of the arc, Ren reached up and grabbed Okubo's head. He drove his
knee upward in mid-air—BANG!—hitting Okubo square in the face.
Dazed, Okubo's grip loosened. Ren managed to twist in mid-air, landing on his
feet instead of his skull.
Zip-thud!
Ren rolled back, creating distance. He was gasping for air, the taste of copper
thick in his throat. His vision was tunneling.
"Hah... hah...!"
Ren's mind was racing.
Naoya Okubo... his 'Synthesis' is flawless. He doesn't have flashy gimmicks. He
just has an overwhelming level of basic technical mastery. He's a wall of
effort.
Spit!
Ren spat out more blood. As the ink-wash smoke swirled in his vision, a new
silhouette formed.
It was a handsome young man in a teal jacket and red-bandaged gloves. He wore
boxing boots and had messy blonde hair with a long fringe covering one eye. He
looked cocky, impatient, and dangerous.
His name: Ed.
Ed had been flickering on the edge of Ren's consciousness since the Yanagi
fight, but he had remained silent. He was known for being short-tempered and
foul-mouthed.
{I told you about your feet, didn't I? Watch your damn footwork!}
{If you're moving long-distance, 'Parkour' is fine. But don't think that makes
you a master. You're letting this guy dictate the rhythm because your small-step
game is garbage.}
{Footwork is the core of every frame—offense or defense. If you keep looking
this pathetic... I'm gonna knock you out myself!}
Ren couldn't help but chuckle through the pain. "Thanks for the tip, Master."
{Hmph. Whatever. My style is picky—don't think you can just copy it!}
Ed shook his head, looking irritated.
Ren took a deep breath, his stance shifting. His posture became incredibly
loose. His left arm hung limp at his side, as if he had given up on guarding
entirely.
[ENGINE]—MAX OUTPUT!
Ren's eyes began to quiver. The whites of his eyes were a map of burst
capillaries, red lines pulling at his pupils like chains.
In that heartbeat, Okubo—who had also caught his breath—felt the shift. Ren's
"Atmosphere" had changed. Combat Aura was pouring out of him.
But the most shocked person in the room was the phantom, Ed. His eyes widened
behind his fringe. The ink-wash smoke began to vibrate violently, reflecting
Ed's internal agitation.
{Wait... what the hell? You don't have the foundation for it... so how are you
radiating that energy?}
Ed's brow furrowed into a deep, confused scowl. He hissed through his teeth:
{That damn Psycho Power...!!}
☆☆☆
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