Chapter 373: Arisa's Social Logic
[Soul Combat Hub — Living Room]
Ren Shiroki, Heihachi Furumi, Takeshi Wakatsuki, and Akira Nishihinji were
gathered in a tight circle, the weight of the previous night's events hanging
heavy in the air.
The immediate concern was the disappearance of Penasonic's Sukizo Urita and his
shadow, Ryo Inaba. Aside from the encounter involving Ren and Kureishi, Furumi
Pharmaceuticals had also received a strange package: a Secret Key Card, nearly
identical to the one Ren held, save for a different serial number. Accompanying
it was a note requesting that the [WILD TIGER] Takeshi Wakatsuki personally
ensure its safety.
Ren and Wakatsuki placed their respective metal cards on the table. The two CEOs
leaned in, inspecting the high-tech surfaces.
The first breakthrough, however, came from Ren's side. His phone buzzed—it was
Fusui Kure.
"Ren-chin, I had a cousin who's a genius with electronic engineering take a look
at the data," Fusui's voice crackled over the line. "We haven't fully decrypted
the contents yet, but there are two distinct digital watermarks embedded in the
cards. I'm sending the images to you now."
Ren received the message and showed it to the group.
Heihachi Furumi and Akira Nishihinji immediately went to work, using their vast
corporate networks to trace the origin of the symbols. Eventually, Furumi
contacted a veteran member of the Kengan Association: Ken Ooya, the Chairman of
the Giinokuniya Bookstore empire.
Ooya's personal fighter, [THE ICY EMPEROR] Himuro Ryo, was a native of the
lawless Tokyo Ward known as "The Inside."
According to Himuro, the two patterns represented two specific districts within
the Ward: Two Tigers and Three Wolves.
Beyond that, Himuro's intel ran dry. He only knew that the Inside was currently
a powder keg; massive power shifts were occurring within the walls, and the
atmosphere was more volatile than it had been in decades.
"Thanks, Ken-san. I owe you a drink," Furumi said, hanging up. He turned to the
others. "It's confirmed. These key cards are directly linked to The Inside."
Nishihinji analyzed the situation with a grim frown. "Sukizo and Inaba aren't
the type to be taken out easily. The fact that Penasonic is still operating
normally suggests Sukizo had a contingency plan in place. My guess? They've gone
to ground to avoid the heat."
The mystery remained deep, but the path forward was clear.
"From a corporate or criminal perspective, this is a mess of red tape and
conspiracies," Heihachi Furumi said with a smile. "But from a fighter's
perspective? It's very simple."
"Possessing these cards makes us targets for the strongest monsters in the
world."
Ren Shiroki and Takeshi Wakatsuki shared a look of mutual understanding. Ren
picked up his card—the one marked with the "Three Wolves" insignia—and watched
the light glint off the metal.
"Nice. That's perfect!"
Wakatsuki nodded, his massive frame radiating a calm, crushing intensity. "If
Inaba entrusted this to me, I'll guard it with my life. I won't lose to anyone."
Furumi and Nishihinji let out a synchronized, dark chuckle. "Don't underestimate
the Kengan Association members, either," Nishihinji added. "We'll speed up the
decryption and the investigation on our end."
Unlike the straightforward warriors, the two CEOs smiled with the polished,
predatory air of high-society sharks. But the resolve in the room was absolute.
Once this group decided to act, the world of the underground would feel the
tremors.
Just as the meeting was winding down, an even "heavier" group arrived at the
Hub, led by Arisa.
"Aniki! I'm home! And I brought more friends!"
The four men in the living room turned toward the courtyard. Arisa, Karura,
Hina, and Marco were all there—standard faces. But behind them, five massive
Caucasian men in tailored suits stepped out of a luxury stretch limousine. They
were clearly high-level security.
Then, a tall, powerfully built Black man with deep bronze skin stepped out of
the car and entered the Hub's courtyard.
The moment he saw the newcomer, Ren Shiroki froze. He was genuinely floored by
his sister's "social logic." The other three men in the room stood up abruptly,
their eyes widening to dinner plates.
Who is that?!
It was the [GOD OF BOXING] Mohammad Alai!
A man whose mere appearance in public could cause a riot and bring a city to a
standstill. Why was he here?!
Slide!
Arisa pulled open the living room door. She waved to the guests before
explaining to her brother: "The school festival is doing a boxing exhibition! I
asked my friend to help me record a promo video. We need to use the upstairs
training hall for a bit. We'll be done in a sec!"
Ren: "..."
Ren: "...Arisa." He gestured vaguely toward the legend approaching the door.
"How... exactly... do you make friends?"
Arisa tilted her head. "We drank coffee together!"
Ren: "..."
He decided it was better not to think about it. Fortunately, the elder Alai
arrived at the door to clear up the confusion.
"Gentlemen, good morning."
Old Alai stepped inside, shaking hands with the four stunned men. Finally, he
looked at Ren and offered a serene, respectful smile.
"You must be Arisa-chan's brother."
"That lovely young lady shared stories with me about the 'Seekers' of the
underground world. It was quite fascinating; it actually helped the efficiency
of my own training. So, I decided to help her out with her little project."
The Soul Combat Hub was a "Combat Center," after all. Ren couldn't possibly turn
away a man as great as Mohammad Alai.
Three of the guards stayed in the courtyard, while two followed the group
upstairs. Ren and the three Kengan elites remained in the living room. They were
all men who had seen the abyss, but the "Greatness" sitting in the next room was
a different kind of pressure entirely.
Time passed. Furumi, Nishihinji, and Wakatsuki eventually finished their
strategy and took their leave. Shortly after, the group from the training hall
descended.
The girls were beaming, thanking Alai Sr. repeatedly. He seemed to genuinely
enjoy the energy of the young students. Since they had more errands to run for
the festival, the girls bid them farewell.
However, to everyone's surprise, Alai Sr. looked around the dojo and asked if he
could stay a while longer. The girls happily left him in Ren's care.
And so, the Hub was left with Ren Shiroki, the legend Mohammad Alai, and his
security detail.
"How do I put this...?" Ren put his hands on his hips, looking at the man who
had once challenged superpowers single-handedly. "Having you here all to
myself... I'm truly honored!"
"Please, don't," Alai Sr. laughed, looking slightly embarrassed. "You're making
me feel old."
He turned his gaze toward the heavy equipment room. "My training for the day
isn't finished. Care to join me?"
Ren glanced at the bodyguards. "Can't they act as your partners?"
"You know the answer to that," Alai Sr. smiled. "They are here to protect me.
The concept of 'training for the sake of battle'... they don't understand it.
Not like you."
The old man's "Public Mask" slipped, revealing the heart of a warrior. "Come,
Shiroki-san. Let's get to work."
Ren nodded. "It would be my pleasure."
It was a surreal sight. A man in his sixties, battling the physical toll of
Parkinson's, was working the iron alongside Ren Shiroki. He wasn't just
struggling through it; his movements were sharp, disciplined, and obviously a
part of his soul.
How much blood and sweat did he have to shed to adapt his body to this disease?
Ren wondered. The human spirit is a miracle.
Clang!
Alai Sr. finished his final set, releasing the handles of the cable machine. He
wiped his face with a towel, looking satisfied. "The atmosphere here is
wonderful. It smells of battle. It's got more of a modern edge than the
traditional Japanese dojos."
Clang!
Ren finished his own set. "Then you'd probably love the Shinshinkai HQ."
"Thanks for the recommendation. I'll try to visit if I have time." Alai Sr. took
a deep breath. "Even though I've used these fists to build a massive estate and
earn more wealth than I can spend... I only feel truly happy when I'm in a gym,
a ring, or a training hall. This is where I belong."
During a break between sets, Ren gave Alai Sr. a tour of the Hub. Noticing Ren's
collection of "trophies," the legend asked for a marker.
Ren beamed and handed him a permanent pen. Alai Sr. found a spare speedbag and,
with a mischievous grin, signed his name: Mohammad Alai.
"It's a good environment," the legend mused.
Ren smiled. "Your son said the exact same thing."
"Oho?" Alai Sr. looked pleasantly surprised. "Jr. has been here? What a
coincidence!"
Then, the old man's expression softened, becoming a mix of pride and melancholy.
"My son... he is my dream. But he also destroyed me once."
"Five years ago, I faced my son. I was careless and I lost. For the first time
in my life, I heard the referee's count while I was on the floor."
He looked at Ren. "Since you are a warrior of the Underground, you must have
heard of—or perhaps even seen—Him, right?"
"Yujiro Hanma."
Ren nodded.
The lore of the 2D world surged in his mind. He knew the history between the
Ogre and the God of Boxing, but hearing it from the man himself carried a
different weight. Alai Sr. began to recount the tale.
Mohammad Alai.
The man who stood toe-to-toe with the gods had met a young Yujiro Hanma in the
late 20th century. Alai had been invited to Tokyo for a "Century Match" against
the Japanese professional wrestler, Kanji Igari. While the public was told it
was an exhibition, the truth was far grittier. It was a no-holds-barred "Real
Fight."
Alai had prepared for it as if it were a world title defense. During a night run
through the streets of Tokyo, his training partners—men who would become future
world champions—began to "vanish" one by one. In the span of twenty minutes,
Alai was alone.
The scent of a predator filled the humid night air. Despite being in one of the
most populated cities on Earth, Alai felt as though he were being tracked by a
jungle beast.
Then, the "Demon" appeared.
Yujiro Hanma stood behind him. Compared to any athlete Alai had ever faced,
Yujiro radiated a "Heterogeneous" existence. Mohammad Alai, a man who almost
never used a guard in the ring, performed a historic gesture: he raised his
hands in a resolute, terrified defense.
After a brief exchange of probes, Alai realized his fists couldn't even touch
the Ogre.
Yujiro had come with a purpose. He wanted to see the completion of Alai's true
dream—the "Mohammad Alai Style" of practical combat. The style that the sporting
world had never even glimpsed.
In the end, Alai had thrown one punch. Yujiro had upended him instantly.
But the Ogre didn't mock him. He didn't finish him. Instead, he gripped Alai's
hand firmly.
"Just like that," Alai Sr. said, gesturing with his trembling hands. "He told me
that my three-and-a-half-year ban for refusing the draft had hindered the
completion of my style. But... he also said that it was because of those three
and a half years that he respected me."
"Heh. To receive 'Respect' from a man clearly stronger than me? It was both the
proudest and most frustrating moment of my life."
Alai Sr. looked up at the ceiling. "I showed Yujiro my son. Yujiro told me that
he had 'scattered his seeds' across the globe as well. He hoped our sons would
be good playmates one day."
"I came to Tokyo in secret to see it for myself. I wanted to see the sons of the
legends."
He looked at Ren. "Shiroki-san... as a fighter of this world, would you mind
removing your shirt? I'd like to see your frame."
Ren didn't hesitate. He pulled off his compression shirt, revealing a torso
built of corded, functional muscle. Scars of all shapes and sizes marked his
skin—jagged lines, puncture marks, and friction burns.
"I see," Alai Sr. whispered. "This is the beauty and the horror of the world
where 'The Strongest' is decided."
☆☆☆
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