Chapter 447: Did You Really Hit Me?!
Himuro Ryo finally understood what Takeshi Wakatsuki had meant by "he doesn't
look like any school."
The combat techniques of [MR. 2] Jun Guevara defied all conventional logic!
"He... did he just..." Himuro trailed off, his jaw hanging slack. "What the hell
did I just watch?"
Fusui Kure's eyes were wide, the dark veins of her [REMOVAL] bulging around her
temples. Even with her enhanced dynamic visual acuity, she could barely
comprehend what she had seen.
"That hitman's inner ear... it was shredded by a strand of hair?!"
To the spectators, it looked like black magic. But to the lean assassin lying in
the dirt, the experience was pure, disorienting horror.
Too fast! What kind of technique was that?! A slap to the ear...?
The hitman lay on his side, his pupils dilated as warm fluid poured from his
left ear canal. His brain couldn't process the input.
Did the ground tilt? Did I fall? Get up... I have to get up!
Gritting his teeth, the assassin pushed himself off the dirt with one trembling
hand. He raised his suppressed 9mm, leveling the iron sights directly at
Guevara's head.
Good. The target isn't moving. Did he let his guard down? Now—!
Before his index finger could apply pressure to the trigger, his boots slid out
from beneath him. His balance dissolved into nothingness. His face slammed into
the dirt with a wet, heavy thud.
—Why?!
Only now did the agony register—an abnormal, piercing screech echoing directly
inside his skull.
Drool leaked from the corner of his lips as violent tremors wracked his body. He
tried to stand, once, twice, three times, but with his left cochlea shredded by
a braided strand of hair, his vestibular system was completely annihilated.
Equilibrium was gone. He was stranded on an endless, spinning carousel of
vertigo.
Guevara didn't spare him a second glance. He turned and strolled back toward the
center of the camp.
Behind him—
The mob of outlaws who had just sworn loyalty to their "New Boss" swarmed
forward, encircling the fallen assassin.
To the residents of The Inside, this hitman was merely another outsider. He had
ambushed the sector's sovereign; he lacked the power to conquer the territory,
nor could he integrate into its ecosystem.
The conclusion was instantaneous.
Before the hitman could even draw breath to scream, the boots of the mob came
down. The lawless Ward consumed him in silence.
On the other side of the clearing...
Ren Shiroki and the others splashed cold bottled water over the face of [THE
UMIBOZU] Yoshinari Karo, helping the old fisherman regain consciousness.
Karo rubbed his throbbing temple, blinking through the haze before nodding his
gratitude to the group. He climbed back to his feet, turning to face Guevara,
who had just strolled over.
"...I lost."
Karo exhaled heavily, clearing the lingering fog from his head. He didn't offer
a single excuse. "I was hired by Toyo Electric to test your depth. My
apologies."
The sea titan squared his shoulders, prepared to accept death without complaint.
Guevara raised his hand, reaching directly for Karo's throat.
"—?!"
The spectators tensed, expecting a finishing blow.
Shick!
Guevara's hand flickered past Karo's jugular, his fingers brushing against the
fisherman's front overall pocket instead.
When he drew his hand back, he was casually tossing a weathered tin of
loose-leaf rolling tobacco into the air, catching it with a grin.
"Assassins are vermin, but in an honest, toe-to-toe brawl, we're brothers of the
fist. Besides, you carry the scent of the open sea on your skin."
Guevara arched an eyebrow, his smile bright and radiant. "I'll take this tobacco
as my trophy~!"
Karo stood frozen.
At fifty years old, he had weathered enough storms to know when a man was
granting him mercy. The old captain bowed deeply from the waist. "Thank you."
Guevara waved it off, walking toward the fractured perimeter wall. He lifted his
bowl of stew from the bent-spoon bracket he had driven into the brickwork
earlier.
The broth was neither too hot nor too cold—the perfect drinking temperature. He
drained the bowl in one long, satisfied gulp.
Breakfast was officially over.
The crew casually stacked the empty tin bowls, their minds replaying the
lightning-fast exchange they had just witnessed.
He's an absolute monster.
The reality was so undeniable that Ren Shiroki couldn't sit still. His Technical
Itch flared up again, drawing him to Guevara's side as the revolutionary stood
in the dirt lot, soaking in the morning sun.
Guevara popped the tin, expertly rolling a pinch of sea-scented tobacco into a
thin paper cigarette before offering it to Ren.
Ren didn't have a smoking habit, but he accepted it anyway, mimicking his older
peers by placing it between his lips.
The bitter, spicy sting of the raw leaf hit his tongue immediately, making his
brow twitch. "Tsk... cough..."
"Gwahaha!"
Guevara roared with laughter, thoroughly entertained. "Mr. Ren, you've never
smoked a day in your life, have you?"
Ren gave a sheepish grin.
He took a slow breath, looking at the young warlord with genuine admiration.
"The [SECOND UNCHAINED]... You're the real deal, Guevara-san."
"And you came all this way to fight the 'Original,' didn't you?"
Guevara wasn't surprised to hear his objective laid bare. A genuine warrior
always smelled the hunt on another predator.
"That's right."
Guevara lit his own cigarette, leaning back as smoke drifted past his bandana.
"I'm here to declare the end of the 'Oliva Era.' The freedom of this Ward
doesn't belong to him."
"In the Arizona State Penitentiary, Oliva built a private kingdom. A luxury
suite, vintage wine, high-grade steaks on demand... the US government treats him
like an emperor."
"He wants to recreate that exact same kingdom inside The Inside."
Guevara's eyes turned cold, a sneer touching his lips. "Frankly, that brand of
decadent, arrogant indulgence disgusts me."
"Corrupt politicians, shadow syndicates... that 'American Style' of arrogance
only knows how to use raw military force to bend others to its will."
Guevara blew a thick ring of smoke into the sky. "As the 'Second Generation,' my
duty is to prove the 'First Generation' wrong."
Ren watched the white smoke dissipate into the autumn air, his eyes narrowing
thoughtfully.
"Guevara-san, this isn't a tournament bracket. You're talking like this 'Guevara
vs. Oliva' clash is some kind of destined duel."
Ren smirked playfully. "Annexing territory, surrounding Ten Tokita on three
sides... Tell me the truth: do you secretly resent the name [MR. 2]? Are you
just desperate to be Number One?"
It was a blatant, deliberate provocation.
Guevara flicked the ash from his cigarette, a sudden, playful smirk spreading
across his rugged features. "Who knows? I couldn't care less about nicknames."
He turned on his heel, taking a step as if to walk away, testing Ren's reaction.
If you're going to jump me, boy... do it now!
Just as Guevara's shoulder brushed past Ren's flank—
THUD!
A heavy, concentrated shockwave slammed into the back of Guevara's skull!
The phantom torque was so violent that it felt as though his bandana had been
blown off his head, his entire body pitching forward in an involuntary stumble!
Guevara froze. He frantically reached up to touch his scalp—
His bandana was still tied tight.
Wait... what?!
Guevara spun around, his eyes wide.
Ren Shiroki was still standing in the exact same spot. His boots hadn't shifted
a fraction of an inch in the dirt. To throw a punch with that much kinetic
weight, coiling the hips, rotating the core, and digging in with the rear foot
were absolute biological requirements—yet Ren hadn't moved!
A hallucination?!
No! That 'Fist' was undeniable! It carried a distinct, terrifying weight that
refused to be ignored!
"Well, I'll be damned... Hahaha!"
Guevara broke into an ecstatic, breathless laugh. He stared at Ren with wide,
fascinated eyes. "Did you really just 'hit' me?!"
Ren bared his teeth, raising his chin with a casual grin. "I wanted to see what
hitting Mr. 2 felt like, so I threw a strike. It was [RYU: HASHOGEKI]."
Guevara's thick eyebrows shot up, his fighting spirit boiling over. He braced
his legs to engage—
Only for Ren to turn on his heel and casually walk away, completely ignoring
him!
"Hey?!" Guevara called out, laughing as he planted his hands on his hips. "I
might have just finished a warm-up, but I'm more than ready for round two, you
know!"
Ren waved a lazy hand over his shoulder. "You might be ready, but I'm not
interested right now~!"
He was throwing Guevara's own playful exit right back in his face!
Guevara shook his head, thoroughly amused. He was just contemplating whether to
tackle Ren from behind when heavy footsteps interrupted them.
[THE UMIBOZU] Yoshinari Karo approached, offering another formal bow to both
Guevara and Ren.
To Guevara, for sparing his life. To Ren, for the lifeline extended to his
employer, Kandai Fisheries.
This was where the internal politics of the Kengan Association bled into the
dirt.
Katsumasa Hayami of Toyo Electric had been scheming to overthrow Chairman
Metsudo Katahara. To build his rebellion, he had used coercion, blackmail, and
predatory development loans to corner various corporate members and their
fighters:
Saw Paing and the Dawn Village. Yoshinari Karo and the Kandai fishing harbor.
Yet the opposing faction was moving in the shadows. Leaders like Hideki Nogi,
Heihachi Furumi, and Ken Ooya refused to resort to extortion, but once the board
shifted, they had no intention of withholding their resources. In the long game,
genuine corporate alliances carried far more leverage than crude threats.
Upon learning of Kandai Fisheries' crisis, the alliance had mobilized their
legal and financial wings to block Toyo Electric's zoning permits. The harbor
was far from safe, but for the first time in months, the old captain had real
hope.
Evening arrived. A fresh bonfire was stoked in the center of the camp.
Guevara stood alone atop the tin roof of a nearby shanty, his bandana fluttering
in the wind as he gazed southwest toward Ten Tokita, contemplating his reckoning
with Biscuit Oliva.
Around the fire, the rest of the crew relaxed.
Suddenly, Fusui Kure's encrypted tactical phone began to ring.
She checked the caller ID and sat up straight. It was a direct video call from
the Patriarch of the Kure Clan himself—Erioh Kure.
The old master was calling for a frontline sitrep on The Inside.
☆☆☆
-> 30 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Hollowborn
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you