Chapter 408: A Boxer's Grit
The sand of the construction site was level, but it was unrefined and covered in
a thick layer of fine dust. Just stomping on it was enough to kick up a pale
cloud.
Right now, that dust was being whipped into a frenzy. Kanoh Agito was mounted on
Alai Jr.'s waist, his face a mask of deranged, technical ecstasy as he hammered
heavy fists into the boxer's face.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!!!
Each punch sent a shockwave through the ground, scattering the dust in
overlapping ripples.
Ten seconds later, the dust finally settled, revealing the aftermath.
Agito held his right fist high, but he didn't bring it down again. Beneath him,
Alai Jr. was a ruin. His face was a mask of pulverized tissue, his nose was
flattened, and the back of his head had been driven so hard into the earth that
it left a visible crater in the sand.
Alai's eyes were open, but they were vacant, staring at the construction crane
above with a thousand-yard stare. One of his front teeth lay in the sand beside
him.
Seeing the light fade from his opponent's eyes, Agito's manic grin vanished. His
features smoothed out, returning to his usual, stoic "poker face."
His meticulously groomed pompadour had come undone, several blood-matted strands
of hair clinging to his forehead, giving him a disheveled, predatory look. He
stood up, stepping off the boxer's chest. He reached back, casually smoothing
his hair into place and resetting his internal "Switch."
Through the guidance of Metsudo Katahara, years of soul-crushing training,
and 157 Kengan wars, Agito had learned to cage his internal violence. He was
currently exploring a synthesis of his own—merging the chaotic [FORMLESS] of his
beastly side with the refined [MARTIAL ARTS] of his human side.
The path was fraught with thorns and psychological trauma, but this was the
"Way" the Fang had chosen to reach the apex.
Agito looked down at the dazed Alai Jr., concluding that the struggle was over.
He turned his back, walking toward the edge of the lot to retrieve the shoes he
had kicked off.
He had only taken three steps when he heard a wet, raspy cough.
Alai Jr. was trembling, his limbs twitching as he forced himself to roll onto
his stomach. With a guttural groan, he pushed himself up. Bracing his hands on
his blood-soaked knees, he panted for air, spitting out a glob of crimson.
His face was a horror show, and cold sweat mired his skin, but he refused to
acknowledge the end.
I am Mohammad Alai Jr. How can I lose? I'm going to beat Baki Hanma. I'm going
to be the No. 1 Combatant in the world! A man with an ambition like mine...
cannot lose to a 'King' of a single association!
Alai Jr. steeled his spirit, his vision slowly tunneling back onto Agito's back.
"..."
Agito stopped. He turned his head slightly, his expression flat. "You do not
acknowledge the conclusion?"
Alai Jr. arched a blood-stained eyebrow, trying to force a casual tone through
the pain. "I... I always stand back up. It's what I do."
Agito gave a slow, deliberate nod. He turned fully around, his fists closing.
The frames resumed.
Zip!
Agito lunged. He covered the distance in a single, heavy stride, his arm cocking
back as if for a massive haymaker.
Alai Jr.'s breathing was ragged, his focus narrowed to a laser point.
—Now!
He spotted the gap between Agito's arms. He executed a low-angle slip-in,
driving a right jab toward Agito's chin. He was betting everything on a single,
clean KO.
But the moment his knuckles were inches from the target—"Heh."
Agito's face twisted into that grisly grin again. In a micro-second, he bypassed
his refined guard and entered his [FORMLESS] state. He rotated his head with a
fluid, uncanny looseness.
Whish!
Alai Jr.'s fist grazed Agito's cheek. The Fang's neck was so flexible it acted
like a "Formless Slime," absorbing the impact and bleeding off 80% of the
kinetic energy.
Simultaneously, Agito's counter-attack didn't come from his hands. While Alai
Jr. was overextended, Agito unleashed an ultra-high-speed low sweep.
THWACK!
The kick caught Alai Jr. on the outside of his right thigh. It didn't feel like
a foot; it felt like a heavy iron cleaver had been swung into his bone. The
fabric of his tracksuit split under the tension, revealing an immediate, angry
swelling.
"—?!"
Alai Jr. hissed in agony, his right leg going numb. He was forced to anchor his
weight on his left.
"Hmph...!"
Agito's grin widened. He exhaled a cloud of hot steam and fired a follow-up kick
with his other leg.
BAM!!
This strike used the [FORMLESS] logic—the movement was unrefined, lacking the
elegance of a karateka, but its trajectory was erratic and impossible to track.
It caught Alai Jr. on his "good" leg.
This was the Fang's evolution. He used [FORMLESS] to nullify Alai's "Sting,"
then transitioned into high-torque [MARTIAL ARTS] strikes to shatter the
"Butterfly" footwork. It wasn't a sudden inspiration; it was the result of a
mind that had been refined in a Gu Ritual, evolving to counter any logic it
encountered.
"Urgh... hack...!"
Alai Jr. let out a muffled groan. He sensed the finishing flurry coming, but his
legs were lead. He couldn't move.
Thud-thud-thud!
Agito unleashed a storm of strikes. A high-line roundhouse, a driving knee, and
a series of heavy crosses covered Alai Jr. like a tsunami. The boxer was driven
back, his feet barely touching the ground as the impact kept him suspended.
BOOM!
The final punch sent Alai Jr. sailing. He crashed into the iron construction
fence, the metal groaning as he hit it with the weight of a car.
Clang-clatter!
Alai Jr. hung there for a second, his arms hooked into the gaps of the fence,
his body limp.
His left eyelid was swollen shut. Several more teeth were gone. His tracksuit
was a rag of dirt and blood.
"I... I can still..."
Alai Jr. looked up with one eye, trying to beckon Agito back. "Come on... hit
me... again..."
He looked like a classic "underdog" boxer, leaning against the ropes with
nothing but pure grit keeping him upright. He was waiting for the crowd to cheer
for his heroic spirit.
Agito paused, looking at the broken man.
The predatory grin vanished, replaced by a look of weary pity. He let out a long
sigh. "Alai Jr. You are an exceptional boxer."
"But—"
Agito's tone turned cold. "This is not a boxing ring. This is not a place where
standing up after being broken earns you applause."
"Reversals and 'heroic' comebacks happen in stories. In a Street Brawl, they are
a luxury you cannot afford."
"The person obsessed with the audience isn't me. It's you."
Agito smoothed back his hair once more and turned to walk away. He left one
final, quiet evaluation over his shoulder.
"You taught me some interesting things. I suppose... you were a worthy
opponent."
Alai Jr. watched him leave. His head was a cacophony of ringing bells; he
couldn't hear a word. He looked at Agito's retreating back with pure confusion.
Why is he leaving? Is he running away? Then... I guess I won...
Alai Jr.'s strength finally bottomed out. He slumped to the sand, his world
turning to black.
The match was decided.
Kanoh Agito vs. Mohammad Alai Jr. Winner: [THE FANG OF METSUDO] Kanoh Agito!
The spectators had watched the execution in total silence.
Tokugawa's personal guards rushed forward to provide emergency first aid to Alai
Jr., calling for an ambulance to rush him to the nearest trauma center.
Agito, now back in his suit and shoes, walked over to the Chairman.
"Ho ho ho!"
Metsudo Katahara slapped Agito on the arm, beaming with pride. "To achieve such
a crushing victory against a 'Son of God'... magnificent, Agito!"
"No, Milord."
Agito wiped a smear of blood from his cheek, his expression grave. "Alai Jr. was
a formidable foe. That was not a 'magnificent' victory. And besides..."
Metsudo blinked. "And?"
Agito accepted a towel from a guard, wiping the sweat from his neck. "And while
I learned much, that match... it still wasn't a 'Real Fight'."
Metsudo and Tokugawa shared a knowing, silent look.
They understood. Mohammad Alai Jr. possessed a style that even Yujiro Hanma took
note of, but as a "Warrior," the boy was incomplete. His resolve was skin-deep.
In a standard Kengan match, he could coast on his talent. But against the Fang,
the crack in his spirit had been hammered into a canyon.
He was a "Boxer." Not yet a "Combatant." It was a gap in heart and will that no
coach could bridge; Alai Jr. would have to cross that abyss himself.
Splash!
Agito took a water bottle and rinsed his face. He suddenly felt a spike of
intuition and turned his head toward the edge of the clearing.
Standing there were Ren Shiroki and Kosho Shinogi.
The two of them were standing side-by-side, leaning against a stack of steel
beams. They were catching the cool night air, their expressions relaxed and
dangerously airy. They looked like two men who had just finished a pleasant
dinner, not two predators about to engage in a bloodletting.
Agito's eyes narrowed. "In my estimation... that is what a 'Real Fight' state
looks like."
Ren and Kosho were chatting and laughing, enjoying the perfect weather and the
perfect timing. The atmosphere around them was ripe for violence.
☆☆☆
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