Thug King

The final bell of the day was a starting pistol.

For most students, it signaled the freedom of heading home or to club activities. For the predators of Seiryu High, it signaled that the hunt was on. The entire school was buzzing with a single question: what would happen to Tanaka Kenji next? After the public spectacles of the last two days, everyone knew another challenger was inevitable. The only questions were who, and when.

Kenji packed his bag, his mind on the complex equations from his math class. He was still untroubled by the social maelstrom around him. He had noticed the increased whispering and the widened berths people gave him, but he had chalked it up to the lingering effects of the morning's "disagreement."

As he stepped out of the classroom, a student he didn't recognize—a stout, muscular boy in a judo gi—was waiting for him. The student bowed stiffly.

"Tanaka-senpai," he said, his voice respectful but firm. The use of "-senpai" was a calculated choice, an acknowledgment of his newly established position in the school's hierarchy. "Our captain, Maruyama Jiro, requests your presence in the dojo. He wishes to extend a formal greeting."

Kenji blinked. "A greeting?"

"A demonstration of mutual respect between the powerful figures of our school," the student clarified, his words clearly rehearsed.

"Another dominance ritual," Kenji deduced. "This one is more formal than the previous encounters. A structured challenge." He thought of his grandfather's rule: An unavoidable challenge must be met. This felt unavoidable. Refusing a formal invitation from a club captain would be seen as a grave insult and would only lead to more conflict later. It was more efficient to deal with it now.

"Very well," Kenji agreed. "Lead the way."

A ripple of excitement went through the students who had been watching from a distance. The word spread like fire. "He's going! He's going to the judo dojo!"

The walk to the dojo was a silent procession. Kenji followed the judo member, and behind them, at a safe distance, a growing crowd of students followed, their faces a mixture of morbid curiosity and electric anticipation. They were a flock of vultures circling a battle between two lions.

The Seiryu High Judo dojo was an impressive place. The floor was covered in pristine tatami mats. The air smelled of clean sweat and discipline. Lining the walls were at least twenty members of the judo club, all sitting in the formal seiza position. They were a silent, intimidating wall of muscle.

In the center of the mats stood a single man.

He was enormous. Not just tall, but wide, with a barrel chest and tree-trunk thighs that strained the fabric of his black belt judo gi. His hair was cropped short, and his face was a stoic, impassive mask. This was "The Bear" Maruyama, a national-level high school judo champion and a man whose raw, grappling strength was the stuff of legends. It was said he could pop a basketball with a bear hug.

He saw Kenji enter and his eyes, small and intense in his large face, narrowed slightly. He had watched the videos. He had heard the stories. He was not a fool like Honda or an arrogant brawler like Rina Sato. He respected what he saw, but he also believed in the fundamental superiority of his art. A fight wasn't won with flashy strikes; it was won on the ground, where technique and crushing power reigned supreme.

"Tanaka Kenji," Maruyama's voice was a low, deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through the tatami mats. "Thank you for accepting my invitation. I am Maruyama Jiro, captain of this club."

Kenji gave a polite nod. "Tanaka Kenji. It is a pleasure to meet you, Maruyama-senpai."

"I have heard much about you," Maruyama continued, his gaze intense. "You have an impressive striking ability. But a fight is not always decided on the feet. On the ground, all men are equal. Only their skill determines the victor."

It was a clear, direct challenge. Striking versus grappling. The classic martial arts debate, about to be settled in the most brutal way.

"I am here to propose a friendly 'randori' - a sparring match," Maruyama said, though there was nothing friendly in his eyes. "To deepen the understanding between us. Of course, you may refuse."

He knew Kenji wouldn't. To refuse now, in front of the entire judo club and the dozens of onlookers crowding the doorway, would be an admission of weakness.

Kenji looked at the tatami mats. He looked at the mountain of a man in front of him. He felt no fear, only a spark of academic interest. He had trained in grappling with his grandfather, of course, but his grandfather was a wiry man of impossible technique, not a behemoth of pure strength. This was a new type of problem.

"I accept," Kenji said simply.

A low murmur went through the crowd.

"He's insane."

"Maruyama is going to break him in half!"

"Does he even know how to grapple? He's a striker!"

Unseen by the crowd in the doorway, two figures watched from the shadows of the dojo's far corner, near the equipment storage.

Akari Ishikawa stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She had arrived minutes earlier, using her authority as Student Council President to enter through a back way. This was the test she had been waiting for. Could Kenji's impossible speed and precision handle the pure, overwhelming force of a grappling specialist?

A few feet away from her, hidden by a different shadow, a familiar figure with fiery red hair leaned against the wall. Rina Sato had slipped into the school unnoticed, her obsession driving her to witness this next confrontation firsthand. She watched with narrowed eyes, a predatory grin on her face. She wanted to see more. She needed to understand the depths of the man who had humbled her.

"Take off your shoes and your bag," Maruyama instructed, his voice booming. "Let us begin."

Kenji did as he was told, placing his worn school bag neatly by the edge of the mat. He stepped onto the tatami in his socks. He stood there in his slightly-too-large school uniform, looking like a lamb about to be devoured by a bear.

The two faced each other in the center of the mat.

Maruyama crouched low, his hands outstretched, his fingers crooked like claws, ready to grab hold of Kenji's uniform and begin the end.

Kenji stood perfectly straight, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. His posture was a gaping invitation, a sign of utter foolishness to any trained grappler.

"Are you ready?" Maruyama rumbled.

Kenji gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

"Then... Hajime! (Begin!)"

The moment the word left his lips, Maruyama exploded forward. He didn't charge wildly. He moved with the terrifying speed of a grizzly bear, his steps thudding on the mat. His goal was simple: get his hands on Kenji. Once he had a grip, it was over.

His massive hands shot out, aiming for the lapels of Kenji's school uniform.

The crowd held its breath.

Akari leaned forward, her analytical mind racing.

Rina's grin widened, her heart pounding with anticipation.

This was the moment of truth. The unstoppable force was about to meet the immovable object. Or so everyone thought.

But Kenji Tanaka was neither. He was something else entirely.