Thug King

The air in the old dojo was heavy, thick with the scent of blood and the palpable weight of two immense presences colliding. On one side, Master Uesugi, the old tiger, stood rooted to the floorboards, his ancient body radiating the quiet, immense power of a lifetime of discipline. On the other, Kenji, the young dragon, stood amidst the wreckage of his own making, his aura a vortex of cold, nihilistic wrath.

Yui Amano watched, her fear for herself completely eclipsed by a new, terrifying fear of Kenji. The boy who had given her a gentle, reassuring smile was gone. In his place was this… this angel of death, this engine of perfect, brutal destruction. The men he had broken were screaming, and he didn't even seem to hear them.

"You are a practitioner of the Dragon God's art," Uesugi stated, his voice a low rasp. "I have not seen its like in fifty years. I thought it had died with its master."

"You talk too much," Kenji replied, his voice flat and devoid of life. He took another step forward.

Uesugi settled into a low, ancient jujutsu stance, his hands held open, his body poised like a coiled spring. He was a master of grappling, of throws, of joint locks that could tear a man's limbs from their sockets. He knew he couldn't match the boy's raw, destructive power. His only chance was to close the distance, to get his hands on him, to drag the dragon into the tiger's den.

"I see the girl is important to you," Uesugi said, his eyes sharp, probing for a weakness. "Your rage, your killing intent... it is all for her. That is your anchor. It is also your flaw."

Kenji stopped. He looked at Uesugi, then his gaze flickered to Yui for a fraction of a second.

It was the opening the old master had been waiting for his entire life.

In that sliver of a moment, Uesugi exploded into motion. His speed was shocking for a man his age, a testament to a body honed to its absolute peak. He didn't charge straight in. He moved in a deceptive, flowing pattern, his feet gliding over the bloody floor, trying to get to Kenji's side, to his blind spot.

Kenji's head snapped back to him, his eyes empty voids once more. The distraction had failed.

Uesugi, committed to his attack, lunged. His hand, gnarled and hard as old wood, shot out to grab Kenji's wrist.

Kenji met the attack. Their hands clasped.

For a moment, they were still, locked together. It was a contest of wills. Uesugi immediately began to apply a devastating joint lock, twisting Kenji's wrist in a way that should have snapped the bone.

He felt no resistance. It was like trying to twist a rope of steel.

But Uesugi was a master. He didn't rely on strength. He flowed, shifting his grip, his other hand coming up to brace Kenji's elbow, preparing for a throw that would use Kenji's own height and weight against him.

It was a perfect, textbook application of classical jujutsu. It would have thrown any other man in the world.

Kenji's response was not from any textbook.

He did not resist the throw. He did not fight the lock.

He went with it.

But as his body began to move, he did something Uesugi could not comprehend. He lowered his center of gravity, sinking into the floor, and allowed the twisting pressure on his wrist to travel up his arm, through his shoulder, and into his core. He then redirected that entire force—the force of Uesugi's own attack—down through his legs and into the floorboards.

CRREEEAAAKKK!

The ancient wood of the dojo floor around Kenji's feet groaned and splintered under the impossible, redirected pressure. He hadn't just nullified the attack; he had channeled it into the very foundation of the building.

Uesugi's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. His perfect technique had been... absorbed. It had vanished into the boy as if thrown into a black hole.

And in that moment of shock, Kenji counter-attacked.

Still holding Uesugi's hand, he twisted his own body, reversing the flow. The energy Uesugi had exerted was now coming back at him, amplified. Uesugi felt his own wrist lock being applied to himself, but with a force and precision that was inhuman.

His ancient, conditioned bones screamed in protest. He was forced to release his grip and retreat, his wrist throbbing with a pain he hadn't felt since he was a young man.

"You... how?" the old master breathed, his composure finally breaking. "That is not Kankotsu-jutsu. That is... something else."

"The Dragon Coil," Kenji said, his voice a chilling whisper. "A technique for defense. I do not like to use it. It is inefficient. It prolongs the conflict."

He took another step. "The lesson is over."

He moved, his body a blur. This time, he was not waiting. He was not countering. He was attacking.

He closed the distance in an instant. Uesugi, with his lifetime of experience, moved to intercept, to grapple, to do anything to stop the onslaught.

It was useless.

Kenji's hand struck Uesugi's chest. It was not a hard blow. It was a soft, vibrating palm strike. But Uesugi felt it like a sledgehammer. The vibration shot through his ribcage and slammed into his heart, momentarily stunning the muscle. His breath caught, his vision swam.

As the old master faltered, Kenji's other hand came up, his fingers formed into a "crane's beak." He didn't strike a vital point. He struck the thick, corded muscle of Uesugi's shoulder. The precise, stabbing pressure instantly deadened the entire arm, causing it to fall limply to his side.

In two moves, the legendary master had been disarmed and his heart rhythm disrupted. He was helpless.

Kenji stood before him, his hand raised for a final, killing blow. He looked into the old man's eyes. He saw no fear. He saw only the weary acceptance of a warrior who had finally met an opponent he could not defeat.

And Kenji… paused.

His hand, trembling with a barely contained apocalyptic force, remained in the air.

He looked past Uesugi, at Yui. She was staring at him, her face pale, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. She was not looking at him with adoration, like Rina, or with calculation, like Akari. She was looking at him with fear. And with pity.

Her expression pierced through the cold, red haze of his rage.

"Understanding the human heart… It is the most dangerous beast of all."

His own heart. His rage. It had almost made him kill an old warrior who was, in his own way, bound by a code.

The killing intent receded. The immense pressure in the room vanished, leaving a hollow, ringing silence.

Kenji lowered his hand.

He walked past the stunned, defeated Master Uesugi. He went to Yui's chair. His movements, once again, became gentle. He untied the ropes binding her wrists and ankles. They were raw and red.

"I am sorry," he whispered, his voice finally sounding human again. "I am sorry you were hurt. I am sorry you had to see this."

Yui didn't say anything. She just launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around his waist, and sobbed into his chest. She wasn't just crying from fear. She was crying for him. For the terrible, lonely power he held.

Kenji stood stiffly for a moment, unused to the contact. Then, hesitantly, he raised a hand and placed it on her back, a gesture of comfort.

Behind them, Master Uesugi watched, clutching his chest, breathing heavily. He had been spared. Not out of mercy from a warrior, but because of the heart of a kind girl.

At that moment, the door to the dojo creaked open. Mr. Tanaka of the Inagawa-kai stepped in, flanked by two bodyguards. He had come to see the results of his test. He stopped dead, his eyes taking in the scene: his ten best men, broken and bleeding; the legendary Master Uesugi, defeated and humbled; and his target, the boy-monster, comforting the girl, his terrifying aura completely gone, replaced by a quiet, protective gentleness.

Mr. Tanaka finally understood.

They hadn't kidnapped the boy's weakness.

They had kidnapped the only thing that was keeping the dragon leashed. They had kidnapped his humanity. And they were lucky to have survived the consequences.