Thug King

The walk home for Kenji Tanaka was a study in serene observation. He didn't have a phone, so the digital storm raging around his name was utterly unknown to him. He was a man walking peacefully through the eye of a hurricane, commenting on the pleasant weather.

He noted the way the afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the ginkgo trees lining the street. He observed the complex traffic patterns at a busy intersection, committing the flow to memory. He mentally cataloged the various small shops he passed, noting the smells wafting from a ramen stall and a bakery. This was all data, part of understanding the new "forest" he now lived in.

His apartment was a small, sparse room in an old, quiet building. It contained a futon, a low table, a small kitchenette, and a single bookshelf holding worn copies of classic literature and advanced texts on physics and anatomy. There were no decorations, save for a single, framed piece of calligraphy on the wall. It contained only one character: 無 (Mu) - Nothingness, Emptiness.

This was the core principle of his grandfather's teachings. Mushin. The mind without mind. A state of effortless action, free from the distractions of anger, fear, or ego.

Kenji placed his bag down and began his routine. First, he meticulously reviewed his school notes, trying to understand the foreign concepts of economic policies and sentence structures. He found it far more challenging than a 20-mile mountain run.

After an hour of study, he changed into a simple pair of loose-fitting pants and a t-shirt. His daily conditioning began. It didn't involve weights or fancy equipment.

It started with a stance. He stood on one leg on the wooden floor, his other knee raised, his arms held out to his sides. He then closed his eyes and remained perfectly still. For an hour. It was a drill to cultivate absolute balance and root his body to the earth. To an outsider, it would look like nothing. To a true martial artist, it was a feat of impossible endurance and focus.

After that came the striking drills. He didn't use a punching bag. He stood before the blank wall, inches away, and threw thousands of punches, palm strikes, and elbow jabs. None of them ever touched the wall. They stopped, with perfect control, a single sheet of paper's width from the surface. Each strike was a blur of motion followed by an abrupt, total stop, creating a sharp crackling sound in the air as it displaced it. This was control. This was a man who trained not just to destroy, but to command destruction itself.

Finally, he sat in silent meditation, his breathing so slow and deep it was almost imperceptible. He cleared his mind of the day's events, filing them away as completed tasks. The fight with Takeda's crew. The encounter with the boxer. They were problems, and he had applied the correct solutions. They required no more thought than a math problem he had already solved.

His mind drifted to the girl, Yui Amano. Her persistent fear was an unsolved variable. "She warned me of other 'monsters'," he recalled. "She fears for my safety." This was a new experience. In the mountains, the only safety he had to worry about was his own. The idea that someone else would expend emotional energy on his well-being was foreign. It was… inefficient, yet strangely not unpleasant.

As darkness fell outside, he prepared his simple dinner: rice, grilled fish, and miso soup. As he ate, he pondered his grandfather's letter, the one that had sent him here.

"Kenji, I have taught you how to survive in the wild. But you cannot live your entire life on a mountain. You must learn to survive among men. Go to this city. Go to this school. Learn their ways. Understand their rules. Do not draw attention to yourself. Become a part of the scenery. There, you will find the final piece of your training: understanding the human heart. It is the most dangerous beast of all."

Kenji sighed softly. "I am failing, Grandfather. I seem to draw attention wherever I go."

He finished his meal, washed his dishes, and prepared for bed. It was 9 PM. A perfectly disciplined, perfectly ordered day. He was completely at peace, a tranquil pond in a silent forest.

He did not know that three blocks away, the wolves were gathering.

The next day, Kenji walked to school along the same route. The morning air was crisp. He felt rested, his body humming with quiet energy from his training.

But today, something was different. The atmosphere had changed.

He felt it before he saw it. Eyes. Dozens of them. Students on the street would stop and stare. They would whisper frantically to each other as he passed. The path seemed to part for him even more dramatically than it had yesterday.

When he reached the school gates, the scene was one of barely contained chaos. Usually, the entrance was a bustling river of students. Today, the river had been dammed. Students were clustered on either side, leaving a wide, empty corridor leading into the school. It was a gladiator's walk.

Standing in the middle of that corridor, barring the way, was a single figure.

It was a girl.

Her fiery red hair burned like a torch in the morning light. She stood with her feet planted apart, a hand resting casually on the hilt of the katana slung across her back. Her amber eyes were locked onto him, scanning him from head to toe. They were not the eyes of a student; they were the eyes of a predator sizing up a rival.

Kenji stopped. He recognized the stance, the aura. This was not a low-level thug or a disciplined athlete. This was an alpha. A true alpha, whose power was ingrained in her very being. He felt a faint, almost imperceptible echo of his grandfather's presence in her—the absolute confidence of someone who had never known defeat.

Rina Sato, the Crimson Oni, watched him approach. She had expected some sign of his power—a menacing glare, a confident swagger, a tense posture. She saw none of it. He walked with a calm, easy gait, his expression placid, his eyes holding a simple, unbothered curiosity. He looked exactly as he had in the videos: like a complete and utter nobody.

This disconnect between his reputation and his appearance was more intimidating than any overt threat.

"So," Rina's voice cut through the murmuring crowd, sharp and clear. "You're Tanaka Kenji."

It wasn't a question.

"I am," Kenji replied, his tone polite. "May I help you? You are blocking the entrance."

A few students in the crowd gasped at his casual, almost dismissive response. No one spoke to the Crimson Oni of Suzaku like that.

Rina let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a sound of genuine amusement. "I like you already. No fear. Or maybe you're just too stupid to be scared."

She took a step forward, her hand never leaving the hilt of her sword. Her amber eyes bored into him, searching for a flicker of something—anger, apprehension, anything. She found only that unnerving calm.

"I'm Sato Rina, from Suzaku High," she announced, her voice resonating with power. "I've heard stories about you. They say a demon has come to Seiryu. But I look at you, and all I see is a sheep. So, I came here to find out which one it is."

She pointed a thumb at herself, a gesture of supreme arrogance and pride.

"The strongest fighters in this city know my name. But I don't know yours. That's a problem."

Her eyes narrowed, the amusement replaced by a burning intensity. The air crackled with tension. The entire student body held its breath.

"So, right here, right now," she declared, her voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "You're going to show me. Are you the demon they talk about?"

Her hand tightened on her katana. The hilt scraped against the scabbard, a sound that promised the flash of steel.

"Or are you just another sheep for me to slaughter?"