Thug King

The challenge hung in the air, sharp and glittering as the edge of a blade.

"Are you the demon they talk about? Or are you just another sheep for me to slaughter?"

The entire student population of Seiryu High, gathered in a silent, ever-growing semi-circle, stared in horrified fascination. This wasn't just a fight; it was an invasion. The legendary "Crimson Oni" of Suzaku, a monster of a rival school, was standing at their gates, calling out their own newfound monster.

Kenji Tanaka looked at Rina Sato. He processed her words, her stance, her aura.

"Hostile intent is clear," his mind analyzed with detached clarity. "She is an alpha from a rival territory, here to test my strength. Her hand on the sword is not a bluff; her muscles are tensed for a draw. Her center of gravity is low, stable. She is highly trained. More so than the boxer."

He had no interest in this fight. It was another disruption, another deviation from his mission to be a normal student. But his grandfather's teachings were also pragmatic.

"Rule #21: An unavoidable challenge from a worthy opponent must be met. To refuse is to show fear. To show fear is to invite endless attacks. End it swiftly. End it decisively."

This girl, with her fiery eyes and the aura of a predator, was a worthy opponent.

"I have no interest in slaughter," Kenji said, his voice still infuriatingly calm. "I am a student. I am here to learn."

Rina's eyebrow twitched. His placid demeanor was like a shield she couldn't penetrate. It was starting to piss her off. "Then you'll get a lesson right now. The first rule of this world is that might makes right!"

With that, she moved.

She wasn't just fast; she was explosive. She didn't draw her katana—that would be overkill, a sign that she truly saw him as an equal, and her pride wouldn't allow that yet. Instead, she lunged forward, closing the ten feet between them in a single, powerful bound.

She led with a kick. It was a vicious side-kick aimed at his knee, a move designed to cripple an opponent's mobility from the outset. It was fast, powerful, and utterly ruthless.

The crowd gasped. The kick was a blur.

For the first time since he arrived at Seiryu, Kenji moved with visible, undeniable urgency. He didn't dodge. He didn't block.

He matched her speed.

His leading leg shot up, his shin meeting her shin in a brutal, head-on collision.

CRACK!

The sound was like two baseball bats striking each other with full force. It was a raw, percussive impact that vibrated through the pavement.

The students flinched, many crying out in shock. A direct shin-on-shin block like that was a battle of pure bone density and pain tolerance. It was a contest of raw conditioning.

Rina let out a sharp, involuntary hiss of pain. A lightning bolt of agony shot up her leg. She was proud of her conditioning; she had spent years kicking steel poles and makiwara boards. No one had ever met her kicks head-on like this. It felt like she had just kicked a steel pillar.

Kenji's expression did not change. He absorbed the impact as if it were nothing, his leg as unmoving as the root of an ancient tree.

He had not just blocked her. He had won the exchange decisively.

Before she could even process this, her leg still recoiling from the shock, Kenji's hands moved. He flowed forward, stepping into the opening she had created. His movements were like water—no, they were like mercury. Heavy, fluid, and impossibly fast.

His left hand shot out, not in a fist, but with his fingers open. He didn't slap her or grab her. He gently cupped the side of her head, his thumb pressing lightly against the major nerve cluster behind her earlobe.

His right hand simultaneously struck her abdomen. Again, it wasn't a punch. It was an open-palm strike, delivered with no visible wind-up. It looked almost casual.

But the moment it made contact, Rina's world tilted on its axis.

The pressure point behind her ear sent a wave of disorienting vertigo through her brain. The world spun, her balance vanished. The palm strike to her stomach wasn't about raw power; it was a focused shockwave, a thrumming vibration that penetrated deep into her core, stealing every ounce of air from her lungs and locking her diaphragm.

Gah-!

The proud, defiant war cry of the Crimson Oni died in her throat, replaced by a choked, strangled gasp. Her vision swam with black spots. Her legs, which had never failed her, turned to jelly. Her body went limp.

She was falling.

The entire sequence, from the blocked kick to this moment of incapacitation, had taken less than a single second. The crowd hadn't even had time to blink. They saw a flash of motion, heard the crack, and now their invincible invading queen was collapsing.

But she didn't hit the ground.

Kenji's left hand, still cupping her head, guided her fall. His right arm, which had just paralyzed her, snaked around her waist, catching her effortlessly. He held her in a posture that was almost a dance dip, supporting her full weight with one arm as if she weighed nothing.

He had neutralized her so completely, so swiftly, that he was also the only thing keeping her from collapsing in a heap of humiliation.

The silence that followed was absolute. It was a silence of pure, undiluted shock. It was heavier than the silence in the classroom, heavier than the silence in the hallway. This was the Crimson Oni of Suzaku. A legend. A monster in her own right. And she had been defeated. No, not defeated. Deconstructed. In the blink of an eye.

Rina stared up, her vision slowly clearing. She was looking at Kenji's face, upside down. His messy black hair framed eyes that held no triumph, no arrogance, no satisfaction. They held only a calm, analytical neutrality. He was looking at her the way a doctor looks at a patient.

"Your technique is impressive," Kenji's voice was quiet, meant only for her. "But you are emotionally compromised. Your anger makes you predictable. It creates openings."

His words were not a taunt. They were a clinical, honest assessment. And that made it a thousand times more devastating to her pride than any insult.

He had not just beaten her body. With a few simple words, he had dissected her entire fighting philosophy and found it lacking.

He easily lifted her back to her feet. Her legs were still unsteady, but her pride forced them to lock. She stood there, swaying slightly, breathing in ragged, painful gasps, her mind reeling.

The crowd finally found its voice, erupting into a tidal wave of disbelieving shouts and frantic whispers.

"Did you see that?!"

"He didn't even sweat!"

"He caught her! After he beat her, he caught her!"

"What… WHAT IS HE?!"

Kenji took a step back, giving her space. "The dispute is resolved," he stated, as if closing a file. He then turned to walk towards the school gate, his part in this drama finished.

But it wasn't.

"Wait."

Rina's voice was hoarse, ragged, but it cut through the din.

Kenji stopped and turned back to her.

She stood there, clutching her stomach, her face pale. But the fire in her amber eyes hadn't been extinguished. In fact, it was burning brighter than ever before, transformed from a fire of arrogance into a raging, wild inferno of something new. It was awe. It was humiliation. It was a terrifying, obsessive fascination.

She had never been so effortlessly, so completely, so elegantly overpowered in her entire life. He hadn't just defeated her; he had shown her a level of martial arts that she didn't even know existed. It was like a child who was the best tree-climber in their neighborhood suddenly seeing a man walk on the moon. The scale was wrong. He was impossible.

A slow, shaky, and utterly insane grin spread across her face.

"Tanaka Kenji," she said, her voice trembling with a raw, new emotion. "You..."

She straightened up, wincing but defiant, her eyes locked on his with a terrifying intensity.

"You're amazing."