CHAPTER 35: CHAPTER 35

Seijirou moved first, he was a blur of motion so fast it tore the air.

The soles of his shoes scraped against the concrete as he lunged forward, twin iron bars whistling in a perfect diagonal arc.

The first strike aimed for Ryuhei’s temple, the second sweeping low for his ribs.

Ryuhei barely managed to raise his forearms in time, sparks flashing where iron met hardened flesh.

The impact sent a vibration up his arms, numbing them for an instant.

’He’s faster than before.’ Ryuhei’s thoughts raced. ’No... he’s more agile. He’s not just swinging, he’s reading my every moves!’

Seijirou pressed the assault without a pause, his strikes flowing like water.

Each swing was precise, controlled, but vicious, meant not to kill but to overwhelm and disable.

He twisted his wrists mid-motion, changing the direction of his attacks faster than Ryuhei’s eyes could adjust.

Every strike had intent: a shoulder feint to draw a guard high, a pivot to open the ribs, a half-step retreat to bait a reckless counter.

Ryuhei gritted his teeth, the ground cracking beneath his feet as he absorbed blow after blow.

His Karyoku flared across his skin like molten glass, veins glowing faintly red.

Every time Seijirou’s iron bar struck him, the energy beneath his skin rippled, dulling the impact but not erasing it.

He swung his right arm outward, the movement a blur, aiming to crush Seijirou’s guard.

Seijirou anticipated it.

He dropped his stance low, spinning to the side, the edge of Ryuhei’s knuckles grazing his hair.

’He’s brute-forcing his way through. This man has no rhythm, just raw power.’ He slammed the end of one iron bar into Ryuhei’s abdomen, forcing the air out of him, then brought the second bar upward toward his jaw.

Ryuhei’s left hand shot up, catching the strike between his fingers.

The metal bent slightly under his grip, the temperature rising where his energy made contact.

"You think you can beat me with toys?" he growled, twisting.

Seijirou released the bar instantly, letting the motion carry him forward.

His knee drove into Ryuhei’s stomach before the other could react. He then reclaimed the dropped bar in a single motion, spinning it to parry the counterpunch that followed.

The sound of impact, metal clashing with bone and energy, echoed through the ruined room like thunder.

They circled each other, breathing heavily but not exhausted.

Seijirou’s mind was cold, calculating, analyzing every twitch of Ryuhei’s shoulders, every micro-shift in his weight.

’He leads with his left when he gets angry. His right is slower when he charges up energy. He’s thinking offense, not defense. Good. Predictable.’

Ryuhei, on the other hand, was fueled by instinct and fury. ’He’s reading me, timing every hit like he’s been waiting for it. Fine. Let’s see how he handles speed.’

He surged forward, his Karyoku bursting outward in a crimson flare that cracked the floor.

His movements blurred, his fists moving faster than the eye could follow.

Seijirou ducked under a punch, but the follow-up caught him in the ribs, forcing a sharp grunt from him.

The pain was fleeting; his body adjusted instantly.

He deflected the next strike with both bars crossed in an X, sparks cascading as the energy burned across the surface of the metal.

Using the momentum, he pivoted behind Ryuhei and struck at the back of his knee.

Ryuhei stumbled but caught himself, spinning with an elbow aimed at Seijirou’s temple.

Seijirou tilted his head just enough to let it pass, countering with a rising strike to the chin.

The two movements collided mid-air, the force sending a shockwave that shattered the nearest window.

’He adapts too fast,’ Ryuhei realized. ’It’s like fighting a mirror that learns every move I make.’

’He’s still faster,’ Seijirou noted. ’but I only need one opening.’

They moved again, the tempo increasing.

Each strike was a test, each feint a conversation between predators. The sound of metal, flesh, and power filled the space until it felt like the air itself might split under the pressure.

Seijirou’s eyes narrowed. ’He’s slipping into rhythm. Time to break it.’

He feigned a right swing, then abruptly released one of the bars mid-motion, sending it spinning like a projectile toward Ryuhei’s face.

As Ryuhei instinctively raised his arm to block it, Seijirou closed the distance, his remaining bar drawn back.

’Now.’

Ryuhei saw the intent in his eyes and brought his knee up to intercept. The bar collided with it, bending on impact—but the force drove Ryuhei back several meters, gouging twin trails in the ground.

Both men froze for a heartbeat, breathing heavy, staring at each other across the dust-choked distance.

Ryuhei’s arms trembled, blood trickling down one. Seijirou straightened his back, his chest rising and falling, one bar still in his grip.

No words. No taunts. Only mutual recognition.

The fight wasn’t over, only the rhythm had changed as the clash between the two reached a fever pitch.

Ryuhei roared as his Karyoku surged violently, the aura around him distorting the air itself as his muscles tightened like coiled steel.

Every blow he launched was backed by raw power capable of shattering stone, each movement sharpened by instinct born of countless brawls and victories earned through brute strength.

But Seijirou, standing calm amidst the storm, seemed to flow through every attack as though he had seen them before they even began.

His body moved with surgical precision, sidestepping an incoming punch by a hair’s breadth, angling his torso just enough for the force to graze past, then countering with a brutal swing of the iron bar that struck Ryuhei square across the ribs.

Ryuhei felt the impact vibrate through his entire frame, his body stumbling back despite his attempt to anchor his feet.

’Bastard, how is he faster than before... stronger too?’ he thought, gritting his teeth as he tried to read Seijirou’s rhythm.

He knew Seijirou wasn’t relying on power alone; every movement was deliberate, efficient, designed to draw out Ryuhei’s reactions and exploit them.

When Ryuhei threw a flurry of punches, Seijirou didn’t retreat. Instead, he stepped inward, closing the distance and turning each swing into an opening, parrying one strike with the flat of the bar, striking the wrist on the follow-through, then twisting to drive an elbow into Ryuhei’s jaw.

Ryuhei staggered, feeling the world spin, and in that split second of disorientation Seijirou pressed forward, not giving him even a heartbeat to recover.

His eyes were cold, calculating—his every step cutting through Ryuhei’s defenses like a blade through water.

’Bastard, bastard!’ Ryuhei gritted his teeth, fury bubbling beneath his pain.

He swung wildly, using Karyoku to strengthen his arms and send shockwaves through the floor, but Seijirou’s body flowed with unbroken rhythm, always one motion ahead.

He would tilt his body just out of reach, redirecting momentum with minimal effort, striking not where Ryuhei was, but where he would be.

In his mind, Seijirou had already dismantled Ryuhei’s fighting style.

He’s fast, powerful, but predictable, he analyzed mid-battle, every attack registering like data on instinctive autopilot.

He favors overextension after power strikes.

His stance widens under pressure.

Counter there, break his balance, keep him reacting.

The iron bar whistled through the air again, smashing into Ryuhei’s thigh with a sharp crack.

Ryuhei tried to retaliate, but Seijirou caught his arm mid-swing, twisted it, and slammed his knee into Ryuhei’s chest, the sound of the impact echoing across the ruined room.

Ryuhei coughed violently, blood spattering from his lips.

His mind screamed to move, to fight, to use his Karyoku again, but his body no longer kept pace.

Every nerve burned, every movement lagged by half a second, and Seijirou exploited that lag mercilessly.

Their battle became a display of contrast, Ryuhei, wild and instinctive, driven by power and emotion; Seijirou, composed and relentless, wielding discipline like a weapon.

Each feint, each angle, each strike came together like a conductor orchestrating chaos into precision.

The more Ryuhei attacked, the more his rhythm fell apart.

The more he tried to overpower Seijirou, the deeper he sank into his web.

Finally, as Ryuhei lunged forward with a desperate roar, Seijirou sidestepped, pivoted, and drove his iron bar into Ryuhei’s stomach.

The force lifted Ryuhei off his feet, and before he could hit the ground, Seijirou brought the second bar down across his back like a hammer, sending him crashing face-first into the shattered floor.

Dust and debris erupted around them.

Seijirou stood over him, breathing evenly, eyes steady.

Ryuhei groaned, his body refusing to rise despite his will.

The difference was clear now, power alone could not win against mastery born of experience.

Seijirou twirled the bars in his hands, cracking his neck once again as he looked down at his fallen opponent.

"Like I said," Seijirou muttered, voice calm and unhurried. "The last boss always gets stronger when he’s cornered."