Chapter 57: The Formula of the Fist
A carefree figure threw elegant punches, leaving ink-wash afterimages in the air.
He looked back and saw Ryu and Zangief.
Hoh! A steady grandmaster and a powerful wrestler?
My foolish disciple is surprisingly popular!
So then—from now on, I, Jamie Siu, will look after you too!
Not bad, not bad!
That whiskey and cola just now was a mess, but I'll take it as your offering!
Next time, I'll let you taste the herbal soup passed down in my school. It releases your "Qi" much better.
"..."
Lively, lighthearted thoughts, tinged with a hint of drunkenness, flooded Shiraki Kei's mind.
Jamie Siu—
The peacekeeper of Chinatown, following in the footsteps of the "Twin Dragons" Yun and Yang he admired, protecting the city with righteousness and martial arts.
A master of Drunken Fist, fusing the "Eight Drunken Immortals" taught by his grandmother with "Breakdancing." His style flowed between slow and fast, free and unrestrained!
Slap—! THUD!
Jamie stumbled back two steps, seemingly drunk and about to fall, but suddenly steadied himself, launching a flurry of kicks and punches. Every movement, every muscle engagement was clearly visible, imprinted in Kei's mind.
Haha, that's right! Like this...
Kei's eyes trembled. He imitated Jamie's fist techniques in his mind, gradually extending them to his body, every muscle attempting to exert force in the same way.
Finally, in the next instant—
Kei's movements synchronized with Jamie's. His left hand, fingers slightly spread, struck Hanayama's face with the back of his palm.
THWACK!
Hanayama's nose was hit, stinging sharply, his head tilting back slightly.
Kei pressed the attack, spinning to strike with the back of his right palm, then spinning a third time, his left hand shaped as if holding a wine cup, smashing into Hanayama's chin.
[Jamie • Free Flow Strikes]!
BANG! BANG!
Hanayama took the heavy blows to the face. His chin was smashed again, his brain rattling in his skull.
Kei pressed his advantage, twisting his body and attacking furiously, unleashing a barrage of Drunken Fist strikes!
"HAAAH—!"
After an unknown number of punches, Hanayama's mouth was bleeding. But instead of retreating, he advanced, opening his massive hands to grab Kei.
?!
A terrifying chill shot through Kei. He didn't give Hanayama the chance. He kicked his right leg straight up, drawing a swift arc in the air.
[Jamie • Bakkai]!
The toe of his shoe connected with Hanayama's chin.
In a ring match, this kick would have been a knockout. But Hanayama was "different." The master brawler didn't even pause. It was terrifying!
Facing the two giant hands closing in, Kei stomped his left foot, jumped, planted his right foot on Hanayama's face, and backflipped away, landing steadily several steps back to create distance.
"Hoo—!"
Kei spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, relief on his face.
Hanayama's movements hadn't changed. His narrow eyes gleamed with ferocity, locked onto his opponent.
...
...
The second-floor window of the bar was crowded with spectators.
From a dozen to several dozen, everyone stared wide-eyed.
Whether it was Hanayama's monstrous punches or Kei's blur of fist techniques, it was a scene more exaggerated than any kung fu movie.
"Both of them have amazing reflexes!"
"As expected of Hanayama Kaoru! Fighting like that after downing a bottle of liquor!"
"I'm rooting for that kid! Good build, faster moves!"
"..."
The noise grew, the atmosphere heating up.
Hongo Hina sat cross-legged by the window, rocking back and forth, the stars in her eyes shining as she looked down excitedly.
"Amazing! That yakuza bro... how can someone be so 'slow' to the extreme? It's almost like 'time stop'..."
Hina's view of combat was unique, so her description was abstract.
In contrast, Iori Ichika and Mitani Hana focused on Tenma Nozomi beside them.
Nozomi's "eyes" were special. Her dynamic vision was superhuman.
Although it had degraded after her retinal detachment, she could still see far more than an ordinary person.
Right now, Nozomi's eyes were trembling, realizing an unbelievable fact. "That... That Hanayama Kaoru isn't defending at all?!"
"Haha, Miss Tenma has good eyes."
Kizaki smiled proudly. "Only martial arts have 'defense.' Our Boss only knows how to brawl, so he only uses brawling moves."
"Gulp..."
Nozomi swallowed, unable to find words for the battle below.
Suddenly—
"Oh!"
The crowd gasped. Hanayama was moving.
He took off his decorative glasses, stood with his legs apart, clenched his fists, and slowly raised his arms, positioning his fists on either side of his head.
For the first time today—Hanayama assumed a "stance"!
But as Kizaki said, it couldn't be called a "martial art." It was completely wide open, utterly defenseless!
Someone in the crowd muttered, "That stance is just for show..."
No!
Nozomi's breathing grew heavy.
Even though focusing hurt her eyes, she couldn't look away.
That was a stance only Hanayama Kaoru could use!
Based on his absolute "durability"...
Concentrating his entire body weight into the fist he was about to throw, existing solely for offense—a stance only Hanayama could use!
"Shiraki-bro lasting this long is amazing."
"But... the outcome of a fight is decided by fists!"
Kizaki's face turned serious. "Miss Tenma, did you know? The father of full-contact karate, Mas Oyama, once stated a formula—"
...
...
Hanayama stepped forward, closing in on Kei, cornering him against a display rack, while clenching his fist.
Grip Strength!
The giant twisted his body, lowering his center of gravity, drawing his right fist back to the limit of his joints.
It was less like throwing a punch and more like throwing a discus or a javelin, using his entire body weight!
Weight!
Every muscle exploded, like a compressed spring releasing, driving the giant fist forward with all its might.
Speed!
Grip Strength x Weight x Speed = Destructive Power!!!
—The theory of Mas Oyama, the father of full-contact karate, found its ultimate proof in the man named Hanayama Kaoru!
BOOM!
Hanayama's massive fist smashed into Kei's face, obliterating the display rack behind him.
"Guh-AH!"
Kei's vision went black, his pupils losing focus. Blood sprayed from his eyes, nose, and mouth.
His skin was cut in countless places by the debris, burning with pain. His vision was red; all he could smell was his own blood.
But before he could even fall, Hanayama's follow-up arrived—a punch to the gut.
BOOM!
Liquid sprayed from Kei's mouth and nose—blood or vomit, it was impossible to tell.
"Koff—!"
Kei lay on the ruined rack. Before he could open his eyes, Hanayama grabbed his head, slammed it into the rack next to him, and delivered a third punch.
BOOM!
It was like a firework going off.
Metal racks, screws, blood, broken teeth, body fluids, glass, alcohol... everything exploded outward. Some people couldn't even bear to look.
...Thud!
Kei slumped to the ground, eyes wide, pupils unfocused, motionless.
Hanayama finally stopped. He bent down, picked up a few intact bottles from the floor, and, just like before, tore them open and drank.
Several large bottles of strong liquor downed.
Hanayama's face flushed slightly from the alcohol. He exhaled a hot breath and turned to the person behind him. "My treat. Want some?"
Clatter...
Kei, lying on his back, fumbled with his right hand, grabbing a beer bottle and holding it above his head.
His fingers tightened, crushing the bottle. He let the liquid pour over his face, washing away the blood and grime, and took a big gulp.
"That's... the second cup..."
Kei rolled his eyes up, looking at Hanayama standing above him.
"Hanayama-bro... let me treat you..."
Hanayama understood. Kei hadn't given up. The fight continued.
Crunch!
He threw the empty bottle away, veins bulging on his forehead, and raised his foot to stomp on Kei!
Suddenly, Kei dug his shoulder into the ground, inverted his body, and launched a series of spinning kicks while sliding forward on his back.
[Jamie • Breakdance]!