Chapter 201: The Same Kind?
"Ren! Gaolang!"
Retsu Kaioh sprinted across the pavement, charging directly into the center of
the explosion's haze. He slammed his foot down with a thunderous stomp, the
shockwave of his Qi clearing the rolling black smoke in an instant.
Robinson squinted, finally able to see the state of his friends.
The situation wasn't good.
Gaolang was covered in numerous lacerations, the majority of them caused by
Dorian's high-tensile fiber wire. His arms, caught in the pincer of the wire,
were particularly shredded. Deep cuts also lined his waist, abdomen, and
thighs—over a dozen in total. It was only thanks to Gaolang's immense combat
experience that he was able to contract his muscles and use his joints to clamp
down on his arteries, preventing fatal blood loss.
Ren Shiroki's situation was slightly different. Though he only had one major
laceration on his back, it was deep and bleeding heavily. His left eye was
severely bloodshot, a fresh streak of crimson "tears" staining his cheek.
But the most serious damage came from the "Living Landmine" explosion Dorian had
triggered using Doyle's chest-mounted explosives.
Doyle had intended those explosives as a final suicide-strike against Gaolang,
but Dorian had sensed them and used them as a distraction to escape. Ren had
grabbed Gaolang to dive for cover, but his left side had been caught in the
blast radius. His left arm and leg were scorched by the thermal wave, and jagged
shrapnel was embedded deep within his flesh.
The scene was gruesome.
Yet, having witnessed the battle, Robinson had no doubt that if Dorian or Doyle
had stayed, Ren and Gaolang would have kept fighting. They were that kind of
monsters. However, now that the "opponents had fled," there was no reason to
play the hero. They needed a hospital immediately.
"I'll call the ambulance." Retsu supported Ren, letting the younger man lean
against him, while using his free hand to help Gaolang apply pressure to his
wounds.
While waiting for the paramedics, Retsu explained what had happened.
About half an hour prior, Dorian had personally "visited" the Shinshinkai
Headquarters, obsessed with meeting Doppo Orochi. Doppo hadn't been there, but
he had run into Katsumi Orochi and Retsu Kaioh, who was there for a guest
lecture.
The rest was easy to guess. Dorian had feigned respect, pretending to take off
his shoes to enter the dojo, only to launch them as a sneak attack at Katsumi.
But Katsumi had evolved. After his losses on the Espoir and his exchanges with
Ren and Retsu, he was no longer a naive prodigy. He had countered instantly,
catching Dorian off guard.
However, Dorian's durability was freakish. Even after taking a Karate
"Triple-Impact to the Centerline," he had counter-attacked from the ground. He
threw a jagged piece of wood—remnants of a broken training post—to distract
Katsumi before launching a flying kick that caught the Karate master flush in
the face.
Dorian had tried to flee then, but Retsu had blocked his path. In a display of
calculated cowardice, Dorian had burst into tears to lower Retsu's guard, only
to spit a mouthful of gasoline into his lighter.
Fwoosh!
A column of fire had allowed Dorian to slip away. Enraged, Retsu and Katsumi had
pursued him, only for the convict to lose them by jumping into a nearby river.
Katsumi had contacted local Shinshinkai disciples, learned of Dorian's sighting
near the park, and arrived just in time for the finale.
"..." Retsu narrowed his eyes in thought. "Dorian's movements... they felt
strangely familiar. As if I've seen them in the records of the Temple."
Katsumi held his left shoulder, his teeth gritted in pain. "That bastard... he
actually got away..."
"We'll see him again soon enough," a voice interrupted. "After all, he seems
quite fascinated by both Ren-kun and myself."
The group turned to see a bald man with an eye patch—Doppo Orochi (The Bushin).
He was wearing a casual flannel shirt, looking like he'd just returned from a
stroll.
Katsumi pouted. "The Main House just got turned upside down, Pops. Where the
hell were you?"
Doppo stepped forward, taking over Gaolang's support from Retsu. "It's been
lively lately. I couldn't help but find a quiet spot to do some training." He
applied pressure to Gaolang's pressure points to stem the bleeding. "Besides,
aren't you the acting head of the Shinshinkai now?"
"You're still the Founder!" Katsumi snapped. "Pops, this isn't over—"
"I know," Doppo cut him off, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register.
"Trashing my home and wounding my guest instructor? If I let that slide, I
wouldn't be a martial artist."
Doppo's lone eye flashed with a cunning, predatory light. "That's why I said...
we'll be seeing him 'again' very soon."
The ambulance arrived, taking the three wounded men to the hospital.
Because Ren and Gaolang's injuries involved both chemical burns and precision
lacerations, standard surgeons were deemed insufficient. Doppo initially tried
to call Dr. Kureha Shinogi, but the world's greatest surgeon was currently
mid-operation elsewhere. He recommended his university classmate—a "Freak
Doctor" named Hajime Hanafusa.
Hanafusa was a slender, feminine-looking youth with dark blonde hair and a smile
that sent shivers down the spine. Despite his creepy demeanor, his medical
genius was undisputed.
The moment he entered the VIP ward and saw the "Underground Fighters," his eyes
lit up with scientific lust.
Hanafusa: "May I please cut you open just to see how your insides work?"
Everyone: "No." Hanafusa: "...How about now?" Everyone: "Still no."
Disappointed, Hanafusa made quick work of Katsumi's shoulder before moving on to
the more complex cases of Ren and Gaolang. The surgeries lasted from midnight
until dawn, ultimately proving successful.
The group rested through the morning. By the afternoon, the VIP suite was quite
lively.
The three patients: Ren Shiroki, Katsumi Orochi, and Gaolang Wongsawat. The
three visitors: Fusui Kure, Retsu Kaioh, and Rama XIII.
Fusui was busy peeling an apple for Ren, who was munching on the slices happily.
Retsu was peeling an apple for Katsumi, cutting it into perfect cubes and
presenting them with a toothpick. Rama XIII was trying to copy them, but Gaolang
was terrified the King would cut himself and was patiently guiding his hands
step-by-step.
"..."
Dr. Hanafusa nodded in satisfaction. "Well, you all seem to be recovering
nicely."
As they thanked the doctor, Hanafusa shrugged dismissively. "The cuts were
clean—higher grade than piano wire. You were brought in just in time. Any
later and the nerve damage would have been permanent."
Hanafusa checked his clipboard as he paced. "Orochi-san can be discharged
whenever he wants, though he's welcome to stay. Gaolang-san had the deepest
cuts, but the sutures were perfect; there won't even be a scar. He can go back
to punching people the day after tomorrow."
"As for Shiroki-san—" Hanafusa stopped.
Fusui looked up. "How is Ren-chin?"
Hanafusa sighed. "It's such a pity."
Fusui tensed.
"He only suffered thermal burns on his left side," Hanafusa explained. "A normal
person would need a week. A monster like him will probably be healed by tomorrow
morning."
Fusui blinked. "Then why the hell are you sighing?"
Hanafusa shrugged. "Because I won't get to keep his body for an autopsy! An
Sakurai told me his brain structure is unique. I really wanted a look."
Fusui: "..." Fusui: "Aren't you supposed to be a doctor, not a serial killer?"
Wow, a professional assassin calling someone else a criminal, Ren thought,
though his mouth was currently too full of apple to say it.
As he lay on his side—careful not to aggravate the wound on his back—Ren's mind
drifted back to the park.
Dorian had said: "We are the 'same kind'..."
Me? Like him?
Ren's brow furrowed. He thought back to Dorian's fighting style. The old man was
undeniably strong—he had tanked a [STRIKE AT THE APEX] and still kept fighting.
But he was addicted to his "dirty tricks." That vileness had saturated his soul;
he literally couldn't stop himself from cheating.
Or rather, it wasn't that Dorian used the tricks... it was that the tricks used
Dorian. He was a slave to his own cowardice.
What about me? Ren wondered.
The dozens of styles I've mastered—and the dozens more I'll likely learn... will
they one day exceed my soul's control? Every technique I learn points toward one
thing: the efficient termination of life. How do I face that?
The Satsui no Hado.
For a moment, Ren felt a sense of vertigo. Countless paths stretched out before
him in his mind's eye, and he had no idea which one to take.
He needed air.
Fusui noticed his distress. "Want me to come with you?"
Ren rubbed her head and waved her off. "Not this time. I need to clear my head.
Rain check?"
Ren left the hospital, his left side and waist still wrapped in bandages, a
simple shirt draped over his shoulders. He walked through the streets of Tokyo,
but every path felt like the "wrong" one.
Eventually, he found himself in a bustling commercial district. He passed a
narrow alleyway and was drawn to a secluded parking lot behind a skyscraper.
In the shadows of the concrete, two men were preparing to fight.
One was a familiar face—the blonde heavyweight, Lihito. He stood with his
fingers flexed into sharp claws, radiating that "Razor's Edge" intensity.
Hey, it's that guy! Ren leaned against a wall, interested.
He then looked at the opponent. It was a youth, perhaps twenty-five years old,
wearing a hooded jacket. The stranger was currently stretching his limbs, his
movements fluid and eerily precise.
(End of Chapter)
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