Chapter 85: The First Victory (Part Two)

Aoki Satoshi deftly shifted his feet in tiny increments, barely moving his head as the punch whistled past, grazing the tip of his nose.

“Your punch is too telegraphed. Zero points!” Aoki Satoshi raised his hands in a mixed martial arts stance, effortlessly watching as Yukita Koji’s wild swing left him stumbling two steps forward before he regained his balance. For the first time, truly facing a peer in single combat, Satoshi saw with brutal clarity the gulf that separated him from the rest.

Yukita Koji felt as if his lungs were about to burst with rage. He let out an inarticulate roar and spun, aiming a roundhouse kick at Satoshi’s face.

Satoshi’s right hand snapped up, blocking the kick. Without hesitation, he grabbed Yukita’s leg with both hands and, summoning his strength, lifted him clean off the ground, spinning him twice in midair before hurling him aside.

Yukita Koji crashed into another delinquent who’d come with him, halting his flight. As he staggered up, Satoshi strode toward him, muttering under his breath, “Unstable center of gravity, movements too exaggerated, intentions obvious. Zero points!”

“I don’t need you to teach me how to fight, you bastard!” Yukita’s eyes were nearly blood-red as he hurled a punch at Satoshi’s cheek.

This time, Satoshi didn’t dodge. He blocked with one hand, while the other suddenly clenched, his arm slicing through the air like a silver crescent, delivering a ruthless hook.

The punch landed with chilling precision on Yukita’s jaw, the sharp crack echoing in everyone’s ears.

Yukita’s vision went black. His head snapped back, and then his legs buckled as he collapsed to his knees before Satoshi. He tried to grip Satoshi’s arm to stand, but his strength failed him, his hands sliding down until he clung weakly to Satoshi’s pant leg, his forehead resting against Satoshi’s knee, utterly dazed.

“A full-force right hook. Full marks.” Satoshi curled his lips coldly, kicking Yukita away to let him recover on the ground. Standing tall, he pointed at the fallen, barely conscious Yukita, and, surveying the still-struggling Maeda Tora and others, drew a deep breath and roared, “Yukita Koji!”

His shout thundered over all other noise, drawing the eyes of everyone present.

“Out!” Satoshi bellowed. The delinquents nearby who’d thought to strike while his guard was down shrank away the moment they met his gaze, stumbling back in fear.

Satoshi lashed out with a sudden kick, sending a delinquent who’d been trading blows with Fujiwara Mio flying. His gaze was sharp as a wolf’s, his presence so chilling that several of the gang felt their limbs go weak.

Maeda Tora laughed as he knocked down an opponent, though he himself staggered from a surprise kick. Wiping blood from his face—he wasn’t sure if it was his or someone else’s—he steadied himself, grinned at his assailant, and shouted, “Your boss is finished! Useless punks!”

He charged the one who’d attacked him, ignoring blows raining down, instead wrapping his arms around the guy and, with a roar, lifting and slamming him to the ground. “I’m Maeda Tora, Aoki Satoshi’s lieutenant! Useless punks!”

Bruised and battered, Fujiwara Mio spitefully kicked the guy Satoshi had just sent flying. “You lasted so long against me, but one kick from the boss and you’re down? Makes me look weak!”

Matsuzaka Daitake, knocked to the ground by two attackers, curled up with his hands over his head, but when no follow-up came, he opened his eyes to see his attacker now being pummeled by Satoshi. Satoshi grabbed the guy by the collar and smashed a fist into his face before sending him flying with a final kick. Another delinquent, witnessing this, turned and fled without hesitation.

“Today!” Satoshi shouted, extending a hand to Matsuzaka Daitake. Daitake grinned, the cut on his lip stinging as he cursed under his breath, took Satoshi’s hand, and staggered upright.

“I’m going to stand at the very top of Muyou!” Satoshi’s face was fierce and wild, inspiring both awe and fear. “Anyone who’s not convinced—come at me, all of you! You worthless punks!”

By now, more than half of Yukita Koji’s followers were on the ground. They slowly retreated, eyeing their leader, still unable to rise, and staring at Satoshi in terror.

Maeda Tora kicked a writhing delinquent and helped a bald youth clutching his face to his feet. Grinning, he teased, “Hey, Kei, want to chip in for a gold tooth?”

The bald youth, Kei, slapped his hand away, still pressing his bleeding mouth, and mumbled, “Screw off!”

Maeda Tora burst out laughing, then raised his eyebrows at Satoshi. “These guys with Yukita Koji are weaklings.”

Satoshi glanced at the retreating gang, who now dared not even lift a finger, and said lightly, “No… I’m just too strong.”

“That’s right, that’s right!” Matsuzaka Daitake, blood at the corner of his mouth, shuffled over and pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Boss?”

Satoshi took one, stuck it in Daitake’s mouth, and lit it for him. “Today’s an exception! Tomorrow, nobody brings these again. But after you all turn eighteen, I won’t care anymore!”

Daitake was so startled by Satoshi’s gesture that he stood frozen for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Thanks, boss!”

Satoshi lit a cigarette for himself, his expression turning serious. “Now comes the real event.”

As he spoke, an angry roar echoed from afar. “Aoki Satoshi! How dare you toy with my feelings!”

A huge man with slicked-back hair, as imposing as a mountain, stalked toward Satoshi, his face twisted with rage. His hair gleamed with oil, and instead of a school uniform, he wore a flashy, ill-fitting designer jacket. Behind him trailed a crowd of delinquents, far greater in number than Yukita Koji’s gang.

Satoshi exhaled a stream of smoke, squinting. “That fat guy… looks like he can take a beating.”

Glancing at the few of Yukita’s lackeys caught between the two gangs, Satoshi jerked his chin at them. “Take your people and leave.”

The lackeys finally dared to step forward, helping the semi-conscious Yukita Koji away. The other battered delinquents quickly hobbled off as well, desperate not to be caught in the coming storm.