Chapter 87: A Bitter Struggle!

A punch! Aoki Tsukasa’s fist crashed hard against the cheek of the short-haired delinquent blocking his way. The thug reeled as if struck by a sledgehammer, collapsing sideways.

A kick! Bending low to evade the baseball bat swung at him from behind, Aoki lashed out with a fierce side kick, slamming it into Yasuda’s midsection. The pain forced Yasuda to release his grip on the bat, but Aoki leapt and caught the handle mid-air with perfect precision.

“Die!” Aoki’s eyes were bloodshot as he swung the bat. In an instant, memories of last night’s dream, practicing swordfights in the training chamber, surged back. The bat felt like a longsword in his hands, obeying his every command. He ducked and slashed downward; a delinquent charging at him with a flying kick took the brunt of the blow to his thigh. A sharp crack rang out, and the boy crumpled to the ground, clutching his leg in agony.

“Don’t you dare... run!” Aoki’s glare pinned Yasuda in place as the latter hesitated, clearly wanting to break free of the fray. Aoki’s expression was vicious, his words menacing.

Even as three or four fists hammered into his side, Aoki gritted his teeth and bore the pain. He darted forward in quick steps, kicked aside a small fry blocking his path, and came before Yasuda, raising the bat high. “You know the rule—high school fights are supposed to be without weapons!”

The bat, whistling through the air, smashed down on Yasuda’s raised arms. A gut-wrenching crack resounded—whether it was the bat or Yasuda’s bones that had split was anyone’s guess.

“Remember this well!” Aoki flung the bat far over the crowd, sending it clattering into the distance. Yasuda’s screams only fueled his adrenaline. He fixed the surrounding delinquents with a beast-like roar: “Hey, hey, hey! Come on, keep going!”

The crowd shrank back; Aoki’s twisted face and murderous eyes sent a chill down their spines. For a moment, not one dared approach.

“Get him!” one thug shouted, charging forward and launching a kick at Aoki’s chest. Aoki inhaled sharply, lifted his right leg, and stomped down. The airborne delinquent slammed into the ground like a windblown plastic bag, a muffled thud escaping his lips, blood filling his mouth.

“Boss!” Matsuzaka Daibu’s face was smeared with blood. Two thugs pinned his arms, while a third pounded his stomach. Summoning all his strength, he tore his right arm free, kicked the boy in front of him, and headbutted the one still gripping him. Spitting out blood, he gave Aoki a bloody, wry thumbs-up.

“Charge!” Matsuzaka’s shout was cut short as he was knocked down again by another blow.

Maeda Tora struggled to his feet, staggering as he body-checked the thug pinning Fujiwara Shou, then collapsed again, blood and mucus running into his mouth. His cry was desperate: “The summit!!”

“Rule the school!” the remaining bald-headed boys, now little more than punching bags, shouted hoarsely in unison.

Aoki bent over, his ribs aching from a cheap shot earlier. Gasping for breath, he raised his head, his gaze piercing the crowd to fix on Ueno Yo standing at the back. Blood surged through his veins, his mind a white-hot blur. “Watch me!” he shouted.

“I’ll take down this fat bastard and rule Muyang!” Aoki drew a deep breath, summoned his strength, and charged the crowd fearlessly, his voice ragged: “Rule the school!”

The delinquents guarding Ueno Yo watched Aoki barreling toward them—he seemed like a rampaging beast. Their bodies trembled, but Ueno’s piercing gaze from behind forced them to muster all their courage. “Don’t even dream about it!”

A dozen thugs rushed Aoki. He launched a flying kick, sending one into another, scattering them like bowling pins—an explosion at the heart of the mob, opening up a gap.

He fought like a man possessed, crashing through left and right, heedless of who stood in his way. If they were far, he kicked. If near, he punched. If closer still, he seized a collar and headbutted. In mere seconds, his forehead, fists, and clothes were smeared with blood.

A heavy punch landed on his face; he felt the sudden warmth of blood streaming from his nose. Unfazed, Aoki licked his lips, the salty taste fueling his wild grin. “My sparring partners’ punches hurt more than this! Have you boys not eaten enough?”

“Stop boasting!” a thug barked, his punch sending Aoki staggering. But like a spring, Aoki rebounded, slamming into him, making the boy gag. Grabbing his hair, Aoki yanked him down and drove a knee into his face, drawing blood and leaving him facedown on the ground.

“Come on!” Aoki wiped the blood from his face, smearing it back over his shaven scalp. Sweat and blood mingled, the autumn wind cooling his skin. He grinned, eyes alight with savage joy. “Until today, I never knew—”

“Being a delinquent feels this good!” He licked the blood from his lips, swaying but upright, facing the shrinking line of four or five remaining thugs.

“Again!” Aoki lifted his head, regarding those unwilling to advance with icy contempt. “Come on!”

“That’s enough!” Ueno Yo shoved aside the quivering boys in front of him, his gaze scornful. “Good thing you lot aren’t with me. With such cowardice, what kind of delinquents are you supposed to be?”

Relieved, the boys retreated. They’d thought this assault on Aoki would be a walk in the park—just an easy way to take down the rising star. Who could have guessed he’d be so vicious, so murderous? His eyes alone weren’t human! No matter how much they hit him, he’d just get back up; but if he landed a blow, they’d stay down—maybe for good! Who could withstand that? Who dared step forward?

Aoki, too, was not quite himself. Exhausted from lack of rest and battered repeatedly in the head during the melee, his vision blurred, the figures before him flickering. In the haze, it felt like last night’s dream—facing swordsmen out for his life—where only primal survival instinct remained.

Freed from worry about holding back, he fought ever more savagely. His old fear of hitting too hard and causing real harm had evaporated with every punch.

At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lay every enemy before him flat on the ground.

And seize the so-called summit!

Not just for himself, but for the bloodied Maeda Tora and the others behind him.

Aoki let his arms hang before him, lifted his head, and through his fading sight watched Ueno Yo approach.

“You really are strong, Aoki,” Ueno said, rolling his wrists. He unclasped the heavy gold chain from his neck and tossed it aside, excitement flickering across his face. “But if you want to rule, you’ll have to wait until I graduate!”

“Hey!” Aoki shrugged off his jacket, yanked off his shirt—two buttons torn open by someone in the chaos—and tossed it aside. Bare-armed in his white tank top, his powerful muscles stood out all the more.

“Being good at judo doesn’t mean you can beat me.” Aoki’s bloody grin was terrifying, his eyes never leaving Ueno’s. His tone was almost mocking: “My coach always said, if you’re up against a grappler, take off your top—they lose half their edge. No idea if it’s true.”

Ueno narrowed his eyes. “Did your coach also tell you that in combat sports—”

“Heavyweights are always the strongest!” Ueno charged like a juggernaut, momentum building like a tank at full speed.

Aoki swallowed blood, curled his lips into a smile, and stared at Ueno, whose image was growing sharper in his eyes. His fighting spirit surged; instead of backing down, he charged as well. “My coach only told me, never fight with children!”

Almost simultaneously, Ueno’s heavy fist and Aoki’s smashed into each other’s faces! The crack of impact, nearly a single sound, made everyone present flinch.

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PS: Rolling on the ground begging for recommendations and favorites—if you’re going to raise me, you have to feed me too, right? I’m wasting away here, sob sob sob.