CHAPTER 33: CHAPTER 33

Suzune, Sakai, and Shuo had already finished beating up every single one of the Hunters that surrounded them.

Their fists were raw, their clothes crumpled in places, and sweat dripped from their temples, but they were still standing, breathing heavily as the last of their enemies hit the floor with a dull thud.

For a brief moment, the only sounds that echoed in the dimly lit arcade were the groans of the defeated Hunters scattered around them.

Suzune leaned against the wall, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek with the back of her hand.

"That’s the last of them," she muttered, her voice low but steady.

Sakai gave a short laugh, his chest heaving. "They came at us like a pack of wolves, and look where that got them."

He kicked aside a broken pipe lying at his feet. "Guess even wolves can’t bite through iron."

Shuo exhaled through his nose, glancing around. "Save the jokes. We need to check on the boss."

At that, Suzune’s laughter died down.

She exchanged a brief look with the others, and without another word, the three of them started walking toward the back room, their boots clanging against the concrete floor.

When they stepped through the doorway, what they saw made their blood run cold.

Seijirou lay on the ground, his upper body drenched in blood, his breath ragged and shallow.

Standing over him was a tall, muscular man with his own share of cuts and bruises, his body slick with sweat.

He was panting heavily, gripping a dented baseball bat that dripped with crimson.

The air reeked of iron and violence as around them were scattered metal pipes, broken bottles, and dented iron bars, the debris of a brutal battle.

The leader of the Hunters stood over Seijirou, holding a bloodied metal pipe and laughing hoarsely.

His voice was gravelly and cruel, his eyes red and vicious.

"This your boss?" he sneered, turning his eyes toward Suzune, Sakai, and Shuo. "Pathetic. He’s nothing special. All that hype, and he’s already eating dirt. So much for the so-called King of Shunji."

Ryuhei, who stood before the fallen Seijirou, glared at him, "You shouldn’t have interfered. I had it under control."

The leader turned his glare on him.

"Under control? Like hell you did!" he barked, his voice rising. "You were losing, Ryuhei! If I hadn’t cracked him from behind, the one lying down there would’ve been you!"

Ryuhei’s glare intensified, "I don’t need your help. You think I can’t handle some washed-up thug?"

The leader spat to the side. "You talk big for someone who almost got his jaw broken."

The tension between them thickened, their tempers clashing like steel on steel.

But Suzune wasn’t listening.

Her eyes were locked on Seijirou, lying motionless in a pool of his own blood.

Her body began to tremble, not in fear, but in fury. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes seemed to shimmer with something feral.

"...I’ll kill them," she whispered, voice low and trembling with restrained rage.

Shuo, standing beside her, saw the shift in her posture, the slight forward lean, the tightening of her fists.

He knew that look.

"Don’t," he said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Let go of me," Suzune hissed, not even turning to face him. Her voice was sharp and cold. "Don’t stop me, Shuo. I’ll destroy both of them. I don’t care who gets in my way, even if it’s you."

Shuo’s grip didn’t loosen. His eyes, calm as always, flicked toward Seijirou’s fallen body.

"Trust him," he said simply. "He’s not done yet. Boss isn’t so easily defeated."

Sakai frowned, glancing between them. "Shuo—"

Before he could finish, a low clang cut through the air.

Seijirou’s fingers twitched. His bloodied hand reached out and grabbed one of the metal pipes beside him.

In the next instant, the pipe swung upward and smashed against the leader’s shin with a sickening crack.

The man screamed, collapsing to one knee, the pipe clattering from his hand.

Seijirou rose slowly, his movements deliberate, his breathing uneven but steady.

Blood streamed down the side of his face, his eyes sharp and focused.

He seized the leader’s dropped weapon, gripping a pipe in each hand. Then, with a steady step, he planted his boot on the man’s chest and forced him back to the ground.

The leader gasped, rage and pain twisting his features. "Y-you—!"

Seijirou didn’t respond. He simply raised both weapons, crossing them in a stance that made Suzune’s breath hitch.

Two iron pipes held at precise angles. It is a stance for a martial arts known for its unmatched speed and ruthless efficiency.

Kali Arnis.

The national martial art of the Philippines. A discipline of sticks, blades, and raw aggression, built on one principle: if you are struck, you strike back harder.

Ryuhei’s lips curved into a grin, watching the transformation unfold.

"Heh... knew you weren’t dead yet," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Good. I apologize for that bastard did. I was not expecting him to attack you from behind."

Seijirou said nothing. His silence was heavier than any threat.

And as the light from the flickering ceiling lamp glinted off the twin pipes in his hands, everyone in the room could feel it, the killing intent rising once again.

"Come on!"

Ryuhei lunged forward, his bat raised high, but before he could even bring it down, Seijirou’s right arm blurred into motion—one sharp, precise strike to the ribs, another to the wrist, then a rapid spin that ended with the metal pipe slamming into Ryuhei’s temple.

The impact rang out like thunder, the sheer force of it halting Ryuhei’s attack mid-swing.

Seijirou didn’t stop there.

The moment he felt Ryuhei stagger, he pressed in without hesitation, his twin pipes flashing in a relentless flurry of movements.

Each strike flowed seamlessly into the next, a storm of iron and fury. The metallic clangs filled the air, sharp and rhythmic, like the beat of war drums.

Ryuhei tried to defend himself, raising his bat to block, his arms crossing desperately to parry, but Seijirou’s blows came too fast, too precise, too heavy.

Every swing sent shockwaves through his bones, every deflection left him one step closer to being overwhelmed.

Kali Arnis. A martial art born from centuries of survival, refined by warriors who knew that in real combat, the one who hesitated died first.

It was Ruthless. Direct. Efficient.

Its rhythm was chaos, and its power was unrelenting.

Seijirou moved like a tempest unleashed, his strikes came in bursts, raining down from every angle.

The clang of iron on iron became deafening, sparks flying as Seijirou drove Ryuhei back with pure aggression.

And then, with one final twist, Seijirou hooked Ryuhei’s weapon away and drove both pipes into his chest, sending him crashing to the ground.

Ryuhei hit the floor hard, the breath torn from his lungs as his bat rolled out of reach.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Seijirou stood there, shoulders heaving, his eyes sharp beneath the blood and sweat.

He let out a shaky breath and lowered his stance, the adrenaline still coursing through him.

Suzune, Sakai, and Shuo watched from behind, relief breaking across their faces. Suzune exhaled and laughed, her voice bright and proud. "See? I told you—he’s not losing to anyone."

Shuo felt his cheek twitched. Who was the one threatening him earlier?

Sakai grinned. "That’s our boss."

But before their laughter could settle, the air shifted.

A cold, crushing pressure flooded the room, invisible yet suffocating.

The concrete floor groaned beneath them, the walls vibrating faintly as if the very air had thickened. Suzune’s laughter caught in her throat. Her body trembled, and she suddenly found it hard to breathe.

Seijirou froze. His instincts screamed at him that something was wrong, terribly wrong.

He turned, and what he saw made his heart stop.

Ryuhei was standing again. His wounds were gone, the bruises vanished as if they had never existed.

But what drew everyone’s eyes was the mark, an intricate, glowing purple tattoo that snaked across the left side of his face, pulsing faintly with dark energy.

His once brown eyes now glowed with a crimson hue, and a sinister, flickering aura wrapped around his body like a living shadow.

Seijirou’s grip on the pipes tightened.

"What... is that?" he asked, his voice low but edged with disbelief. ’is that ki? But it looks completely different in the game!’

Suzune’s breathing quickened; even Sakai felt his knees weaken. The pressure was so intense it felt as if gravity itself had turned against them, forcing them to bow under its invisible weight.

Ryuhei blinked, then tilted his head with an amused expression.

"Oh? You can see it?" he asked, his voice deeper now, laced with a strange echo that didn’t belong to a human. "Interesting... you four must have a lot of potential. Maybe you’re already close to awakening yourselves."

He smirked, lifting a hand to trace the glowing mark on his cheek.

"This—" he said, his tone dripping with pride, "—is called Karyoku."

The word hung in the air, foreign yet heavy with power.

"It’s something only special people can possess," Ryuhei continued, his grin widening as the aura around him flared brighter. "When you offer something... something precious in exchange, you can form a contract with gods, spirits, or demons, and borrow their power."

His eyes gleamed, pointing at himself.

"And I," he said slowly, his grin turning feral, "made a contract with an Oni. A creature so vicious and strong its name was still spoken today."

The purple flames around him pulsed, distorting the air like heat waves. The entire room felt smaller now, darker, as if the shadows themselves were being pulled toward him.

Seijirou’s mind raced.

’This isn’t in the game,’ he thought. ’This... this shouldn’t exist.’

He could feel the aura pressing on his chest, almost suffocating him. He knew that Ki exists in this world as he had learned it in the game, but this...he doesn’t know what this is.

Ryuhei took a step forward, the floor cracking beneath his foot. His voice dropped to a low growl, his grin still stretching across his face.

"Well then, Kageyama Seijirou," he said, his tone mocking, his eyes glowing brighter. "Shall we go for round two?"