underground fights.

The fight with Kovac was fresh in his mind. The skills shown by his senior were clear—from grappling techniques to boxing moves, all precise and quick. If he had to rate Kovac, he'd put him at Hiyo Kure's level or slightly below. However, it wasn't surprising compared to the true monsters who trained Kenichi Shirahama, the loser.

The only good thing was that Kovac taught him to polish his Aikido techniques and refine his boxing moves in some areas.

-You're beaten up. – commented James Shiba, seeing the young man completely bruised. Some of the hits were from the previous night with Hiyo Kure, and the others were from Kovac, his training partner and official disciple of Master Takemoto. Kei had been fighting with many people for three days, and James hadn't seen him since that commotion.

-Everyone wants to face me lately, and I've only been getting beaten up. Not that I'm complaining, but I hate being hit so disgustingly. – said Kei with regret. But both opponents were expert fighters, 15 to 18 years older, twice his age.

Performing his daily exercise of 10,000 straight punches to the metal post while his knuckles burned, his training never gave his knuckles a rest. The painful punches ended each day, leaving a throbbing pain in his knuckles, just like his shin kicks, which he trained last. However, in this exercise, he only did 100 kicks a day due to limited time. On days without school, he did 1,000 to 2,000 kicks. The Tiger style was one reason why James Shiba didn't accept him as a disciple. Someone so proud wouldn't want their martial art tainted by others.

James Shiba continued his work, deeply observing Kei as he performed fast punches and boxing combinations. Boxing was his primary style. He only knew the basic punches any boxer knew—jabs, hooks, uppercuts, body shots, fast punches. He had nothing extra in his fighting arsenal, all his fighting relied on basics.

Finishing his training under the cloudy sky, Kei saw James Shiba watching him from the window. With a gesture of his fingers, he bid farewell and tried to go home to rest, but not before calling his mother about Runna's condition. They needed to know everything about Runna's state, which was almost as important as his strength as a fighter. The little girl with chocolate eyes and braids was a beautiful child who brought him constant joy just by seeing her smile.

-Sure, Mom, I'll buy milk and cereal. – commented Kei, walking through the streets, hoping to encounter some thugs to scam for money, either by taking their money or saving a citizen to buy milk for himself and Runna.

Out of money! He spent his last savings on Runna's school fees. With Runna, he could smile, his spirit grew, and with it, his training. He ran five kilometers home with a weighted vest on his shoulders, circling looking for a thief.

James Shiba watched him from the rooftops. Even from there, he could see that the kid was a true punk, running through the city arrogantly, through Yakuza neighborhoods. Without looking further, he saw a group of three men surrounding the kid. Kei started spouting nonsense about citizens' right to free movement. With a smile, the Yakuza didn't notice the two quick punches. Even with weights on, each punch traveled with the speed of at least a professional. The cracking bones were enough to see he had a lot of strength in that skinny body. The three Yakuza fell to the ground as he started searching their pockets, stealing their knives, wallets, jackets, and even the silver chain from one of the criminals.

He ran again, faster this time, through alleys to a stall where he sold everything except the money. From wallets, papers, chains, weapons, and clothes, he sold them all for a price. With money in hand, he bought various items—milk, meat, bread, and grains. He went through an even more dangerous area, the city's outskirts, passing where the most dangerous gangs and activities were.

He reached a house with red, dilapidated roofs, opened by an older woman with wrinkles on her face. She hugged him upon opening the door.

James Shiba checked the surroundings and couldn't help but question the boy's life. Surely, he was a young man finding his path in the shadows. Watching from the shadows, perched on a power line, he saw that his disciple had the will to fight to the end. It's complicated for someone so young to commit to martial arts, even to the point of sweating blood. Everyone quits when their body reaches its limit, fearing death or injury. They aren't willing to give their life to martial arts.

Walking through the streets without haste, thinking about everything that happened, he arrived at a corner, surprised to see someone he hadn't seen in a long time. Kei's words illuminated the man, opening his only visible eye while lighting a cigarette, thinking carefully.

-Akisame, your mustache is as ugly as ever; puberty didn't help you. – commented James Shiba to the man in a gi. Beside him was a man in a black hat and green Chinese suit. But they only observed, radiating the power of a clear martial arts master. Akisame, with his almost white eyes, looked at Shiba, disguising his anger about the mustache comment.

The fight with Kovac was fresh in his mind. The skills shown by his senior were clear—from grappling techniques to boxing moves, all precise and quick. If he had to rate Kovac, he'd put him at Hiyo Kure's level or slightly below. However, it wasn't surprising compared to the true monsters who trained Kenichi Shirahama, the loser.

The only good thing was that Kovac taught him to polish his Aikido techniques and refine his boxing moves in some areas.

-You're beaten up. – commented James Shiba, seeing the young man completely bruised. Some of the hits were from the previous night with Hiyo Kure, and the others were from Kovac, his training partner and official disciple of Master Takemoto. Kei had been fighting with many people for three days, and James hadn't seen him since that commotion.

-Everyone wants to face me lately, and I've only been getting beaten up. Not that I'm complaining, but I hate being hit so disgustingly. – said Kei with regret. Both opponents were expert fighters, 15 to 18 years older, twice his age.

Performing his daily exercise of 10,000 straight punches to the metal post while his knuckles burned, his training never gave his knuckles a rest. The painful punches ended each day, leaving a throbbing pain in his knuckles, just like his shin kicks, which he trained last. However, in this exercise, he only did 100 kicks a day due to limited time. On days without school, he did 1,000 to 2,000 kicks. The Tiger style was one reason why James Shiba didn't accept him as a disciple. Someone so proud wouldn't want their martial art tainted by others.

James Shiba continued his work, deeply observing Kei as he performed fast punches and boxing combinations. Boxing was his primary style. He only knew the basic punches any boxer knew—jabs, hooks, uppercuts, body shots, fast punches. He had nothing extra in his fighting arsenal, all his fighting relied on basics.

Finishing his training under the cloudy sky, Kei saw James Shiba watching him from the window. With a gesture of his fingers, he bid farewell and tried to go home to rest, but not before calling his mother about Runna's condition. They needed to know everything about Runna's state, which was almost as important as his strength as a fighter. The little girl with chocolate eyes and braids was a beautiful child who brought him constant joy just by seeing her smile.

-Sure, Mom, I'll buy milk and cereal. – commented Kei, walking through the streets, hoping to encounter some thugs to scam for money, either by taking their money or saving a citizen to buy milk for himself and Runna.

Out of money! He spent his last savings on Runna's school fees. With Runna, he could smile, his spirit grew, and with it, his training. He ran five kilometers home with a weighted vest on his shoulders, circling looking for a thief.

James Shiba watched him from the rooftops. Even from there, he could see that the kid was a true punk, running through the city arrogantly, through Yakuza neighborhoods. Without looking further, he saw a group of three men surrounding the kid. Kei started spouting nonsense about citizens' right to free movement. With a smile, the Yakuza didn't notice the two quick punches. Even with weights on, each punch traveled with the speed of at least a professional. The cracking bones were enough to see he had a lot of strength in that skinny body. The three Yakuza fell to the ground as he started searching their pockets, stealing their knives, wallets, jackets, and even the silver chain from one of the criminals.

He ran again, faster this time, through alleys to a stall where he sold everything except the money. From wallets, papers, chains, weapons, and clothes, he sold them all for a price. With money in hand, he bought various items—milk, meat, bread, and grains. He went through an even more dangerous area, the city's outskirts, passing where the most dangerous gangs and activities were.

He reached a house with red, dilapidated roofs, opened by an older woman with wrinkles on her face. She hugged him upon opening the door.

James Shiba checked the surroundings and couldn't help but question the boy's life. Surely, he was a young man finding his path in the shadows. Watching from the shadows, perched on a power line, he saw that his disciple had the will to fight to the end. It's complicated for someone so young to commit to martial arts, even to the point of sweating blood. Everyone quits when their body reaches its limit, fearing death or injury. They aren't willing to give their life to martial arts.

Walking through the streets without haste, thinking about everything that happened, he arrived at a corner, surprised to see someone he hadn't seen in a long time. Kei's words illuminated the man, opening his only visible eye while lighting a cigarette, thinking carefully.

-Akisame, your mustache is as ugly as ever; puberty didn't help you. – commented James Shiba to the man in a gi. Beside him was a man in a black hat and green Chinese suit. But they only observed, radiating the power of a clear martial arts master. Akisame, with his almost white eyes, looked at Shiba, disguising his anger about the mustache comment.

...