Captain Boris Makarov, one of the revered "Twelve Guardians" serving the God of Destruction, Ivan, looked down at the Asian man before him and thought, Unexpected.
That such a formidable fighter still existed in this far-eastern island nation was astonishing. Though his age was hard to gauge, Boris, hardened by decades of training, could see the man's physique was near perfection. In another setting, they might've shared a vodka and talked for hours.
But now, they were enemies.
The man seemed to have been hired as a bodyguard for the runaway young lady, but to Boris, whose subordinates had been taken down, that was irrelevant.
I'll take him seriously.
Spreading his feet shoulder-width apart, Boris extended his arms and lowered his stance, his trapezius and lats bulging like a tank aiming its turret. In the aggressive posture of Russian sambo, Boris, the human tank, eyed the Asian man warily, who stood casually despite Boris's readiness.
In a clash between masters, a moment's lapse could decide everything—especially in a no-rules street fight where vital strikes were fair game.
Is he feinting? Why isn't he moving?
Fights only start when someone strikes first. When the man didn't budge, Boris decided to take the initiative.
"Hmph!"
With a powerful stomp, he charged, leading with a shoulder tackle fueled by his bear-like frame. Most opponents, underestimating his speed due to his size, couldn't react and were floored by his momentum.
Just before impact, the Asian man, who hadn't moved until Boris was inches away, pulled his hands from his pockets.
BOOM!
A fist slammed into Boris's face, snapping his neck back.
What—?!
His eyes couldn't follow. No, it was faster than that—a strike like lightning!
Boris had heard of a similar technique: Iai, the samurai art of drawing a sword in a flash to counter an ambush. This man had replicated it with his fists and pockets!
Not yet!
Caught off guard, Boris wasn't about to fall from one hit. His resilience, forged through Afghanistan and countless covert missions, made pain a testament to life.
"URAAAAH!"
Roaring from deep within, he fought the inertia pulling him back, planting his feet and grabbing the man's tree-trunk-like torso and legs.
If I can just bring him down!
Thud.
What—?!
It was like pushing a house-sized boulder. Despite Boris's full strength, the man didn't budge an inch.
Where does this power come from?
In fights, size matters, and Boris, who'd traveled the world with Ivan, rarely met anyone in his weight class. Yet this Asian man wielded incomprehensible strength, as if the size gap meant nothing.
Then, the man grabbed Boris's suit belt. A tense standoff ensued, veins bulging on Boris's temples as their power struggle intensified.
"URAAAAH!"
If raw strength wouldn't win, technique would. Shifting his weight back, Boris disrupted the man's stance, hooking his leg and executing a swift takedown.
BAM!
The man's back hit the asphalt, his poker face cracking for the first time. But Boris had no time to celebrate. Flowing into sambo's signature submission, he locked the man's arm, pinning his body with both legs and pulling with all his might.
Huh?
A sudden weightlessness made Boris's eyes widen. The black-haired Asian, whom he thought he'd subdued, lifted Boris—150 kg of pure muscle—with one arm, using sheer strength!
Impossible!
Boris scrambled to release the armbar, but his body, already in motion, didn't listen. Flipped upside down, he saw the cold asphalt rushing closer.
Headed for impact, Boris foresaw his fate and closed his eyes. Sorry, Tsar.
CRASH!
Having barely defeated the kidnappers' leader, I coughed dryly. That was close.
I try to keep my language clean, but today, I couldn't help it—I nearly got screwed. That guy was clearly going for an armbar at the end. The thought of the pain if it had landed sent shivers down my spine.
Since realizing I was in the same school as the protagonist, Sakamoto Ryūji, I'd trained hard, and I wasn't exactly small. But this bear-like guy was bigger.
With no common language, the fight started without introductions. He waited for me to move, then, losing patience, charged with a tackle. Thankfully, I'd learned to counter single-leg tackles from Coach Nakayama, so I didn't go down. But he quickly tripped my legs, sending me crashing to the asphalt.
Honestly, it was the most pain I'd felt in three years. It pissed me off.
Fearing the armbar, I went all out, lifting the guy with one arm and slamming him down.
"Huff… huff… huff…"
As I caught my breath on the now-empty street, Sasha cautiously emerged from the phone booth where she'd been holding out.
In a dazed voice, she muttered, "…You beat Boris?"
"Boris? That's his name?"
"Yeah, he's a big deal in Russia's underworld."
Dusting off my dirt-stained hoodie, I asked, "He seemed like the kidnappers' leader. Does that mean you're safe now?"
Sasha gave an odd look. "Probably… maybe?"
"Good enough."
At least my effort wasn't for nothing.
"You're bleeding a lot. You okay?"
"This? Not my blood."
Glancing at the scattered Russians, Sasha let out an "Oh," realizing.
In Akihabara during Golden Week, causing this much chaos in broad daylight? It wouldn't be surprising if a video was already circulating online. I'd have to trust the manga world's leniency.
"Let's move. We're drawing too much attention."
I pulled up my hoodie, and Sasha nodded, tugging her cap low. With onlookers creeping closer, we slipped away.
Drrrrrrrr!
"Yes, it's me."
["Tsar, Captain Boris has been defeated."]
"Boris? There shouldn't be a fighter in Japan capable of that."
["An Asian man, about 190 cm, black hair, wild like a beast."]
"…Could it be him?"
["Tsar, do you suspect someone?"]
"If he matches that description, I know one guy—a man who vanished ten years ago."
["You mean Black Yaksha?"]
"Exactly. If it's Fuma Kotaro, it's no surprise he took down Boris. He's one of the Seven Fists, like me."
["If the man the young lady hired is truly Fuma Kotaro, we can't retrieve her alone!"]
"I know. I'll handle it myself."
["But Tsar, weren't you dealing with Shichieizan's remnants in Hokkaido?"]
"Just finished."
BOOOOOM!
["Understood. I'll send a private jet immediately."]
"Good. I'll play hide-and-seek with these cockroaches in the meantime."
["Good luck."]
Crack!
After the call with Nikolai, one of the Guardians dispatched to Tokyo, the muscular man crushed the radio in his grip. Against the backdrop of a burning factory, he grinned cruelly.
"It's been a while since I've had fun."