A fierce, sharp surge of energy clashed between them.
Unlike Kirishima—whose entire body was encased in [Hardening], giving him a spiked, menacing appearance—Takeru remained unchanged.
Takeru appeared slightly taken aback by the demonic aura radiating off Kirishima, as if a beast were growling in his face.
But only for a moment—then a grin spread across his face as he spoke.
"Whew. That’s impressive. Honestly, any other hero would have been shaking in their boots. Not me, though. After all these years of training, if I were to get scared by a middle school kid, I’d have to kneel and beg my master for mercy."
With that remark hanging in the air, Takeru chuckled heartily at his own private joke before reaching into his pants pocket.
It was a photograph.
He studied it briefly before tucking it away once more.
Then, the transformation began.
His ears surged upward, and the whites of his eyes shimmered into a golden hue.
His fangs lengthened, and a mane started to sprout around his neck.
Sharp claws extended from his fingertips.
"A lion?"
"Hahaha. Cool, isn’t it? This is my Quirk."
He tilted his head back in laughter at Kirishima’s murmured query before responding with an even broader grin.
"Heh-heh. More precisely, it's the lion-man I envision. My Quirk, [Predatory Metamorphosis], allows me to reshape my body into the form of the last animal I observed. Although it's called a transformation, it's really more of a mental projection—a trait that initially gave me a hard time, causing me to lose control or blend traits in a chaotic jumble."
Were he able to harness the distinct traits of any animal at will, his Quirk would be nothing short of extraordinary.
Yet, even in a realm teeming with superhumans, the capabilities of wild animals commanded respect.
And that didn't even factor in the animal-type mutant heroes.
Just consider how overwhelmingly strong Mirko is with her rabbit Quirk.
Takeru could appropriate the strengths of such mutant heroes at will.
"You look like you're saying I've got some overpowered, cheat Quirk, huh? It’s not that overpowered. You might think I can just pull any animal trait out of thin air, but it's not that simple. Unlike mutant types—whose natural attributes are always a part of them, letting them effortlessly use those features—mine appear suddenly, as if a human without a tail suddenly grew one. That said, I can also reshape the abilities of mythical beasts to suit my vision."
"That sounds overpowered, though. What, can you summon lightning or breathe fire as well?"
Kirishima asked, dumbfounded.
After all, if he could harness mythical beast abilities, wouldn’t that include the winds and rains of eastern dragons or the blazing fire of their western counterparts?
"No matter how I imagine lightning, I just can't make it work. But I can breathe fire, at least."
"That alone is overpowered."
According to Takeru, his Quirk could, quite literally, do almost anything.
It ranged from the myriad abilities of real wild animals to powers that verged on the supernatural—the very feats one would expect from mythical beasts.
Of course, as he admitted, suddenly acquiring new body parts demanded extensive training.
No one could master every field without limit.
Even so, it was clear that his potential was virtually limitless.
His Quirk held the promise of endless evolution.
"My Quirk’s pretty great, isn’t it? So, what about yours? You look like you've gotten all spiky,"
"Mine is [Hardening]. It makes my body tougher and boosts my physical abilities—simple, right?"
"Heh. Now that's a good one. Simplicity is key. That’s precisely why I favor the lion—it’s straightforward, powerful, and efficient."
He slammed his fists together with a resounding crack.
His bared fangs and gleaming eyes brimmed with anticipation for the impending battle.
On the other side, Kirishima mirrored that intensity.
He looked as if he were a child before a grand feast.
"But you've been giving off a strange vibe since earlier. Is that some kind of extrasensory perception?"
"Extrasensory perception? What's that supposed to be?"
"It’s the ability to use every sense of your body to detect danger from all directions. I’m not sure if everyone has it, but I do—hence the name."
"Mine is similar—it's the concept of reacting to any attack that comes within a certain radius. I call it [Air Superiority]."
"Air Superiority? Nice name. I wish I’d come up with something like that. It’s slightly different, but essentially the same."
Instinctively, they both sensed that each was completely aware of the other.
At that moment, every breath revealed the subtle movement of each other’s throats, lungs, and even the faint tremor of a single hair.
"Heh-heh. Enough messing around. We don't have all day—I need to be back by evening to eat the meal my daughter-in-law prepares for me. So, save the chatter and test your fists. You came here to fight, didn't you?"
"Hahaha. Well said, old man. Then let's get to it, kid! I'm not one to waste time by giving the first move,"
The moment the words fell silent, Takeru shouted and charged.
Kirishima reacted instantly to the charge, his expression turning stone-cold.
It was all in Takeru’s stance.
His charging posture was not the customary Muay Thai stance but a resolute boxing crouch.
Normally, fighters coming from the Muay Thai camp who dabbled in boxing performed admirably—but to Kirishima, this was nothing short of an insult.
Without uttering a word, Kirishima pivoted smoothly aside from Takeru's advance.
His rear foot swept in, matching his lead foot in a lightning-quick pivot, and before long, Kirishima had slipped to Takeru's flank.
For a fleeting moment, as time slowed under his hyper-alert senses, their eyes locked.
Noticing the spark of interest in Takeru's eyes, Kirishima extended his right hand as if reaching through a suspended moment of time.
The immense tower of skill he had painstakingly built over 31 years—spanning from his past life to the present—pierced that fleeting instant and crashed into Takeru.
A booming impact reverberated, sending shockwaves radiating in every direction.
Despite a collision that defied the limits of human endurance, Takeru appeared completely unharmed.
The blow had propelled him several feet back, yet he bore no visible injuries.
Kirishima noted that the punch had been arrested by his guard, but even so, he eyed Takeru with narrowed eyes at how unscathed he remained.
He was tougher than anticipated.
"Whew, that's stronger than I expected. If I'd let my guard down, that one shot would have taken me out. I can't very well show my disciple such a pitiful defeat when I’m supposed to be the senior,"
Takeru casually patted his shoulders in a light, joking manner.
Yet the light in his eyes had vanished.
Behind his rigid expression, a quiet intensity burned fiercely.
"Fine, I admit it. I underestimated you a bit. Can you blame me? You're fifteen, and you've only trained under that old man for thirteen days. He may have vouched for you, but I haven't seen it for myself. He's no liar, yet there's always a certain decorum expected for your age. But that's not your case—you’re already a fine monster. I apologize for underestimating you. From now on, I'll hold nothing back. Do your best to keep up."
Slowly, he lifted both hands into a high guard.
Maintaining a neutral center of gravity, he widened his stance.
Then, his lead leg lifted and shot towards Kirishima's body.
His toe struck forward like a lance, slicing through the air with a resounding whoosh before connecting with Kirishima's abdomen.
Despite the dramatic motion, the strike landed in eerie silence, prompting Samat to click his tongue in disapproval.
'He didn’t even land a hit. Even after all the training, adapting to an attack of that magnitude in real combat so instantly...'
Takeru’s strike appeared to land perfectly, but in truth, it never made contact.
Samat had spent considerable time training Kirishima specifically against kicks, not wanting him to fall prey to them.
Muay Thai's diverse attacks ranked a distant second.
Kirishima already possessed formidable striking power with punches alone.
The priority now was adapting and defending against this new range and trajectory of attack.
After all, the primary tenet of martial arts is self-preservation and defeating the enemy.
Yet, when these imperatives conflict, self-preservation always takes precedence.
Lopping off a limb to save oneself is something reserved for comic books and films.
No authentic martial art advocates such drastic measures.
It might arise naturally in a life-or-death situation, but not as a taught technique.
In that regard, Kirishima was an exceptional martial artist.
He executed the most fundamental aspects of martial arts flawlessly.
And as he had witnessed time and again, his flawless performance in such a critical moment made his talent seem almost superhuman.
"Is that all? Give it some more power,"
"All right then! Let's have some real fun, disciple!"
Takeru responded to Kirishima's cool smile with a booming laugh.
Mid-level and low kicks flew through the air, leaving behind faint afterimages.
He made no distinction between his left and right legs, fluidly switching between southpaw and orthodox stances.
As attacks surged from every direction—above, below, and from the sides—Kirishima moved relentlessly.
He weaved in and out in wide arcs, evading where he could and blocking where necessary.
Whenever he found an opening, he unleashed a rapid barrage of punches.
Takeru countered—blocking some strikes with a long guard, parrying others with his shoulders and arms, and evading the rest with deft head movements.
The impact of their powerful bodies sent explosions of force through the air, and before the shockwaves could settle, dust and debris erupted skyward.
Samat watched, letting out a dry laugh.
"They're no ordinary humans,"
In his youth, he had been considered strong by any ordinary measure.
That included even those with Quirks.
In his generation, Quirks were relatively simple, and truly overwhelming abilities were rare.
His martial arts, honed to near perfection, could defeat almost anyone lacking an exceptionally formidable Quirk, and he had proven it time and again.
He had swept entire streets in chaotic Kyoto, ensuring no villain could infiltrate, all while constructing his fortress.
Yet these two combatants made him seem insignificant in comparison.
That very foolish disciple had never even cracked the top 50 in Hero rankings—let alone the top 10—thanks to his volatile temper.
Still, those who witnessed his combat prowess unanimously agreed that, power-wise, he belonged in the top 10.
He recognized his disciple's strength all too well.
Yet Kirishima was an unexpected force.
While he had always known the boy possessed a devilish talent for martial arts, he hadn’t anticipated his Quirk to be so potent.
To Samat, the explosive energy they exuded transcended human limits.
Watching them, he recalled the tanks he’d once seen during exhibition matches at Lumpini, operated by the military.
The way those tanks rumbled with powerful engines and belched fire from their barrels.
Their fists and legs, colliding with resounding impact, were akin to detonating shells, while their bodies acted like armored fortresses, deflecting the blows with sparks of resistance.
Yet, they were far too swift to be likened to tanks.
"Ha! This is amazing!"
"You're the best too, disciple!"
"What a load of crap. You crazy bastards,"
Though both had appeared quite fierce before the fight, hearing them exchange such accolades after trading blows left Samat grumbling in disbelief.
He felt a pang of jealousy.
He had never lamented his lack of a Quirk, but in that moment, doubt crept in.
He could never match the sight of those two transcending human limits.
For a martial artist, that was only natural.
Perhaps it was the weight of age—or the fact that they were his disciples—but Samat felt his heart calm more quickly than expected.
Instead, a warm sense of satisfaction flooded over him.
Meanwhile, their battle escalated toward its climax.
Their bodies collided relentlessly, sweat and every ounce of heat igniting with each clash.
"Kahahaha! Let's see this through to the end, disciple!"
"Gladly! Come at me!"
Silence fell over the once noisy clearing.
The duo silently braced themselves for the final act that would decide their fates.
Kirishima steadied his breathing and offered a faint smile.
He was, without a doubt, relishing every moment.
It was the first time he had ever engaged in a full-scale battle against an equal.
Truth be told, he felt slightly outmatched.
Though the battle had been evenly matched so far, Takeru had not yet employed the knees and elbows characteristic of Muay Thai clinches.
It was as if he had been tempering his ferocity to align with Kirishima’s prowess.
Even so, he had not been overwhelmed.
But at that point, it no longer mattered.
He could feel it deep within as they exchanged blows.
The disdain once in his eyes had transformed into respect earned through the collision of their bodies.
Kirishima, who once bristled at such looks, now inwardly conceded that Takeru had truly earned that respect.
Any hostility between them had sublimated into pure fighting spirit, leaving only the quest for victory.
"I'm coming,"
—Kirishima said in a low, measured tone.
His swollen calf pressed forcefully against the ground.
In an instant, his formidable body surged forward, closing the gap.
Even Samat’s keen eyes struggled to track his speed.
A strike, aimed along the shortest path at full speed, seemed to leap across space itself.
Kirishima's fist plunged into Takeru's field of vision.
It marked the turning point of their fierce brawl.
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register