App herunterladen
50% The Painless Shinji / Chapter 4: Proving Grounds

Kapitel 4: Proving Grounds

Shinji walked into the MMA gym, all eyes turned toward him. The recognition was instant; everyone knew who he was and the weight of his father's legacy seemed to hang in the air. Whispers and curious glances followed him as he made his way further into the room. Nervously, he muttered, "I-I want to do MMA," his voice barely audible amidst the buzz of speculation and expectation.

Immediately, a short man, barely two inches taller than Shinji, strode up to him. His bald head gleamed under the gym lights, and he wore a white tank top paired with MMA shorts, a sneer twisting his lips. "You're Shinbo Takanashi's son?" he remarked, his eyes running a critical assessment over Shinji's frame. "You're so... scrawny," he continued bluntly, his tone carrying a mix of skepticism and observation. "But you look just like him, though," he added, his voice begrudgingly acknowledging the resemblance despite his initial impression.

Shinji nervously took a step back as the man invaded his personal space. Every instinct urged him to flee, but he clenched his fists and steadied his resolve. He couldn't afford to back down now; finding Arata Takumaki was his mission.

The man noticed Shinji's hesitation and arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Well, kid, if you're serious about this, we'll see what you're made of," he said gruffly, his tone skeptical yet tinged with a hint of curiosity. "I'm Coach Kuroki," he introduced himself brusquely, extending a calloused hand towards Shinji.

Shinji hesitated for a moment, then tentatively shook Coach Kuroki's hand. The coach's grip was firm, a silent challenge in itself. Despite the initial rough greeting, Shinji sensed a glimmer of opportunity in Kuroki's eyes—a chance to prove himself, not just as Shinbo Takanashi's son, but as his own person.

"Follow me," Kuroki ordered, turning abruptly and striding towards the training area. Shinji followed, heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and determination.

As they entered the training area, the sounds of sparring and the sight of people intensely working out surrounded them. Shinji clenched his fists nervously. He had never been in a proper fight; his confrontations had always been with dirty tactics against kids who couldn't defend themselves. His C.I.P.A. condition had been his shield, protecting him from feeling pain. However, facing opponents like Daichi or someone much heavier, the reality of the pain hit him hard.

"What am I going to do?" Shinji thought anxiously, feeling the weight of his inexperience and vulnerability in this new environment. The coach cleared his throat, I'm gonna teach you some basic strikes.

Meanwhile, Arata and Harumi were driving through the city in a battered black van. Harumi sat in the passenger seat, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Ugh, it smells so bad in here," she complained, covering her nose with her hand.

Arata kept his eyes on the road, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Well, not all of us have rich daddies who give them a place to sleep," he retorted, his voice laced with bitterness.

Harumi rolled her eyes and scoffed. "You know damn well that I don't sleep at his house," she shot back, her tone sharp. "I used his money to buy an apartment. You know I don't have a good relationship with him or we wouldn't be here right now."

Arata shook his head, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "He's the CEO of VCL. You don't need to have a good relationship," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. As he scanned the area, his eyes darting from building to building, his expression softened slightly. "Besides, it's not like we're doing this for comfort. We're on a mission, remember?"

Harumi sighed and glanced out the window, her expression thoughtful. "Yeah, I know. It's just... sometimes I wish things were different," she admitted quietly.

Arata's gaze flicked towards her for a brief moment before returning to the road. "We all do," he murmured, his voice barely audible. The weight of their shared past and uncertain future hung heavy in the air between them as they continued their drive, the van rattling over the uneven streets.

*Harumi's early life was marred by hardship and abuse. Her father, once a promising businessman, was dragged into a pit of poverty and debt due to a series of failed ventures. The financial strain twisted him into a violent man, lashing out at Harumi in frustration and despair. Her mother, who had once been loving, transformed into a sadistic figure who found perverse pleasure in Harumi's suffering, laughing at her husband's cruelty.

One fateful day when she was 11 years old, Harumi sought solace in a nearby park, trying to escape the turmoil at home. She sat alone, clutching her bruised arms, when a group of girls approached. They started taunting her, mocking her clothes and the visible signs of her troubled home life. One girl, in particular, was relentless, pushing Harumi to her breaking point.

Harumi's vision blurred with rage, and she snapped. She lunged at the girl, her pent-up anger and pain exploding. in a flurry of blows. Her fists flew, and the girl's screams echoed through the park. The other children watched in stunned silence, too afraid to intervene. Punch after punch, the girl whimpered and struggled. Harumi's hand began turning bloody and the girl began coughing and begging.

Just as Harumi's fury seemed unstoppable, a strong hand grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the battered girl. A disheveled, bearded, and dirty Arata held Harumi's hand firmly, his eyes analyzing the blood smeared on her knuckles. "Don't use your strength to harm," he said, his voice calm but authoritative. "Trust me. I should know." As he said this Harumi's face began softening in confusion.

Suddenly, a woman blew her whistle. "Stranger Danger! Grown man in the park grabbing children!" she yelled, drawing the attention of nearby police officers. As they began walking towards him, Arata's eyes widened in alarm. "Run!" he shouted, taking off in a sprint.

Harumi looked at the bearded man, then at the girl lying on the ground, her mind racing. The thought of returning home to her abusive parents filled her with dread. "I can't do it anymore," she thought to herself, her decision made in an instant.

Arata continued running and ducked behind a black van, his heart pounding. "Dammit, if those cops had caught me, I'd be in serious trouble. I need a new identity," he muttered to himself, cautiously peeking out to see if the officers were still following him.

He suddenly heard panting from beside him. Looking down, he saw Harumi leaning against the van, out of breath and his eyes. "Violent kid?! What the hell are you doing here?!" he whispered urgently, his voice tinged with panic.

Harumi gasped for breath, her chest heaving as she struggled to speak through tears. "I-I can't live in those conditions anymore. My father, my mother—they're awful. Please, take me under your wing!" Her voice cracked with desperation, her fists clenched in frustration and pain.

Arata regarded her with a mixture of surprise and respect. The girl had an undeniable spirit. "What's your father's name? Maybe we can report him to the police," he suggested, his voice tinged with concern.

"K-Kenji Mizuki," Harumi replied, her voice trembling as she uttered the name.

Arata's eyes widened in shock and fear. "Kenji Mizuki is your father?!"

After a lengthy explanation, the two found themselves seated in a dimly lit, deserted building. 

Harumi's body trembled as she absorbed the shocking revelations about her father. "So, my father was a criminal? Running underground fights to peddle drugs and other illicit activities? No wonder he sank into debt after his fighting club was seized. That's why he's been so cruel to me lately,"

 She muttered, connecting the dots with a mix of disbelief and growing anger. "And you've recently killed someone?!" Her voice quivered, aghast at this new layer of darkness surrounding Arata's past. 

Arata stood up, his rough hand absentmindedly scratching his dirty beard. "I'll explain more later, but for now, how would you like to become my waitress and student?" He looked at Harumi with a mix of seriousness and sincerity in his eyes. "You can sleep here. Don't expect any pay, though," he added with a gruff chuckle, trying to lighten the mood despite the gravity of their conversation.

She smiled through her tears and wiped her face. "I'll be your student, but I'll have to sleep at home. By the way, what do you mean by waitress?"

Arata grinned, his eyes glinting with a hint of excitement as he picked up a cleaver. "Soon, Harumi. This place is going to be a restaurant," he declared confidently, his voice carrying a vision of their future together.*

Back at the gym, Shinji lay on the ground, his body bruised and his breath ragged. The coach towered over him, shaking his head with a sigh.

"Look, son," he said sternly, "your father's legacy won't save you here. I've already put you down nearly 20 times. Every time, you just come back for more. It's like you don't know when to quit; your body's like a ticking time bomb." 

Shinji fought to push himself up, raising his fists once more into a fighting stance. His determination burned in his eyes.

"I can't give up," he muttered to himself, the thought of becoming an MMA fighter fueling his resolve. "Joining an organization could lead me to answers about my father's death, the mysterious envelope, and confronting Takumi Arata."

The coach lowered his head, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Look, son," he began wearily, "I'll give you one last shot. If you can prove yourself against my newest student, then maybe we'll talk about you joining the team."

Shinji's eyes widened with determination. "Yes, please. I'll fight him! Where is he?" He scanned the gym, his heart racing with anticipation. Suddenly, a voice cut through the air, sending shivers down his spine. "Right here, 'painless'." Shinji turned around swiftly to see Daichi standing in the ring, methodically wrapping his hands with tape.

"D-Daichi!?" Shinji's mind raced as he recalled Daichi's earlier preparations for an MMA scout. "Was this who he meant?" Fear gripped him, freezing him in place. Daichi noticed Shinji's trembling form and smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. "What's wrong? You were gunning for revenge earlier, now you're shaking in your boots?"

Shinji fell silent, but eventually climbed into the ring and retreated to a corner, swiftly donning gloves and headgear. Daichi's narrowed gaze turned into a chuckle. "Oh, you're serious about this? Don't forget, you're one of the Purple Dragons. Who do you think you are?"

Head bowed, Shinji muttered to himself, "...Painless..."

Daichi leaned in, pretending not to hear. "What was that?"

As Daichi closed the distance, Shinji lunged forward, landing a solid punch on Daichi's cheek. "I'm not 'Purple Dragons' Shinji Takanashi," he declared through gritted teeth, adrenaline coursing through him. "I'm 'The Painless' Shinji Takanashi, son of Shinbo Takanashi, you bastard!"

Daichi staggered back, but quickly retaliated with a strike to Shinji's stomach, causing him to double over in pain. In one swift motion, Daichi executed a suplex, slamming Shinji hard onto the mat.

Daichi turned away, confident that Shinji was down for the count. However, as he walked back to his corner, a shift in the air caught his attention. He glanced back to see Shinji standing, his breathing slow and deliberate. The once vibrant light in Shinji's eyes had dimmed, replaced by a chilling coldness that sent shivers down Daichi's spine.

Growling, Daichi charged at Shinji, raining down punches that connected with force. Despite the barrage, Shinji showed no signs of pain. Daichi's frustration grew as he realized his hits were having little effect. "What's wrong with you?!" Daichi bellowed, only to have Shinji's fingers jab into his eyes, causing intense pain and disorientation. "AHH! What the hell?!" Daichi cried out, momentarily blinded as Shinji's knee slammed into his face.

Daichi's head snapped back from Shinji's knee strike, and he groaned in pain. As he opened his eyes, he found himself under a relentless assault of punches, kicks, and finally, a devastating powerbomb from Shinji. Gasping for breath, Daichi struggled to stand, his body aching and bloodied.

Shinji stood over Daichi. His eyes were still cold and he was about to deliver the finishing blow. Suddenly, he collapsed to the mat, unconscious from the exertion. Daichi, his vision blurry and head spinning, managed to rise to his feet, spitting blood onto the mat. With a grimace of pain, he staggered towards Shinji, raising his fist for a final, vengeful strike.

The coach's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Daichi, no!"

But just as Daichi was about to deliver the blow, Harumi sprinted into action. With swift agility, she leaped into the ring, her hands casually tucked into her pockets. A powerful kick sent Daichi flying out of the ring, where he crashed to the ground at Arata's feet.

Arata seized Daichi by the collar, his face twisted with fury. "You! You must be the son of Shinbo!" he snarled, lifting Daichi off the ground. "You think you could mess with me?!"

Daichi's eyes widened in alarm, fear etched across his bruised face. "No, I'm not Shinbo's son! He is!" Daichi desperately pointed towards Shinji's motionless body on the mat. Harumi casually nudged Shinji's body with her foot and flashed Arata a thumbs-up. "My bad, Chef. I meant this kid."

Arata sighed deeply, his anger deflating. He released Daichi, who slumped to the ground. "Sorry kid," Arata muttered, before climbing into the ring to carefully lift Shinji's unconscious form. With a grunt of effort, he carried Shinji out of the ring, his expression a mix of concern and disappointment. "I'm deducting your pay, Harumi," he added sternly, as they left the gym floor behind them.


Load failed, please RETRY

Wöchentlicher Energiestatus

Rank -- Power- Rangliste
Stone -- Power- Stein

Stapelfreischaltung von Kapiteln

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Anzeigeoptionen

Hintergrund

Schriftart

Größe

Kapitel-Kommentare

Schreiben Sie eine Rezension Lese-Status: C4
Fehler beim Posten. Bitte versuchen Sie es erneut
  • Qualität des Schreibens
  • Veröffentlichungsstabilität
  • Geschichtenentwicklung
  • Charakter-Design
  • Welthintergrund

Die Gesamtpunktzahl 0.0

Rezension erfolgreich gepostet! Lesen Sie mehr Rezensionen
Stimmen Sie mit Powerstein ab
Rank NR.-- Macht-Rangliste
Stone -- Power-Stein
Unangemessene Inhalte melden
error Tipp

Missbrauch melden

Kommentare zu Absätzen

Einloggen