Chapitre 1: On the Right Track
It's been at least a few years since Vincent stepped foot in Japan. He didn't bother to count the specific years as his sense of time was irreparably damaged from a messed up internal clock from choosing random times to fall asleep or not fall asleep at all.
His features aren't Japanese, yet his black hair helps him fit in at least a bit. Stares and the like can grate on a person especially when kids do it. Vincent just wanted to take a nice walk through Tokyo while inhaling some smog and think about the past.
The reason behind his reminiscing is the fact that he got into a brawl with a bunch of thugs in a back alley. Normally, he'd expect to take a couple of blows before he put all of them down, but not even his glasses were disturbed. It was off-putting in a way that made Vincent feel a strange sense of boredom, one strong enough that made him think about returning to the Slaughter Coliseum.
The young man sighed and readjusted his glasses before moving out of the ruined alleyway, cracks running alongside the walls and ground. There was a saying in America that amusingly came to mind at this moment: "Step on a crack and break your mother's back."
The fact that came to mind means he probably needs to sleep.
"Don't you fucking walk away from me!" A roar prompted the foreigner to turn around, though not with any noticeable haste, and he faced a glinting knife aiming straight for his chest. He had enough time to dodge, yet he chose the foolish action of holding his palm out and letting the blade pierce it before snatching it away blade-first.
Blood sprayed from the wound as Vincent took the weapon away from the dumbfounded thug. While the punk was off guard, Vincent swung his arm straight into the man's chin with the hilt of the knife that was still lodged in his hand securing the necessary force to knock the man out.
An additional spray of blood accompanied Vincent's action of yanking the knife out of his hand without a care. The blood would eventually dry and the wound would eventually heal.
He just needed to feel that sensation of pain. That was the reason behind his reckless blocking of the knife.
This was also a reason why Vincent was in Japan.
He grew tired of traveling throughout America and finding nothing that could kill him. He was a survivor that, even if he was unable to beat superior foes, those people were unable to kill him. Vincent was abnormal in the sense that he longed for death.
He's tried multiple things that would kill a normal person, yet his odd constitution proved to be resilient to even the most daredevil of acts. So, he decided to slip into the underground world to get involved in death matches. The money was a pain to deal with, but it's not like starvation would kill him, so he could go into debts taking loans just to pick fights.
Vincent won and lost many fights around the world. Now, he's been traveling all throughout the East and finally ending in Japan where he's been staying for years now.
"Should I consider checking out Purgatory? No, they're not really into death matches." He finished with the Slaughter Coliseum, but where else could he find opponents that escaped the realms of normality?
"Well what about the Kengan Matches?"
That outspoken thought didn't come from Vincent. The man turned around to see an overweight man dressed in a business suit. The shorter man has a strange bit of composure as he stood around beaten down bodies.
As for what he said...
"Well, I did think a little about that, but that requires having somebody hire me. Do I even have the credentials for someone to look at me favorably for this?" Vincent looked in the sky absentmindedly.
"I am the CEO of Under Mount Corporation." The heavyset man cut straight to the chase. Vincent's tired eyes flicked down to his immediately, a small amount of excitement glimmering in his pupils.
There's a number of reasons why the man went after Vincent of all people for something this important, yet the tired fighter didn't feel the urge to contemplate the details. All he needed to do was fight until his body dropped permanently. It didn't matter who was purchasing his services or why really.
"Boss," Vincent accepted with ease.
"Eh, really?" The CEO was caught off guard and his earlier composure seemed to be an illusion as he rubbed his forehead in surprise. "It was that easy?"
"What's your name?" The overweight man collected himself and donned a neutral smile.
"My name is Ohta Masahiko and I already know your name for convenience's sake. Now, can you sign here, here, and here?" The CEO brought out papers from his suit as if he planned this all along. He shoved them into Vincent's hand with a hint of urgency and he pulled out a pen with haste.
Vincent didn't know what the man's business entailed and the fact that he was trying to speed up this process was suspicious. Of course, he ignored all that and signed all the papers without a care, not even reading the documents let alone the fine print that's certain to be present.
"That's great! How do you feel about doing a match right now?"
Vincent sighed and finally understood the rush. If he were a normal fighter, then he probably would've declined or taken more time before deciding, yet he is Vincent Walker. A man who crazily longs for the dangerous borders of death. The edges of his cheeks rose and he produced an exhausted grin.
"I haven't slept in a bit and I'm feeling a bit hungry, but I guess I can spare the energy for a match or two. Let's get going."
"Right this way please." Vincent noticed that was a subservient choice of words, but he paid it no heed. He followed the shorter man into a car and then the driver took off with speeds that were most likely against the limits of the road.
After a few minutes, Ohta began speaking: "What do you know about the Kengan Matches?"
"Hmmmmm. I know that big businesses use it as a means to settle stuff and fighters have to get hired, but that's about it." He readjusted your glasses and searched his memory for anything else, but came up blank. "That's all I know it seems."
"Well, you'll get a taste for things once you reach your match. I'll explain the intricacies afterward."
Vincent looked over at Ohta. "You seem pretty confident in my victory."
The man only smiled in response.
The car ride was quiet after that momentary conversation, only the low hum of the vehicle serving as noise preventing Vincent from getting some proper rest.
He wandered the streets and his luck once again took him straight to danger. It would only be proper to call that type of luck misfortune. This could be a ride straight to hell.
Like hell that'd actually happen. Besides, he's never been a proper person for as long as he was born.
The ride came to an abrupt end. The heavyset man stepped out first. Vincent left from his open side as well and took in the cluster of abandoned buildings.
"Is it here?"
"Just a bit further and you'll get your fight. It's taking place in an underground parking lot." Underground? He's used to that.
Another underground fight and it's the most famous type: the Kengan Matches. He could only dream of participating in these fights, but that dream has now been granted. Now it's time for a new temporary dream.
He'll have to think of one later.
The Kengan Matches hold some of the most powerful fighters of the underground world from what he's heard. Naturally, there are obscenely powerful fighters who don't take part in the Kengan Matches as well, but they're not into death matches unfortunately. Even the ones that Vincent knows are taking death matches can't be found at the moment, so this is the next best thing.
Vincent stuffed his hands down his jacket's pockets and slightly slouched forward while walking lazily. He gave off the impression of a dispirited man down on his luck. His eyes were half-lidded, yet open enough to take in the crack of light through a slightly ajar door. Trudging through it, he was greeted by an assortment of colorful characters.
Businessmen in sharply dressed suits, those smelling of death and giving off an aura of danger, those who didn't fit it in the slightest like himself, and two individuals who stood in the center of the ring of people.
This was a legitimate underground match.
Vincent couldn't help his natural reaction. There was neither a need nor a want to hold back his boiling blood and the smirk that threatened to break his easygoing facade.
"If you win this fight, then we'll have more fights ready for you." There was enough clarity of thought to perceive the fat man's words. He gave a nod and looked beyond the crowd, ignoring the referee dressed in black and white, and stared straight into the eyes of who would be his opponent.
His opponent matched his gaze with a large grin.
"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up." Another businessman strolled up to Ohta with a look of exasperation. Vincent only took minor note of him. "And is this your fighter? He's different from the last one."
Vincent walked off.
His boss didn't notice and only wore a wry smile in response. "There were some complications, but that's been resolved."
"Good. Now, let's get this done!" The man spun on his heel and walked away with full confidence in his own victory. Ohta turned to where his fighter was, but only saw empty air. Before the panicked thought of him leaving occurred to mind, the cheers of his crowd overwhelmed his mind. He looked onward and saw that Vincent was already just a meter short before his tall opponent.
It was a quick process. A fighter saw a fighter and then they decided to fight. Of course, there were rules and regulations that were already set up and Vincent needed to get a body check to make sure he wasn't bringing anything that would go against those regulations, but it was simple and easy.
He got the clear and a battle was on the verge of breaking out.
He had to look up at the man, someone who pushed his body extensively as proven by his dense musculature. The height advantage born from genetics and the weight advantage born from hard work. It seemed obvious at first glance that the one who held superiority was the man who was larger.
But both fighters knew that wasn't all that mattered in a fight. The uncertainty that laid beyond one's body, the domain of techniques, was the spark that gave them the drive to seek victory in battle. To claim certainty in what was uncertain.
"So, who are you?" Yet, in the face of uncertainty, there was no trace of anxiety within Vincent's features. His relaxed smile could weather a tornado without dipping in the slightest. The foreign man seemed like a cloud.
"If you don't know me, then let me tell you! I am Murobuchi Gozo! I am a famous man, so you can find all the details online if you care to look me up later!" The man flexed at his introduction.
"Oh a famous guy, huh? What's a guy like you doing in the underground then? Got something to prove?"
"Heh! Right now, the only thing I need to prove is my victory. We have a match to settle."
Vincent looked around and noticed people were irritated.
Oh, so he was late. He closed his eyes in took in their jeers. When he opened them, he noticed that even the referee was getting a little impatient.
"Yeah, sorry about that. Let's get this over with then."
"Are you ready?!" The referee decided the time to begin the match was long overdue and got into position quickly. Vincent and Murobuchi faced each other with different types of grins: one was lazy and the other was indomitably fierce.
"Take your stance!"
Murobuchi's stance looked like he was ready to charge through any obstacle shoulder-first. It wasn't a stance that belonged in any martial arts' forms, that much Vincent could comprehend.
Understanding that, he refused to take a stance. His hands rested in his pockets. The air of certain arrogance sufficed as a stance to the referee.
He brought his hand down.
"Begin!!"
Murobuchi's shoulder charge was like a bullet. Yet, the predictable tackle that should've come was nothing more than a feint. The true first attack was a front kick that landed squarely on Vincent's solar plexus. The powerful strike sent Vincent's feet skidding across the ground.
"That's heavy."
Yet he didn't fall to the ground.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone