Bab 3: Shadows of the Past
The next day at Kyoto Kiyomizu High School, in the dimly lit bathroom, Shinji knelt down before the Purple Dragons, his body bruised and used as a personal ashtray for their cigarettes. Although the burns didn't hurt due to his C.I.P.A., his mind was fixated on the ominous envelope from the day before. "What does 'The chef did it' mean?" he wondered, lost in thought, until a sharp slap jolted him back to reality.
Daichi grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "What the hell, can't you hear me?" Daichi slapped Shinji again, though it wasn't hard enough to elicit any pain. Shinji's voice trembled as he looked up at the gang. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, bowing his head in submission.
Daichi smirked, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure, and delivered a swift kick to Shinji's face. This time, the pain registered, sending Shinji crashing into the wall. "I-I'm sorry!" Shinji whimpered, clutching his jaw in agony.
Unfazed by the apology, Daichi grabbed Shinji from behind, locking him in a firm grip. "Don't worry," he sneered, lifting Shinji off the ground. "I'm just practicing for this MMA scouter to get into his gym." With a cruel chuckle, Daichi suplexed Shinji, slamming him hard onto the floor.
Shinji cried out as he hit the ground, the impact reverberating through his body. The mix of fear and humiliation overwhelmed him, tears streaming down his face.
Goro laughed at the scene and kneeled next to Shinji. "Don't worry, Shinji," he said mockingly, "I'm pretty sure Daichi is doing this because he's humiliated by that chef from last night." He pressed a cigarette butt against Shinji's forehead, the smell of burning flesh mixing with the bitter scent of smoke.
Daichi growled and punched Shinji. "Shut the hell up, Goro!" he snapped, his frustration evident as his knuckles made contact with Shinji's face. The force of the blow sent Shinji reeling, his vision blurring from the pain.
"I don't have time for this, I need to find someone who could help me figure out who sent that envelope," Shinji thought to himself, his mind racing even as his body ached. The memory of the mysterious letter and the photograph of his father flashed through his thoughts. "Yes! Rika Nakamura!" he realized, thinking of the school's cyber police. She was known for her tech skills and ability to dig up information.
"I need to get to her," he resolved, clinging to the hope that Rika could help him uncover the truth behind the ominous message.
Moments after the Purple Dragons left Shinji's battered body on the bathroom floor, he struggled to his feet, pain radiating through every inch of his frame. He limped out of the bathroom, his resolve hardening despite the overwhelming exhaustion. "Fuck, I can't do this anymore," he muttered to himself, his voice shaky. "Between finding out who sent that envelope and being the Purple Dragons' punching bag, it's too much."
With each step, Shinji's determination grew, and he made his way down the hall to a door defaced with cruel graffiti: "Nerd," "Fat Ass," "Pig." He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath, then knocked gently on the door.
Slowly, the door creaked open, revealing a chubby girl with glasses and freckles, her long black hair partially obscuring her eyes. She sniffled, her tear-streaked face showing signs of recent crying. "W-what do you want?" she asked, her voice trembling as she took in Shinji's disheveled appearance.
Recognition flickered in her eyes, and she gasped. "The painless Shinji Takanashi?!" she exclaimed in shock, stepping back slightly.
Shinji nervously scratched his head and forced a chuckle. "N-no, I'm just Shinji Takanashi of the Purple Dragon gang." He wiped the dried blood from his nose as Rika opened the door wider, her eyes scanning his ripped clothes, battered face, and bruised arms.
"What happened to you?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.
"Nothing, I tripped," he lied, looking down to avoid her gaze. Rika was confused, struggling to reconcile the image of the "painless" Shinji Takanashi, son of world-renowned MMA star Shinbo Takanashi, with the tear-streaked, battered young man standing before her.
"What do you need?" she stammered, still trying to process the sight of him in such a state.
Moments after explaining the contents of the envelope, Shinji and Rika sat at a computer in the small, dimly lit room. Shinji glanced around, feeling a pang of sadness at the sight of the cramped space. Despite being a straight-A student, Rika spent all her time in this room, away from the rest of the school.
"I tried tracking the envelope's stamp, but that was a bust," Rika explained, her fingers deftly typing on the keyboard. "Then I thought about checking the biomedical classroom to try to analyze for DNA, but, you know, the bullies." She let out a half-hearted chuckle, devoid of humor. Shinji chuckled too, scratching his head nervously.
"She's just like me," Shinji thought, remembering how Rika used to be the "all-American girl next door" before she gained weight. "Everyone wanted to hang out with her. I wonder what happened to make her gain all that weight."
Rika analyzed the photo closely. "So, the message says 'the chef killed him,' but your father's murderer was never found. The police have been looking for someone your father was close to when he was in the 'UFC'," she explained.
Shinji's jaw dropped. "The UFC?! As in—" Before he could finish his sentence, Rika stopped him by holding a pencil near his mouth.
"No, not that one. The 'UFC' stood for 'Underground Fighting Center,' where your father and Takumi Arata began their careers. The place was seized by the FBI for drug operations," she explained, her voice serious. "Takumi Arata was your father's best friend, but when your father died, Arata disappeared. Why would someone as strong as your father d]ie at the hands of Arata, someone nobody had heard of before?"
Shinji buried his head in his hands in sadness as Rika explained his father's tragic fate. Despite his complicated feelings toward his father, he couldn't imagine anyone deserving such a brutal end, even though he didn't even know him.
"How do you know all this, Rika?" Shinji asked, looking at her with curiosity. Rika paused her typing and turned to him with a slight smile. "Well, after gaining all this weight, I became obsessed with learning about MMA fighters. It was partly to understand their techniques and partly to find a way to stop the bullying."
Shinji stood up, clutching the photo tightly. "Thanks, Rika, but I know what I need to do," he said determinedly. He walked towards the door, glancing back at her with a grateful smile. "I'm going to join an MMA gym," he declared, his voice tinged with newfound resolve. Leaving a few yen on a desk by the door, he added softly, "Take care of yourself, Rika." As he left Rika squealed in excitement. "Shinji Takanashi asked me for help! He shouldn't surprise me like that!" Her face flushed red.
Back at the "Dragon's Den Bistro," the restaurant was empty. Harumi sat at a table, diligently doing her homework, while the chef paced back and forth, twirling a cleaver with an intricate pattern on it. His frustration was palpable.
"Who the hell sent that envelope?! And why now, when I'm finally living lavishly?!" he fumed, his voice echoing in the empty space.
Harumi scoffed without looking up from her work. "Lavishly? For the past 4 years, you live in a van and don't even eat everyday. You're barely able to keep this restaurant afloat."
The chef grumbled, twirling the cleaver even faster in his agitation. "I'm deducting your pay!" he snapped, his eyes narrowing.
Harumi rolled her eyes and continued twirling her pencil. "You don't pay me," she retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm.
The chef stopped pacing and glared at her, but her unflinching demeanor only made him sigh in exasperation. The weight of the mysterious envelope and its implications hung heavy in the air.
Suddenly, three men dressed in black leather, armed with bats and knives, stormed into the restaurant. Their menacing presence filled the air with tension.
Man #1 sneered and glared at the chef. "Listen, I helped you change your identity, your name, and took you off the map. Now it's time for you to keep your end of the deal, Arata Takumaki."
Man #2 eyed Harumi with a lecherous grin. "Hey, that's a sight for sore eyes. Maybe we could just take the girl," he said, licking his lips.
Man #3, a man with scars on his face, gripped his bat with both hands. "We'll kill him, then take the girl," he said, his voice dripping with malice. The other two joined him, their faces twisted with perverse glee.
Arata, seemingly unfazed, continued to twirl his cleaver absentmindedly. "Not now, I'm busy. But you can take Harumi," he said nonchalantly and scratched his chin with the cleaver.
Harumi, still engrossed in her homework, held up a finger to indicate she needed a moment. As she did this, the men looked at each other and shrugged.
"Just one second," she muttered, finishing a sentence. "And they all died..." She closed her laptop and stood up, her demeanor shifting from studious to deadly in an instant. "Alright, let's get this over with," she said, her voice annoyed and resolute.
Without warning, she performed a flawless backflip, launching herself into the air. Her body twisted gracefully before she delivered a powerful capoeira kick to the first man. The impact sent him crashing to the ground, blood dripping from his mouth as he was knocked unconscious.
The remaining 2 men stared in disbelief, their initial arrogance replaced by fear and confusion. Harumi stood poised, her eyes focused and intense.
Man #2 lunged at her with his knife, but she effortlessly dodged his attack with a fluid spin, her movements a perfect blend of agility and precision. She swept his legs out from under him with a swift, low kick, causing him to stumble. Before he could regain his balance, Harumi delivered a crushing elbow strike to his temple, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Man #3, the man with the scars, gripped his bat tightly, his knuckles white with tension. He swung it at Harumi with all his might, but she anticipated his move. She ducked under the bat and closed the distance between them in an instant. Using his momentum against him, she grabbed his arm and twisted, forcing him to drop the bat. With a final, decisive kick to his chest, she sent him flying backward into a table, which collapsed under the force.
Arata watched the scene unfold with a calm expression, his cleaver still in hand. "That's my girl." he remarked casually while patting her head.
Harumi dusted off her hands and returned to her chair, picking up her pencil as if nothing had happened. "Yeah, just a minor inconvenience," she replied dismissively. She glanced at the two loan sharks who were now dragging their unconscious comrade away, then sighed. "Now, where was I?" She opened her laptop and began typing again.
Arata sat across from her, casually threw the cleaver. It flew through the air and embedded itself perfectly into a cutting board hanging on the kitchen wall. "Who could have sent it?" he wondered aloud, his tone betraying a hint of frustration.
Harumi didn't look up from her work but responded, "Maybe it was one of Shinbo's children. You told me that guy got around like a bad virus. It could've been any of them."
Arata froze at her words. "You're right, but who knows how many children that asshole had?" he groaned, rubbing his temples in exasperation.
Harumi continued her work, barely fazed. "Well, I have heard rumors about someone called 'The Painless Shinji Takanashi.' They say he's his son," she explained with a yawn.
Arata's eyes widened in anger. "WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY THIS BEFORE?!" he bellowed, his frustration boiling over.
Harumi shrugged nonchalantly and chuckled. "You didn't ask." she retorted, a smirk playing on her lips.
Arata groaned, leaning back in his chair, deep in thought. Harumi, unfazed, returned to her work, typing away as if the confrontation had never happened.
Meanwhile, as 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. Nervously, he muttered, "I-I want to do MMA."
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone