Doppo Orochi VS Gouki Shibukawa

The air in the room was electrified with tension. The crackling silence that hung between Doppo Orochi and Gouki Shibukawa felt almost suffocating, as if the atmosphere itself was straining under the weight of the battle about to unfold. These were two legends, both representing different schools of combat, and as they squared off, it was clear that this was more than just a contest of physical might—it was a clash of philosophies, experience, and pride.

I had seen them both train me with incredible precision, but this was different. This was a battle between two men who had honed their skills over decades, warriors who had shared mutual respect but now faced each other as rivals.

Doppo, always the aggressive fighter, opened with a flurry of strikes. His fists were blurs in the air, every blow filled with the weight of his decades of karate mastery. His movements were refined, his strikes brutally efficient, each punch snapping through the air like a thunderbolt. The floor seemed to tremble with every step he took forward, his power apparent in every motion. This was the karate grandmaster at his peak.

But Shibukawa, with his smaller frame and years of experience in Aiki, moved like a shadow. His arms made smooth, circular motions, his feet gliding across the floor as he effortlessly redirected Doppo's attacks. It was as if Doppo's fists simply slid off Shibukawa's defenses, his strikes absorbed and nullified before they could land with full force. The legendary Aiki technique—using an opponent's power against them—was on full display, and Shibukawa wielded it like an art.

For a moment, it seemed like Shibukawa had the upper hand. Doppo's punches were fast and powerful, but they weren't connecting with the force they needed to make a real impact. Shibukawa's mastery of timing and flow kept Doppo at bay, his movements smooth, almost graceful. But as the fight wore on, I could see something in Doppo's eyes—a flicker of understanding.

Doppo wasn't just attacking recklessly; he was learning, adapting. He had trained with Shibukawa before, sparred with him countless times in the past. Though this was no friendly session, Doppo was using every bit of knowledge he had gained from their past encounters. He knew Shibukawa's style, knew how he would move, and now he was using that understanding to push back.

Doppo pulled back slightly, stopping his offensive strikes for a moment. He smiled, almost as if taunting Shibukawa. "I know you too well, old man. You can't keep dodging forever."

Shibukawa's eyes narrowed, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. "So you've learned something after all. But understanding isn't enough. You still have to land a hit."

Suddenly, the fight shifted. Doppo waited, standing still, daring Shibukawa to make the first move. It was a game of patience now, each man waiting for the other to make a mistake. The tension was palpable, and I could barely breathe as I watched.

Shibukawa, sensing Doppo's bait, moved in quickly, his hands striking toward Doppo's throat in a move meant to disrupt his balance. But Doppo was ready. His fist surged forward, the famous Bodhisattva Fist, aimed directly at Shibukawa's chest. The impact was powerful, sending a shockwave through the room.

Shibukawa's eyes widened in surprise as Doppo's fist connected. For a moment, I thought the fight was over—Doppo had managed to land a direct hit. But Shibukawa, ever the master of control, absorbed the blow with expert timing, using Aiki to dissipate the energy. In an instant, he twisted Doppo's wrist, turning the force of the punch back against him.

With a fluid motion, Shibukawa threw Doppo into the wall, the plaster cracking as Doppo's body hit it with tremendous force. Dust and debris filled the air, and for a moment, I could barely see through the cloud.

But when the dust settled, Doppo was already rising. His body was bruised and battered, but his spirit was unshaken. He wiped the blood from his mouth and grinned through the pain.

"You're not the only one who knows how to use your opponent's strength," Doppo said, his voice steady, but there was a new edge to it—a dangerous resolve. "I've trained with you long enough to know your tricks."

Shibukawa's breathing had grown heavier, the strain of the fight showing on his face. The punch from Doppo had taken its toll, and despite his mastery of technique, he was beginning to wear down. "Is that so?" Shibukawa responded, his voice calm but fatigued. "Then show me what you've learned, Orochi."

Both men knew they were nearing their limits. Every breath was labored, every movement slower than before. But neither would back down.

Doppo shifted his stance, more defensive now, knowing that this fight wasn't about overwhelming Shibukawa with brute force. It was about outlasting him, finding the perfect moment to strike.

The two warriors circled each other, their eyes locked, both aware that the next move could end it. I could barely blink, the tension gripping me so tightly that I could feel the weight of their battle in my own chest.

Doppo struck first, his hand moving with lightning speed toward Shibukawa's jaw. But Shibukawa was a step ahead. He caught Doppo's wrist, twisting it in a way that should have thrown Doppo off balance—but Doppo had anticipated this. Using the momentum of the twist, Doppo spun his body, bringing his knee crashing into Shibukawa's ribs with brutal force.

Shibukawa gasped, the pain evident in his face. But before Doppo could follow up, Shibukawa shifted his weight, using the momentum of the knee strike to throw Doppo off balance, spinning him back.

It was a brutal, exhausting exchange, both men pushing themselves beyond their limits. Doppo threw another punch, but Shibukawa once again redirected it with Aiki, though with less force than before. Doppo's stamina was running low, but so was Shibukawa's. Every movement was slower, more deliberate, and both men were fighting on sheer willpower.

"Not bad, Orochi," Shibukawa said between breaths, his voice strained but filled with respect. "You've learned more than I thought."

Doppo chuckled, though it came out as more of a groan. "You've always been one hell of a teacher, old man. But I've got one more in me."

Both men stood still for a moment, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. The room was thick with silence, the air so tense it felt like it could snap at any moment. This would be the final exchange.

Doppo's fists clenched, his body coiled like a spring, ready to unleash one last attack. Shibukawa lowered his center of gravity, his eyes focused entirely on Doppo, his hands raised in readiness. The room felt like it was shrinking, the walls pressing in, as the two fighters faced each other, both waiting for the other to move.

And then, as if on cue, they both lunged forward.

Doppo's fist shot out, aimed straight at Shibukawa's chest with all the force he had left. At the same time, Shibukawa stepped in, his hands intercepting Doppo's strike. There was a moment of stillness, a heartbeat where time seemed to freeze, as their attacks collided.

Doppo's punch connected with Shibukawa's shoulder, while Shibukawa managed to catch Doppo's arm, redirecting just enough of the force to avoid a direct hit. But the impact still sent both men staggering backward, their bodies trembling with fatigue, their energy completely drained.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. They stood there, breathing heavily, their bodies spent, their spirits still unbroken. Then, slowly, Doppo's legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, his body finally succumbing to the exhaustion.

Shibukawa, too, swayed on his feet, barely able to stand, but he managed to stay upright—just. The fight was over. Shibukawa had won, but it had taken everything he had to do so.

I sat in stunned silence, watching as these two giants of the martial arts world, who had pushed each other to their absolute limits, shared a moment of mutual respect. Doppo had performed better than anyone expected, his training with Shibukawa giving him the edge that allowed him to stand toe-to-toe with the legendary master. But in the end, experience and technique had won the day.

After the fight, Doppo quietly gathered his belongings, the weight of the defeat heavy on his shoulders.

"I've taught you all I can," Doppo said softly, his voice steady despite the obvious pain in his eyes. "I'm leaving. It's time for me to train again on my own, to start from the beginning."

His words hit me harder than I expected. Doppo had been one of my main trainers since the beginning, pushing me to become stronger, to endure, to fight. But now, he was leaving, and I was about to begin a new phase of my life—a phase that involved my father, Yuujiro Hanma. It felt like a chapter was closing, and the weight of what was to come settled on my young shoulders.

Doppo approached me before leaving, his eyes softening as he crouched down to my level. "Baki," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You've got a long road ahead of you. But don't lose sight of who you are. Strength is important, but so is understanding when to hold back, when to let your opponent make the first move."

I nodded, feeling a surge of emotion well up inside me. I was just beginning to understand what it meant to be strong, but I still had so much to learn. Soon, I would be training under Yujiro, and I knew that would be unlike anything I had experienced before.

"Goodbye, Doppo," I said quietly, my voice trembling slightly. "Thank you."

Doppo smiled, his grip tightening on my shoulder for a brief moment. "You'll be fine, kid," he said. "Just remember—no matter how strong you get, there's always more to learn."

With that, Doppo turned and walked out of the mansion, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the air itself.

Doppo POV 

The fight was over, but the lessons it left me with lingered like a heavy weight in my chest. Gouki Shibukawa had pushed me further than I'd been pushed in a long time. It wasn't the first time I'd fought someone like him, but it was the first time in years that I felt genuinely overmatched. My body ached, and the bruises would take time to heal, but it wasn't the physical pain that gnawed at me—it was the realization that I had begun to get complacent.

I'd grown arrogant. Even after all these years, there was still so much for me to learn. Shibukawa had reminded me of that. I had relied too much on my strength and technique, and not enough on adapting, evolving. I thought I could push through anything, but Shibukawa had shown me that power wasn't enough—not against an opponent who could turn your own strength against you. I had trained to master the Bodhisattva Fist, thinking it was the pinnacle of what I could do. But there was always another level to reach.

As I gathered my belongings in the quiet of the mansion, I couldn't help but reflect on the year I'd spent training Baki. He wasn't like anyone I'd ever trained before. At just six months old, the kid had already broken every expectation I had. Now, at a year and a half, he was a different kind of monster. His raw strength alone surpassed most black belts I had trained. His technique, while still rough around the edges, was shockingly refined for someone his age.

Baki was dangerous, even though he hadn't fully realized it yet. His body was still small, his height and reach limited, but those were the only things holding him back. Every time I saw him train, every time I watched him take on a challenge, I knew there was something else driving him. That drive, that hunger to push past every limit—it was something I recognized in myself from when I was younger. But Baki's was even stronger. It was as if he had been born for this, like he was chasing a goal that most fighters could never even comprehend.

As I packed the last of my things, I felt a mixture of pride and regret. Pride in how far Baki had come, and regret because I wouldn't be around to see his immediate growth. He had potential beyond anything I had ever seen, but it wasn't just his strength or his skill that impressed me—it was his determination. Most fighters, when faced with the kind of obstacles Baki had already faced, would have crumbled. But not him. He pushed through every wall, every boundary, with a resilience I had only seen in the best.

He wasn't ready yet, though. Not for what was coming. His father, Yujiro Hanma, loomed over his future like a storm cloud. I couldn't begin to imagine what kind of training Yujiro would put him through, but I knew it would be brutal, far beyond anything I could have given him.

I had done my part. I had taught Baki what I could, and now it was time for me to leave. But the truth was, I wasn't just leaving for him. I was leaving for me.

I couldn't keep training Baki, not like this. The fight with Shibukawa had shown me that I still had so much to learn. My skills had stagnated, and if I didn't go back to the beginning, back to where I had started, I wouldn't be able to keep up with the monsters that were emerging. The next time I saw Baki, I couldn't afford to be the same man I was now.

The thought of it stirred something in me—something I hadn't felt in years. A fire, a desire to get stronger, to learn more, to become better than I was. I had built the Shinshinkai Dojo, trained countless students, fought in more battles than I could remember, but somewhere along the way, I had stopped pushing myself. I had become too comfortable in my own strength, too certain of my own abilities.

But I wasn't done yet. There was more out there for me to master, more for me to discover. I would go back to the basics, strip everything down, and rebuild myself from the ground up. When I returned, I would be a different man. And I knew, by then, Baki would be different too.

As I prepared to leave, I noticed Baki watching me from across the room, his young face thoughtful, his eyes sharp with awareness beyond his years. I made my way over to him, crouching down so we were face to face. He was still just a boy, but there was something in his expression—an understanding that I didn't expect from someone so young.

"Baki," I said, resting a hand on his small shoulder. "You've got a long road ahead of you. But don't lose sight of who you are. Strength is important, but so is understanding when to hold back, when to let your opponent make the first move."

I could see the emotions welling up in his eyes, though he tried to hide them. He was strong, even now, but there was still so much he didn't know. Soon, he would be training under Yujiro, and I knew that experience would change him forever. The things I had taught him, the lessons he had learned from me, would seem like child's play compared to what his father would put him through. But I had faith in him.

"Goodbye, Doppo," he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. "Thank you."

I smiled, tightening my grip on his shoulder for just a moment. "You'll be fine, kid," I said, my voice soft but steady. "Just remember—no matter how strong you get, there's always more to learn."

I stood and turned toward the door, the weight of everything settling on my shoulders. Leaving wasn't easy, but it was necessary. For both of us. Baki would face challenges that would break most fighters, but I knew he would rise to meet them. As for me, I would return one day—stronger, wiser, ready for whatever came next.

As I walked out of the mansion, the silence that followed felt heavier than anything I had experienced in a long time. I wasn't just leaving Baki behind—I was leaving behind the man I had been. When I returned, I would be something else, someone else. And I would be ready for whatever the future held.