Yuujiro VS Baki

The floor beneath me seemed colder, harder. I sat down on the mat, trying to calm the subtle trembling in my muscles, focusing on my breathing. In. Out. Steady. I needed to think. What was I going to do? I had spent the last year training, pushing my limits under some of the best martial artists in the world. But I wasn't stupid. This was Yuujiro Hanma. The man who had beaten the entire USA military single-handedly. The man who was so strong, so terrifying, that entire countries feared his name.

How could I even scratch someone like that?

The thought gnawed at me, but I refused to let it sink in. I wasn't going to win—not in the traditional sense—but I had to try. I had to at least do something that would make him take me seriously. Maybe then, I wouldn't be just a tool or a disappointment. Maybe then, I could earn his respect—or at least his interest.

I ran through strategies in my mind. There was only one conclusion I could reach: surprise. I had no illusions of winning in a straightforward battle, not against someone like Yuujiro. The only way I had a chance of landing a blow, even a small one, was through deception. A hidden weapon.

Motobe had taught me a lot about weapons during our training. He taught me that in real combat, everything is a tool. There are no rules when it comes to survival. That was the lesson—survival at all costs. To be a warrior meant using every advantage, every dirty trick, every opportunity that came your way. And this was no different. If I was going to face the Ogre, I would need every trick in the book.

I stood up and made my way over to the weapons rack on the far wall, my footsteps light against the polished wood floor. The room felt unnaturally quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of my clothing as I picked through the weapons. A shuriken. My hand hovered over the small, sharp blades, their weight familiar in my grip. Motobe had drilled me on the proper use of these—how to throw them, how to hide them. I slipped two into the folds of my training gear, making sure they were well concealed.

There was no telling if we would fight today. Maybe Yuujiro would simply talk. Maybe we'd just have a nice, casual conversation about the weather. Yeah, right. I almost laughed at the thought. Yuujiro Hanma wasn't the type to have peaceful conversations. Every word, every glance, every moment between us was bound to be a test. Whether or not it turned into physical combat, I had to be ready for whatever he had planned.

As I adjusted my gear, concealing a few more small weapons—just in case—I heard the distant sound of footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. My heart rate picked up, but I forced myself to stay calm. This is it.

The door at the far end of the training hall creaked open, and there he was. Yuujiro walked in with the kind of presence that made everything else in the room shrink. Behind him, Emi followed silently, her expression unreadable. She stood slightly behind him, almost in his shadow, but there was something different about her today—an edge of tension in her posture, as if she was bracing herself for what was about to happen.

Yuujiro's eyes locked onto me immediately, his gaze piercing through the room like a predator sizing up its prey. There was no warmth in his stare—just cold, calculating interest. His lips curled into a slight smirk as he took in my stance, my readiness. "Seems like you're ready," he said, his voice deep and commanding. He glanced briefly at Emi before continuing, "I'll see if you're as strong as she claims."

The weight of his words pressed down on me. This wasn't a casual observation. This was a test. Everything I had trained for, every grueling hour of practice, had led to this moment. And despite the pressure, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of defiance rise in me. I wasn't the same as I was last time. I wasn't the panicked child, flailing in fear.

This time, I was ready.

"You'll be surprised," I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could. There was no sarcasm this time—just the quiet confidence of someone who had endured more than anyone had expected. Someone who had trained, bled, and pushed beyond the limits they once thought possible.

Yuujiro's smirk didn't fade, but something shifted in his eyes. It was subtle, but I could tell he was assessing me, trying to gauge whether I was worth his time or just another disappointment. He took a step forward, and the air in the room seemed to thicken, making it harder to breathe.

"Good," he said, his voice almost a growl. "Then let's see if that mouth of yours matches your strength."

His eyes flicked down to the floor mat, and for a moment, I could feel the tension rise. This was it. My muscles tensed, ready for whatever came next. I didn't know if he would strike first or if he expected me to make the first move, but one thing was certain: this wasn't going to be like any fight I had experienced before.

As the silence stretched, my mind raced. Should I wait for him to attack? Should I strike first, using the weapons I had concealed? Motobe's lessons echoed in my mind. Take every chance you have to win. The shuriken hidden in my sleeve felt heavier now, a reminder of the stakes.

I didn't expect to win. That wasn't the point. But I needed to show him that I wasn't weak, that I wasn't going to crumble like the child he saw last time. I needed to show him that I was worth something—that I had the strength, the resolve, to stand against him, even if just for a moment.

I could feel Emi's eyes on me, watching from the sidelines. I wondered what she was thinking—whether she was proud of how far I'd come, or if she was just as nervous as I was. But it didn't matter. This wasn't about her. This was about me and Yuujiro.

The silence between us grew heavier, and I knew the time for hesitation was over. My body tensed, every muscle ready to react.

This was the moment.

I struck first.

I knew I wouldn't win—not against Yuujiro—but I wasn't going to go down without making him feel it. I moved in quickly, deciding to get in close where I had a chance. Aikido. I knew it wasn't a conventional choice, but it was a technique I had been honing under Shibukawa's watchful eye. The thought crossed my mind—maybe I could pull off a throw, even against someone as colossal as Yujiro. But Shibukawa's teachings didn't exactly account for the fact that my father was nearly twice my size, and the reality of that became evident the second I reached for his knee.

I grabbed hold of his leg, twisting my body as I initiated the throw. And for a brief, fleeting moment, it worked. I felt the shift in weight, the leverage of Aikido doing its job as Yuujiro's body lifted off the ground, flipping in midair. My heart surged with the smallest hint of hope.

But then it all came crashing down—literally.

Mid-flip, Yuujiro seemed to almost lazily adjust himself, using the very momentum of my throw against me. His massive leg snapped out like a coiled viper, catching me squarely in the chest. I didn't even have time to brace myself. My body was sent hurtling through the air, the sheer force of his kick sending me flying toward the wall like a ragdoll. The room blurred as I crashed into it, the impact jarring every bone in my body.

I hit the ground hard, my breath knocked out of me in an instant. Everything hurt. My chest, my ribs—everything throbbed with pain, and it took everything I had just to push myself back up on my hands and knees. Yuujiro landed gracefully, almost mockingly so, like what had just happened wasn't even worth his effort. His eyes were locked on me, and I could see the amusement dancing behind them.

"That was surprising," he said, his voice rumbling through the room like thunder. "Aikido. Who trains you?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My lungs were on fire, my ribs aching with every shallow breath I took. I focused on keeping my composure, trying to figure out what to do next. I knew it wasn't over—not by a long shot. Yuujiro hadn't even started taking me seriously yet. This was all just play to him.

I glanced to my side and noticed I had landed near the weapons rack. Perfect. My fingers curled around the hilt of a short sword, its cold metal reassuring in my hand. I didn't hesitate. Pushing myself off the floor, I charged him again, this time with the weapon raised. My mind raced as I closed the distance between us. Aim for the neck. If I could land a solid hit there, maybe—just maybe—I could force him to acknowledge me.

I leaped into the air, bringing the sword down with every ounce of strength I had left, aiming for the vulnerable spot at the side of his neck. But Yuujiro didn't flinch. He didn't even move. His arm shot up, and in a split second, he caught the blade with one hand, stopping my attack cold. I could feel the resistance, my muscles straining as I pressed down with everything I had, but his hand didn't budge. The sharp edge of the sword gleamed in the light, mere inches from his skin, yet it might as well have been a mile away.

And then, with a single brutal motion, he slammed me to the ground. The impact knocked the air out of me again, the sword still gripped tightly in his hand, completely under his control. I was pinned beneath him, his body looming over mine like a mountain ready to crush me. He looked down at me, his attention already shifting as if he was about to say something dismissive, some cutting remark that would remind me how utterly outclassed I was.

But that was when I saw my chance.

While his focus was elsewhere, my hand slid up the sleeve of my training gear, fingers finding the cold steel of the hidden shuriken. Motobe's voice echoed in my mind: "Use every advantage. There are no rules in real combat." This was my chance. I didn't hesitate. In a single, swift movement, I pulled the shuriken free and flung it toward his most vulnerable spot—his groin.

It was the only opening I had.

The shuriken flew from my hand, aimed precisely where I intended. For a split second, I thought I might actually hit him. Yuujiro's eyes were still locked on my face, his focus on whatever he was about to say. He didn't see it coming.

But then, at the last possible moment, something changed. His eyes flicked downward, his body tensed, and in a movement so fast it almost didn't seem real, he dodged. It was like he had teleported, his body shifting out of the way so effortlessly that I barely registered what had happened. One moment, the shuriken was Centimeters from its target, and the next, Yuujiro was standing a few feet away, untouched.

I didn't even have time to process it before everything went black. His next strike—so fast I couldn't even see it—hit me square in the head, and I felt the world spin around me as consciousness slipped away. My body crumpled to the floor, limp, as the last thing I heard was his voice, cold and amused, echoing through the darkness.