061 Bisky Has Found a Good Student

Hearing these words, Thatcher's pupils shrank, and his face darkened, gripping the slender sword tightly.

For all martial arts disciplines, Shingen-ryu has always been the towering mountain looming over them, casting a long shadow. Even with his strength, as formidable as it was, a common saying remained unchanged in the martial arts world: "There are only two martial arts: Shingen-ryu, and everything else."

Thatcher had fought so hard to unite the Subai school and even entered the Battle Olympia to completely defeat the Nan users—all with the hope of standing shoulder to shoulder with Shingen-ryu. But now, discovering that his lifelong rival, someone of equal status to him as a Floor Master, was a disciple of Shingen-ryu, how could he not feel both anger and despair? It made him question if all his efforts were just a cruel joke.

"A Shingen-ryu disciple... Are you mocking me?" Thatcher suppressed his rage, speaking through gritted teeth.

"I'm not mocking you," Ronnel said, shaking his head. "I just want Mr. Thatcher to understand."

"Understand?" Thatcher let out an angry laugh, raising his sword. "Isn't this humiliation enough?"

As Thatcher pointed his sword toward Ronnel, Ronnel remained calm, continuing,

"In this battle, you cannot be my equal, and I will not hold back. You're not like other Floor Masters who lack a martial art. According to the rules of our disciplines, when two practitioners face each other in a formal duel to the death, they must announce their origin first."

Thatcher's rage subsided slightly as he came to his senses.

Centuries ago, martial arts schools constantly competed to prove their superiority. To spread their school's fame, fighters would declare their style before each match. Over time, and with the advent of more modern means of self-promotion, the tradition had waned, and it was no longer required unless it was a battle to the death.

Momentarily blinded by anger, Thatcher had forgotten this ancient rule. He realized Ronnel wasn't humiliating him—Ronnel's declaration was not only proper but respectful.

Realizing this, much of Thatcher's fury dissipated, though his gaze toward Ronnel remained complicated.

"Subai, the leader of Subai school, Thatcher," Thatcher said, taking up the formal stance of his discipline in preparation for battle, adhering to the old custom.

Around the arena, loudspeakers broadcast their words, and even in the raucous atmosphere of the Heavens Arena, every audience member could hear them clearly.

When Ronnel revealed that he was a disciple of Shingen-ryu, the audience erupted in excitement.

"It's happening! It's happening! Let's go!!"

In the live broadcast room, the Chairman's face lit up with joy as the ratings soared.

In a reception room within Heavens Arena, Netero paused mid-sip of tea, grinning as he stroked his beard.

"Bisky has found a good studdent~~~" he mused.

Even someone as powerful as Netero felt a sense of pride and relief when he saw his martial legacy passed on to worthy students. And for Wing, watching in the audience, the pride was palpable.

"Did you see that, Zushi?! As a disciple of Shingen-ryu, you must boldly demonstrate the strength of our art in the arena!"

"Yes, master Wing!"

"I don't ask for much. Just follow in your uncle's footsteps. As long as you can stand equal with the masters of these disciplines and face them as a peer, I will be content."

"Yes, master Wing!!!"

Meanwhile, Bisky watched with amusement as her confident companions spoke, shaking her head. Still, as she observed the match below, a rare smile played on her lips.

"That boy sure knows how to bring glory to Shingen-ryu so soon~~~"

Yet, after weighing the skills of Ronnel and Thatcher, Bisky picked up the beauty magazine next to her, knowing the outcome of this battle before it even began.

"What's a Shingen-ryu?" Uvogin muttered, lazily cleaning his ear as he watched the match on TV. His question earned a bored glance from Nobunaga beside him.

"It's just a style, don't worry about it. Focus on the fight."

"Oh~"

On the arena floor, Ronnel and Thatcher had already assumed their stances. The battle horn sounded, signaling the start of their duel.

Thatcher, unable to suppress his frustration, charged first. His sword moved swiftly, aiming for Ronnel's chest.

Clang!

The powerful blow was easily parried by Ronnel.

"This is…"

Thatcher's eyes widened in shock as he noticed the weapon in Ronnel's hand—an ancient copper saber

suddenly materialized, covered in elastic paper.

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