Chapter 30: Silver Soul (Cosmic Arc)

Standing in the vast arena, Take Kokura felt as if the world was toying with her—she had wanted to escape, yet here she was, dragged into a fight. Gutillo had many illicit businesses under his belt, among them a large arena dedicated to gambling. Every day, hordes of gamblers would flock there, placing bets as they watched the matches. Gutillo thought that if he could broadcast the fight between Kamui and Take Kokura, he would surely make a fortune. But that was only a fantasy—he still didn’t dare offend Kamui.

And so, Kamui and Take Kokura were led into an empty arena, with only the Yato and Gutillo’s followers as spectators.

Take Kokura slipped off her high heels and changed into a light athletic outfit; the cocktail dress she’d worn just before was far too revealing, and she feared it would tear if she moved too vigorously.

The moment she stepped into the ring, under the glare of the lights, Take Kokura pictured Kamui across from her as her enemy. In truth, he was exactly that.

A fighting spirit surged within her, reminiscent of her days on the battlefield during the War of Restoration—she braced herself, on full alert, a fierce, violent intent welling up from deep inside.

Kamui noticed the shift in her demeanor. Sensitive to his opponents’ moods, he grinned even wider at the sight of this bloodthirsty aura. Yes, this was how it should be—this was the kind of atmosphere that sent his blood racing.

Abuto lounged in the stands, watching the two in the ring. On one side was his captain; on the other, the young woman he’d met at a restaurant. Honestly, he hadn’t expected these two to end up fighting each other. He blinked his sore eyes, and as soon as he opened them again, the bout had begun.

Kamui and Take Kokura moved at the same instant. Take Kokura swept a roundhouse kick at Kamui’s legs, aiming to knock him down, but he nimbly dodged with a leap. Kamui’s fists, palms curled tight, darted toward her, and Take Kokura spun to block the attack.

So strong! That was her impression of Kamui’s power. Apart from Gin-san, she had never encountered anyone whose strength matched her own—and this boy was even younger than she was.

The world was vast, the universe vaster still, and within its endless expanse, there were countless masters. Kamui was among the best of them; otherwise, he could never have become the Seventh Division Captain of the Harusame at such a young age.

Kamui was elated—thrilled, even. Take Kokura’s performance exceeded his expectations—she was stronger than he had imagined. The more excited he became, the fiercer his attacks grew.

“Is everyone on Earth as strong as you?” Kamui asked during a brief lull in the fight.

“There are plenty stronger than me,” Take Kokura replied, thinking of Gin-san, the Governor, and even Kintoki—they were all formidable in her eyes.

“Oh, Earthlings are fascinating. You’ve really broadened my horizons, Earth girl.” With that, Kamui landed a punch that sent Take Kokura flying before she could react.

She crashed hard into the guardrail, and before she could get to her feet, Kamui was on her again. Take Kokura quickly rolled aside, narrowly avoiding his kick.

“Our captain really doesn’t go easy on women, does he?” one of the Yato remarked, unable to help himself after watching Kamui’s relentless assault.

“Heh, that’s not how our captain is. To him, if you’re strong, gender doesn’t matter—he’ll attack you all the same,” Abuto replied. “That’s why our captain is really a rather unromantic man.”

Meanwhile, Kamui, the subject of these complaints, was gleefully trading blows with Take Kokura.

Take Kokura was feeling utterly exasperated inside. She had just discovered something: her opponent was cheating outrageously. After careful observation, she realized that the wounds she inflicted on Kamui healed at a rate visible to the naked eye.

Unfair—completely unfair. Take Kokura’s own recovery speed was impressive, but compared to Kamui’s, she was still slower. However, she did notice one advantage: her strength surpassed his.

Kamui’s edge lay in his speed and his extraordinary regenerative capacity.

Bang! Take Kokura threw a punch at Kamui, but he dodged, and her fist smashed a massive crater into the stone floor.

At this, Kamui’s cowlick twitched, and he let out a whistle.

Up in the stands, Gutillo’s heart bled—those floor tiles were a costly composite of cosmic cockroach shell and reinforced steel, yet Take Kokura had broken them so easily! Not that anyone cared about his feelings; the two destroyers in the ring were still going at it, and the Yato on the sidelines were growing ever more excited—the fight was rekindling their own battle lust.

Yato were born for combat, and Kamui was the most qualified Yato of them all.

As for Take Kokura, half Oni-shari, half Earthling—a hybrid by fate—she had somehow become the chief of the now-extinct Oni-shari clan.

Yato against the Oni-shari chief—the fight was deadlocked.

And Kamui wasn’t the only one exhilarated; Take Kokura, too, found herself thrilled by the chance to meet her match in combat.

Their duel grew ever more intense, their speed so great that the audience could barely follow their movements.

Holes pocked the floor, the ceiling, even the spectator stands—everywhere their battle raged. Gutillo was frozen in place with horror. Beside him, Abuto muttered, “Good thing they’re not fighting out on the street, or the destruction would be even worse.”

Just then, Take Kokura landed a flying kick to Kamui’s stomach, sending him rolling. She seized the chance to leap onto his torso and rained punches down on his face.

The thuds of fist on bone echoed harshly; Kamui’s head snapped from side to side under her blows, his braid beginning to come loose.

But as Take Kokura was enjoying her barrage, Kamui suddenly flexed his waist, bent, and sprang up from the ground, tossing her off him.

By now, both fighters were in a sorry state. Take Kokura’s hair had been sheared off in places by Kamui; her jacket was in tatters, one side of her face smeared with blood from a nosebleed, and one eye was blackened.

Kamui’s braid had unraveled, his hair standing on end, one sleeve of his cheongsam torn off to reveal a scarred, snowy-white arm, and his face bore two bruised, swollen black eyes and a puffy cheek, making him look like a pig’s head. Yet he was still smiling, apparently delighted.

“Captain Kamui is truly a fascinating person!” Gutillo exclaimed with genuine admiration at the sight.

Abuto could only sigh at his captain’s thoroughly battered yet gleeful face—this was Kamui through and through: the tougher the opponent, the happier he became.

He also noticed that Take Kokura was just as ruthless as Kamui—she always aimed for the face, while Kamui went for the body.

The two launched themselves at each other again. Take Kokura grabbed Kamui’s shirt and hurled him across the ring. As she prepared to follow up with a kick, Kamui caught her ankle and swept her off her feet.

He seized both her legs, spun her 360 degrees in the air, and flung her into the stands, where she crashed through rows of seats before coming to a stop.

Now Take Kokura’s face was a bloody mess. She pushed aside the broken chairs and climbed to her feet, her anger flaring as she saw Kamui still standing there with that swollen, piggish face, smiling at her.

This was the first time she’d ever been beaten so badly. Kamui—she would remember that name. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d beaten him so thoroughly he’d be picking his teeth off the floor.

Kamui was even more delighted as he watched her scramble up from the audience. He relished having an opponent who refused to yield, no matter what.

Seeing the look in Kamui’s eyes—“Ready for another round?”—Take Kokura’s fury was stoked anew. She leapt down from the stands, back into the arena.

“You’re the first to have ever beaten me up this badly,” she told Kamui.

“And you’re the first to have ever smashed my face like this,” Kamui replied, his words somewhat slurred from his swollen cheeks, though his tone remained gentle.

Of all Kamui’s many opponents, Take Kokura was the first to fight him for this long and specifically target his face. His bald old man and the Night King Housen both pummeled his body directly and put him down with sheer force. Since Kamui had learned from them, he mostly aimed at his opponents’ bodies, but Take Kokura struck everywhere, especially his face.

“Your face just made me so angry,” Take Kokura retorted, though in truth, she’d started targeting his face after he’d given her a nosebleed.

“I rather admire you,” Kamui said with a cheerful smile, though with his piglike face, it looked rather unsettling.

They clashed again.

“Never thought that little girl could beat the captain up like this,” Abuto remarked, rubbing his chin, privately pleased to see the captain’s woman-wooing face battered by a girl.

Take Kokura had been forced to fight back by Kamui’s relentless assault. At first, she’d been on the defensive, but she was the sort to become stronger the greater the challenge. As the fight went on, she began to retaliate in earnest. As the Oni-shari chief, she was tough and resilient, and her experience and strength only grew with each bout.

When Take Kokura’s face was struck again, she paused, glancing at Kamui’s smiling, swollen features. This guy—he was getting his revenge, wasn’t he?

Sure enough, Kamui landed another punch to her face, and Take Kokura felt her nose start bleeding again.

As Kamui threw yet another punch at her face, Take Kokura countered with a headbutt to his stomach, making him stagger backward. She pounced, pinning his legs with her own and forcing both his arms over his head with one hand.

With her panda eyes narrowed from Kamui’s blows, she gently patted his cheek with her free hand—then unleashed her “black-and-blue fist” with full force!

Watching their captain pinned to the ground and pummeled, Abuto’s secret satisfaction grew even greater.

Captain, next time, don’t go around hitting girls in the face—girls’ faces are off-limits!