Yamada's evil expression was permanently etched upon his face as his arms swung down, force exploding from his muscles as his baton inched closer to Suzuki's face. Kamakura Kempo: Suishin, 鎌倉拳法: 推進 (Kamakura Style: DRIVE) With no hesitation in his movements, Suzuki advanced forward. His body swayed as he moved, his rear leg supplying balance while his attacking leg trembled in the air, trying to root itself on the ground. His rear leg propelled his body forward, and once his motion had begun, Suzuki's attacking leg planted itself securely, adding propulsion to his advance. This guy, Suzuki Nakamura, is truly an idiot!! Yamada grinned as thoughts swirled in his mind. Is his plan just to launch himself into my baton?!
Yamada scoffed at Suzuki's seemingly idiotic actions, his egotistical smirk widening further. The root of Yamada's assumption about Suzuki's lack of battle intelligence was the apparent recklessness of charging forward without a clear attack. But as the milliseconds wavered against the unrelenting train of time, Yamada's smirk faded. His eyes widened, pupils bulging in shock at the sight before him.
"Gotcha," Suzuki's fist crashed against Yamada's cheek, causing his entire neck to twist furiously. Veins bulged and throbbed throughout Suzuki's arm as crimson blood pumped through it with raw intensity. When the hell did he throw that punch?! Yamada screamed in his mind, desperately scavenging his memory to recall when the attack had been launched. The realization hit him with grim clarity. Oh…
The punch had always been coming; it had been thrown the very second Suzuki lunged forward. But Yamada's dull perception had been too slow to register it.
"Who's the dumbass now?" Suzuki spoke with arrogant confidence.
"It's still you. Taking a hit so you can get one off doesn't make you any smarter, baldy." Yamada's cheeky grin returned to his face. Despite the powerful strike, Suzuki had not avoided Yamada's baton. It had struck squarely against his nose. Yet, Suzuki smiled—a wicked, unhinged smile filled with the clear thirst for an intense fight.
"He's like an animal," Yoko murmured, her voice trembling as dread surged through her body. The insane, bewildered smile on Suzuki's face left her deeply unsettled.
"No, more like a beast, awaiting its prey to resist its imminent death," Satoshi said, his eyes locked on the battle. "But…Yamada isn't prey. Look closer, and you'll see."
Yoko strained her eyes, focusing on the battle and searching for what Satoshi meant.
Yamada's baton was buried deep into Suzuki's nose, just as Yamada's cheek contoured around Suzuki's fist. Both men stood in silence, waiting for the other to act. Then—three imperceptible strikes erupted from Yamada. His baton snapped toward Suzuki's neck, liver, and chest in rapid succession. Yamada's arm whipped and curved, moving with such fluid precision that the baton seemed an extension of his own body. CRACK, CRACK, CRACK. Suzuki's body bruised under the relentless blows, unable to block at such close range.
"Yoko, can you see it now? They're equals. Two beasts forged from the same jungle," Satoshi said, a smile creeping onto his face. This is the future of Japan's Police. Mr. Nakamura, you raised one crazy kid.
Stunned by the flurry of strikes, Suzuki stumbled back while Yamada leaped away, his slim frame gliding through the air until his police boots gripped the floor, stopping his momentum. Yamada stood silently, no thoughts, no words—just an overwhelming focus on the pillar before him. That pillar was Suzuki Nakamura.
For a brief moment, Yamada raised his baton and pointed it at Suzuki. His expression turned blank, his eyes devoid of emotion. A suffocating pressure filled the space around him as if Yamada had transformed into someone—or something—else.
He exhaled deeply, expelling every bit of air from his lungs before inhaling sharply, his chest expanding as he filled his lungs with oxygen. His legs spread apart, creating distance between them. Yamada's hands tightened around his baton as he raised it above his head, bending his arms so that most of the baton was behind his back. Satoshi observed intently.
"Hasso No Kamae. Interesting…" he muttered.
"What's…that?" Yoko asked, still confused but slightly less fearful.
"It's one of the five stances of Kendo. Though there are errors in his stance," Satoshi explained. "Normally, the practitioner's feet would be closer together, and the blade wouldn't be positioned so far along the back." His eyes remained fixed on the fight.
"So, you're saying Yamada isn't really skilled in Kendo?" Yoko asked.
Satoshi shook his head. "That's not what I said. Normally, that would be the case. But the stance Yamada has presented to us allows him to generate more force than an average strike. Resulting in…"
"A devastating blow to Suzuki," Yoko interrupted, the realization dawning on her.
Suzuki observed Yamada's stance, his deranged smile unchanged. He felt his cells vibrating, every atom in his body brimming with anticipation. His pride had started this fight, but now it continued purely for the thrill of battle. In this state, Suzuki Nakamura ceased to exist. What remained was the Mad Dog of Shinjuku.
Suzuki lowered his body, swaying in a consistent rhythm. His rear leg bent, his front leg slightly straightened. His arms tucked to his sides, fists clenched tightly.
"You're not the only one with a stance, fucker," Suzuki growled, insanity dripping from his every word. His eyes scanned Yamada, waiting for him to make a move. The two, now polar opposites, stood ready for the true battle to begin.
"Stop all that talking and do something, dumbass," Yamada said, his tone calm yet laced with subtle arrogance. He resisted the urge to smirk, maintaining his stoic demeanor.
Without hesitation, Suzuki launched forward, his front leg digging into the ground for maximum propulsion. Yamada followed suit, his spread legs narrowing as he surged forward. Within an instant, they were within arm's reach. Suzuki's fist flew forward, malice radiating from his being as he let out a small cackle. Meanwhile, Yamada's baton swung from behind his head, cutting through the air in a wide arc.
Both their strikes were mere inches away from each other.
Tsukuyomi Kendo: Mikazuki, 月読剣道: 三日月 (Tsukuyomi Sword Style: CRESCENT MOON)
Kamakura Kempo: Suishin, 鎌倉拳法: 推進 (Kamakura Style: DRIVE)
"THEY'RE GONNA COLLIDE!!"