In the judo club's activity room, two groups stood in tense opposition. On one side were hundreds of students, their white martial arts uniforms lending them an air of discipline. On the other, only three individuals stood firm, utterly unshaken despite the sheer disparity in numbers—a confidence that clearly stemmed from some advantage.
Indeed, their fearlessness was not without basis. These three were Japanese exchange students, and the school had always extended preferential treatment to foreign students. No matter how often they stirred up trouble or resorted to violence, as long as their actions didn't cross an irreparable line, the school handled them with leniency.
In stark contrast, domestic students weren't afforded the same indulgence. Those who clashed with foreign students, escalating conflicts into physical altercations, were swiftly and harshly punished. Expulsion, demerits—whatever was deemed necessary. The school principal, terrified of diplomatic incidents that might arise if the foreign students complained to their embassy, preferred to err on the side of caution. After all, a single misstep could mean losing his position.
Despite outnumbering the exchange students a hundredfold, the larger group hesitated, unwilling to act recklessly. Meanwhile, the three Japanese students radiated arrogance. One of them, expressionless, stood as the silent pillar of their group, while the other two sneered openly. The shortest of the three was particularly brazen, letting his lecherous gaze linger on the female students in the crowd. Occasionally, he even made provocative gestures, his smirk oozing insolence.
"What's the matter?" he taunted in fluent Mandarin, his voice ringing with mockery. "In a country this big, is there truly no one who can rival the warriors of the Great Japanese Empire?"
The crowd bristled. At last, one student couldn't hold back, stepping forward to point at the short man and shout, "Liu Chong, you're nothing but a beast! Instead of being a decent human being, you choose to be someone else's dog. You've disgraced your ancestors!"
"Silence!" the short man snarled, his eyes flashing with menace. "I am now a proud citizen of the Great Japanese Empire. What do I have to do with those so-called ancestors of yours? And for your information, my name is Takeda Sancun, not Liu Chong!"
This declaration stunned the crowd. It was hard to believe such shamelessness existed in the world. No—calling him human was a mistake. He was an animal. The hundreds of students who glared at him did so with a murderous intensity, as if contemplating how best to roast and feast on his despicable hide.
Someone in the crowd offered a suggestion, his tone dripping with sarcasm: "Takeda Sancun? Three-inch dwarf, withered bark. Why not drop the 'field' from your name and just call yourself Wu Sancun instead?" The curse was venomous, implying that his wife might soon bear the child of another man, only to meet a tragic end in a tale of betrayal and revenge.
Though the deeper meaning of the insult escaped him, the short man knew it was far from flattering. He was about to retort when the sheer number of eyes fixed on him made him reconsider. He couldn't out-talk the crowd with just his lone voice.
His gaze shifted, landing on two men in white martial arts uniforms being tended to by female students. A sinister idea took root in his mind. With a sneer, he jeered, "So, this is the president and vice president of your judo club? A pair of useless weaklings who couldn't withstand even three moves from the warriors of the Great Japanese Empire. You should just crawl home and drink milk!"
"You—" The crowd seethed, but their anger couldn't change the facts. The three strongest members of the judo club had indeed been defeated. Two were gravely injured and unconscious, while the third, a young woman named Shi Qing, had escaped harm only because her opponent had taken a liking to her appearance and held back.
"What? Did I strike a nerve?" The short man smirked. "Let me remind you, judo originated from the Great Japanese Empire. The fact that your country even gets to practice it is already a privilege. And yet, you fail to appreciate our generosity! Here's an official warning: disband your judo club immediately. In three days, we warriors of the Great Japanese Empire will establish our own judo club. You're welcome to join, of course—we'd be delighted to have you!"
He licked his lips as his gaze shifted to Shi Qing, her cold yet stunningly beautiful face framed by her martial arts uniform. With a sickly sweet smile, he added, "Of course, this young lady needn't bother signing up. We've already decided to appoint her as an instructor."
Pausing for effect, he pointed to the slightly taller man beside him, who sported a thin mustache. "This arrangement comes directly from Mr. Oshima Ichiro here!" he said with obsequious reverence.
Shi Qing glanced icily at the man with the mustache. "Not interested."
Her curt dismissal made Oshima's face darken immediately. Unable to articulate his anger in fluent Mandarin, he turned to the short man, urging him to retaliate on his behalf.
The short man nodded repeatedly, placating his superior before turning back to speak. "Is there something the lady is dissatisfied with? You should know, in our Great Japanese Empire, we revere the strong above all else. You witnessed Mr. Oshima's strength just now—he not only defeated you but showed you mercy. Surely, such gallantry stirs even the slightest admiration in you?"
"Strong?" A trace of contempt flickered in Shi Qing's eyes. She conceded that he was indeed stronger than her, but only marginally so. If he ever crossed paths with a certain beast of a teacher, he'd undoubtedly be sent flying with a single kick.
"Has the lady agreed?" The short man misinterpreted her words as acquiescence, his excitement causing him to lose all sense of decorum. "This is wonderful! You see, young lady, Mr. Oshima is not only formidable but also a man of great charm. You should consider getting to know him—perhaps..."
"Perhaps your mother!" A cocky voice interrupted. Shi Qing's face lit up as she turned toward the sound. Even Chu Chu, who had been tearfully tending to her injured cousin, stood up, her tears forgotten.
"Who's there? Come out!" The short man barked irritably, his eyes scanning the direction of the voice. A student stepped through the doorway, his right hand wrapped in thick bandages.
Hundreds of students in martial arts uniforms erupted into jubilant smiles at the sight of the newcomer. Their savior had arrived, and they eagerly anticipated seeing how the three interlopers would meet their end.
Every gaze was alight with a mix of cruelty and satisfaction. Though many bore lingering grudges against this individual for past beatings, those petty resentments were overshadowed by their shared hatred for the invaders. If this person could thoroughly humiliate the Japanese troublemakers, they'd even welcome him back to the judo club with open arms.
The newcomer, of course, was none other than Xiang Ri. He had taken the precaution of tucking a Desert Eagle into his waistband—it was a dangerous time, and he couldn't afford to be unprepared.
"Xiang Kui!" Chu Chu dashed forward and threw herself into his arms.
"I'm here now. Everything's fine," Xiang Ri said gently, patting her shoulder reassuringly. His gaze softened as he looked toward his disciple. "Xiao Qing, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, teacher," Shi Qing replied, a hint of envy flashing in her eyes as she watched Chu Chu nestle in his embrace. If only she could experience such tenderness herself.
"Good, as long as you're unharmed." Confirming his student's safety, Xiang Ri finally turned his attention to the three provocateurs on the mat.
The tallest of the three, standing at around 1.8 meters, had a handsome face framed by long hair tied into a ponytail. While not visibly muscular, his aura suggested he was no ordinary opponent.
To the ponytailed man's left stood a much slighter figure, with ordinary features and a short stature. His arrogant expression was underscored by a small, distinctive mustache—a detail that left an impression despite his otherwise unremarkable appearance. The sight of him stirred a faint reaction in Xiang Ri's mind.
The third man, to the right, was an altogether more pitiful sight. Barely 1.6 meters tall, his wrinkled face and narrow eyes made him resemble an old garment left forgotten in a wardrobe. If the mustachioed man was three parts ghost and seven parts human, then this one was surely the opposite—three parts human and seven parts ghost.
"And who are you?" The shortest man sneered disdainfully, his tone laced with anger.
His irritation stemmed not only from the interruption but also from the evident displeasure of the mustachioed superior beside him. The superior's intentions for the two most stunning women present were clear, but the sudden appearance of this new man had disrupted his plans. One of the women had already thrown herself into the newcomer's arms, while the other appeared to share a subtle rapport with him.
Truthfully, the short man harbored a tinge of jealousy. The new arrival was neither particularly handsome nor fully able-bodied—his right hand was visibly injured. Yet he had somehow captured the favor of both women, a blow to the "pride" of a self-proclaimed citizen of the Great Japanese Empire.
Xiang Ri ignored the short man entirely. Releasing Chu Chu from his arms, he approached Shi Qing and asked, "These people... are they Japanese?" He hesitated for a split second before substituting "Japanese" for the term he originally intended, mindful of Shi Qing's mixed heritage.
"Yes." Shi Qing nodded, her sharp intellect catching the subtle shift in her teacher's words. A faint warmth rose in her chest.
"In that case, there's no need for courtesy." Adjusting his glasses, Xiang Ri strode toward the interlopers with measured steps.