I was worried about Rika suddenly learning about the underworld, but there wasn’t much more I could do, so I parted ways with her at the subway station and returned home.
It was already 8 p.m., but since the lights on the first floor were still on, I entered the shop instead of going straight up to the second floor.
“I’m back.”
My mother, who was clearing the dishes from a table, looked at me and asked.
“Son~ Have you had dinner?”
“I haven’t eaten yet.”
“Then go up, wash up, and come down. I’ll prepare it quickly.”
Instead of nodding at Mrs. Imija’s words, I set my bag down and started helping with clearing the tables.
“Oh my, look at this. I can handle it by myself.”
“It’s faster with the two of us, so why not?”After saying that, I placed all the collected dishes and utensils on a tray.
Unlike other restaurants, our family uses metal spoons and chopsticks, so the tray was quite heavy. But I lifted it with one hand and moved it into the kitchen.
I made brief eye contact with my father, who was rummaging through the refrigerator, and gave him a light nod as a greeting while putting the dishes and utensils in the sink.
“Go outside and rest, Father. It’s almost time for customers to stop coming.”
“No need. There’s still an hour left until closing.”
It was a statement that reflected my father’s business philosophy in a way, so I didn’t argue further.
I put on rubber gloves, applied detergent to the scrubber, and started scrubbing off the grease.
Since I’d been doing this for over three years, ever since I became Kim Yu-seong, the pile of dishes in front of me disappeared quickly.
“Yu-seong, just finish that up. I’ll take care of the rest.”
My mother, who had brought the remaining dishes, said this with an apologetic expression, but I told her it was fine and continued washing.
About 20 minutes had passed since I started battling the dishes.
After putting the clean dishes on the shelf, I took off the gloves and stepped out of the kitchen.
There didn’t seem to be any customers who had arrived in the meantime, as the shop was quiet.
“Go ahead and sit down. I’ll make something delicious for you soon.”
Unable to refuse Mrs. Imija’s request, I sat at a corner table and pulled out my smartphone from my pocket.
There were numerous messenger notifications.
Most of them were from Rika and the members of our group chat.
Having just learned about the underworld today, Rika seemed to have a lot of questions, and she had been asking me various things through messenger.
We had been messaging each other all the way home, but she still seemed full of curiosity.
With a faint smile, I was about to type a reply when I suddenly heard the door open, causing me to stand up reflexively.
“Welcome…?”
“We meet again, boy,” said the man.
“How are you here?!”
“I applied a special scent to you earlier to make it easy to track you.”
Fuma Kotaro tapped his nose as he spoke, then glanced around the shop and grinned.
“Just in time, I was getting hungry. A restaurant, huh? What’s the best dish here?”
In the Sengoku period, Miura Josin, a retainer of the Hojo clan, wrote a detailed description of the appearance of the 5th Fuma Kotaro in his work, Hojo Odai-ki.
[He towered at an incredible 7 feet 2 inches (2.16 meters), with a muscular frame and lumps all over his body. His body was riddled with lumps, his eyes slanted sharply upward, and his mouth stretched wide, exposing four jutting molars. His eyelids opened unnaturally in reverse, and a thick black beard framed his face. His head resembled the rugged texture of a gnarled oak tree, and his nose was strikingly prominent.]
This description was so monstrous that later generations naturally believed it to be exaggerated.
However, looking at the man sitting before me, it didn’t seem like a complete lie.
“Delicious!”
The 17th Fuma Kotaro, sitting in front of me, kept exclaiming as he devoured the rice meal in front of him.
With wild hair like a lion’s mane, striking facial features, thick eyebrows, and a high nose, he looked more like a Westerner.
What was most overwhelming, however, was his height—easily over 2 meters tall.
Even though I’m steadily growing and already 190cm tall, I’ve never been called short, but this man was tall enough to dwarf most basketball players.
His body, trained to the extreme like the Russian “God of Destruction” Ivan, was so well-built that it was noticeable even through the loose hakama he wore.
Even my mother, who was busy bringing food from the kitchen, was momentarily mesmerized by his rippling arm muscles.
“Hey, you!”
Of course, my father, who had a hidden streak of jealousy, caught her and gave her a scolding.
As Fuma Kotaro was deep in his meal, he seemed to notice my gaze and swallowed his food before asking.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
“It’s just that it’s clear you can’t hide your bloodline.”
Senior Fuma may always be struggling with the high cost of living in Tokyo, but when it came to eating, she always looked incredibly happy.
Her father, Fuma Kotaro, didn’t seem to be any different in terms of enjoying his meals.
It was the same food we always ate, but somehow, seeing him eat made it look more delicious.
This father and daughter duo—they might actually become popular if they entered the “mukbang” scene.
“Hmph, you’re saying nonsense.”
Fuma Kotaro snorted dismissively, but despite his gruff words, he seemed in a better mood as he began eating even more enthusiastically.
After finishing what amounted to about five servings, he let out a burp and asked.
“So, aren’t you curious about why I suddenly showed up?”
“If I ask, will you tell me?”
“Of course.”
With a toothpick in his mouth, his answer didn’t seem very sincere, but I asked anyway, half-doubting him.
“Why did you come to see me?”
“Because I’ve recognized you as my successor. I’ve come to pass down Hayate’s ultimate technique.”
“…Ultimate technique?”
I couldn’t help but express my confusion.
It was understandable, since the book I read in Fuma’s village only mentioned seven techniques.
When I brought this up and asked about it, Fuma Kotaro chuckled and replied.
“Of course you wouldn’t know. The ultimate technique of Hayate is something I created on my own.”
“…What?”
I stared at him in disbelief, wondering if this was some kind of nonsense, but his expression was completely shameless.
“As they say, seeing is believing. You’ll understand once you experience it.”
Why it was called the ultimate technique.
After eating the dinner my mother prepared, I told her I would go for a light run to help with digestion and left the house.
In a typical household, a high schooler going out late at night might seem strange, but for me, it was just part of my routine.
Anyway, the place I headed to after telling that small lie to my parents was a park near the residential area.
At such a late hour, the park was deserted, except for the man standing quietly in the distance.
“So, you finally came.”
He stared at me as he spoke, after having had his eyes closed in meditation.
“So, are you going to show me the ultimate technique of Hayate now?”
Fuma Kotaro nodded obediently at my question.
“Of course, that’s the plan. But before that, I want to ask you something.”
“What is it?”
“How much do you know about Hayate?”
It was a somewhat unexpected question.
But I figured it was necessary, so I straightforwardly explained what I knew.
“I heard it’s an assassination technique passed down through the Fuma Clan for generations. It’s a martial art that mimics the natural phenomenon of wind.”
“You only know the surface-level details.”
“They didn’t tell me anything beyond that.”
Hearing my response, Fuma Kotaro gave a small laugh.
“Did you know that the Fuma Clan originally went by the name Kazama?”
“Yes, I know that much.”
“The name Kazama Kotaro was first changed to Fuma Kotaro starting with the 3rd generation Fuma Kotaro.”
It was his achievement that raised the Kazama Clan, which was originally just a small ninja village, to the top tier.
“The 3rd Fuma Kotaro, who was called an unparalleled genius, created two martial arts based on natural phenomena. One is the assassination fist Hayate (Gale), and the other is the assassination sword Jinrai (Thunder).”
The roots of the two martial arts were fundamentally the same.
Since both styles originated from one person.
In other words, mastering one meant that the other would naturally follow.
“If I gave you a sword right now, you’d be able to use Jinrai, even if not perfectly. Similarly, if my daughter Yukika put down her sword, she could use Hayate, albeit imperfectly.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
Fuma Kotaro shrugged his shoulders in response.
“Because this is where the reason for creating my new technique began.”
In his efforts to find a way to defeat Ivan, the GOF’s unrivaled champion, he came up with one idea.
That idea was to combine the two martial arts passed down through the Fuma Clan.
That attempt ended in failure, but it left him with one technique.
“And that’s the technique I’m about to teach you—the ultimate technique of Hayate, called Nagi.”
“Nagi?”
When I absentmindedly repeated the name he spoke, Fuma Kotaro gestured for me to come forward.
“Now, come at me with the intent to kill.”
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