After delivering the final blow that sent the Taekwondo Master flying through multiple walls, Kento didn’t leave immediately.
He casually dragged an intact wooden chair into the center of the ruined dojo, sat down with his legs crossed, and coldly watched the terrified, trembling disciples frantically support their master into the back room to bandage his wounds.
Watching the crowd avoid his gaze as if he were a literal monster, Kento tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest and spoke in a flat tone:
— “The strongest guy here is down.
Now, it’s your turn to teach me Taekwondo, isn’t it?”
The disciples’ faces were completely drained of color.
One of them stammered:
— “Y-yes!
Please calm your anger, boss!
But our master is incapacitated, and there is no one left here qualified to teach you…”
Kento’s gaze darkened, the white Sophion aura around his body rippling slightly:
— “You are his disciples; don’t tell me you don’t even know the basic forms?
Take turns demonstrating them for me, or should I personally snap every single neck in this room, hmm?”
— “Y-yes, yes!
Please calm down, don’t snap our necks!” A quick-witted disciple scrambled forward, pulling a luxurious cigarette case from his pocket and offering it with trembling hands.
“Do…
do you smoke, sir?
Please have one to cool off!”
Kento stared at the slender cigarette in the boy’s hand, raising an eyebrow.
He had never touched such a thing back at the convent.
— “How does this work?” Kento asked.
The disciple hurriedly produced a lighter, demonstrating and carefully instructing Kento on how to inhale and exhale the smoke.
Kento mimicked him, lighting it and taking a deep drag.
A sharp, bitter sensation hit his throat and nose, but the formidable internal Sophion energy within his body immediately neutralized the toxins in a fraction of a second.
Kento exhaled a cloud of white smoke, his expression completely unchanged, and remarked dryly:
— “It’s nothing special.
Quite average.”
He held the burning cigarette between two fingers, a cold glint in his eyes:
— “Now then…
shall we begin?”
— “Yes, yes, we’ll demonstrate right away!”
The terrified disciples scattered across the floor, frantically executing Taekwondo forms, spinning kicks, and signature axe kicks from basic to advanced levels for the “White Oni” to observe.
The Stench of the New World
Meanwhile, at the small burger joint on the bustling street corner, Shin and Ling Mo had donned their employee uniforms and begun their shift.
DING DONG…
The door chime rang as a couple entered.
Shin looked up.
The man wore a breezy, summer-style coconut-tree patterned outfit, while the girl, sporting stunning ash-platinum hair, was eating a popsicle.
They casually chose a corner table and ordered two large hamburgers.
Ling Mo swiftly prepared the food and personally served it to their table.
After serving them, Shin rested his chin on the cash register, looking out at the sparsely populated street outside, and sighed deeply:
— “Sigh…
This is so boring.
When the boss mentioned it this morning, I thought we’d be packed, but there’s barely anyone passing by.
I’ve been yawning my jaw off.”
Wiping down the kitchen counter, Ling Mo tilted his head and replied:
— “It is what it is.
What can you do?”
Before the atmosphere could succumb to absolute boredom, the diner doors were violently shoved open.
A group of aggressive, leather-jacket-clad men reeking of street gang vibes swaggered in.
They commandeered a large table, slamming their hands down and loudly ordering four burgers.
Shin and Ling Mo prepared the food while paying attention to the loud, vulgar conversation of the gang.
The leader kicked his feet up on a chair, spitting on the floor and grumbling:
— “Man, everywhere you look in this capital city, it’s crawling with inferior migrant races from other planets.
A lackey beside him laughed obnoxiously, chiming in:
— “But you gotta admit, boss, those Fox and Cat Beastmen girls look pretty damn good, right?
Too bad the slave traders at the black market are extorting us.
Asking for 350 Sophion Coins a head for those freaks is straight-up robbery!”
— “Hahaha!
Well, they’re only good for us to play around with anyway.” The leader smirked triumphantly.
“Half-breeds are definitely higher quality, but their social standing is higher than pure alien races, and they have city laws protecting them.
Messing with them is a hassle.”
Taking a bite of his burger, a second lackey asked curiously:
— “By the way, boss, how exactly does the hierarchy in this federation work?
You’ve been here the longest, you must know!”
The leader puffed out his chest arrogantly:
— “Status in this world is heavily stratified into many layers.
But remember this: Pure-blooded humans like us sit at the absolute top; we are the supreme ruling class!
Half-breeds are a step below.
As for those alien races from other worlds?
They’re no different from livestock or slaves.
Humanity has completely conquered this universe because only humans can perfectly control Sophion energy!”
With that, he stood up, threw a wad of cash onto the table, and shouted:
— “Alright, we’re done eating, let’s roll!
Cashier, keep the change!”
As they headed for the door, the first lackey slyly whispered into the leader’s ear:
— “Boss, this afternoon I saw a really fresh alien girl brought into the black market.
You should buy her tonight!”
— “Hahaha!
Good idea, let’s go check her out later.
After I’m done with her, I’ll pass her down to you guys!” Their lecherous laughter echoed before fading behind the closed doors.
Shin and Ling Mo stood behind the counter, witnessing the entire exchange.
Shin’s eyes darkened, his fists clenching tightly.
He turned to Ling Mo, speaking in a low tone:
— “This new world…
the stench of racism is suffocating.
Oppression, exploitation, and the cheapening of life are rampant…
Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Ling Mo?”
Pausing his wiping, Ling Mo stared deeply into the night, replying softly:
— “I don’t know…
But that is the law of this world.
The strong devour the weak.”
Shortly after, the strange couple in the corner quietly finished their meal, paid, and left.
The hamburger joint returned to its oppressive silence.
Shin and Ling Mo resumed their work, but within their minds, the seeds of a future rebellion had already begun to take root.
The Black Market Proposition
Back at the Taekwondo dojo, after over two hours of grueling demonstration, the exhausted, sweat-drenched disciples collapsed onto the floor.
One disciple swallowed hard, looking at Kento in pure awe:
— “I have to admit…
your learning speed is completely absurd!
In no time at all, you’ve perfectly grasped and executed every single Taekwondo kicking technique and footwork!
You are a literal monster…”
Casually flicking his dead cigarette onto the ground, Kento asked:
— “Are there any other dojos around this capital sector?”
— “Yes, tons of them!
But…
why do you ask?” the disciple inquired timidly.
Kento turned around, his eyes as sharp as razors:
— “To sweep through and challenge every single one of them, obviously.”
At that moment, the Taekwondo Master, wrapped entirely in bandages like an Egyptian mummy, was slowly wheeled out by another disciple.
Kento looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow:
— “I didn’t think I hit you that hard earlier.
How did you end up looking like this?”
The master coughed awkwardly, forcing a bitter smile:
— “Cough…
Forgive me, young friend.
My old bones are simply too frail.
But I must admit, you learn incredibly fast!
If I’m not mistaken, you are a once-in-a-millennium genius when it comes to close-quarters combat and technique replication!”
— “Thanks for the compliment,” Kento accepted flatly.
“Today, I’m going to challenge and absorb every martial art in this city.
While I’m at it, I need to make some money; our monthly rent isn’t cheap.”
Hearing this, the master’s eyes lit up.
He leaned in and whispered:
— “With your terrifying combat prowess, the fastest and most lucrative place to make money is the Black Market, specifically by entering the Underground Arena!
Dojo masters, hardened fighters, and ultra-wealthy spectators go there to watch and bet massive sums of Sophion Coins.”
Kento’s eyes shifted:
— “Old man, where is this place?”
— “Just come back to my dojo tonight.” The master patted his cast-bound leg.
“My disciples and I will take you there personally.
By sheer coincidence, our dojo has a scheduled blood-match against a Karate Dojo at the underground arena tonight!
Care to join?”
A cold, thrilled smirk curled onto Kento’s lips:
— “Sounds interesting.
Then we’ll meet tonight.
Right now, I need to go challenge other places and steal their techniques.
My quota for today…
I must completely master: Muay Thai, Capoeira, Kickboxing, and Lethwei!”
With that, his black-haired silhouette decisively turned and vanished into the alleyways, beginning his brutal technique-hunting crusade.
Forging the Foundation
While her three older brothers were busy with fights and making a living, in an academic district of the capital, young Loona was strolling alone through one of the sector’s largest bookstores.
Her wise eyes sparkled as she stood before massive shelves packed with classified manuals.
Loona didn’t pick up ordinary novels or history books; she decisively pulled out the most advanced, in-depth texts across various fields: Micro-Sophion Structural Analysis, Weaponry Crafting and Modification, and Spatial Quantum Mechanics.
After paying with her meager Sophion Coins, she eagerly hugged the precious stack of books to her chest, walking briskly back to the small rented apartment of the four siblings.
A genius mind in logistics and technology was gradually being forged to serve as the launchpad for the Zero Horizon empire!
The Next Target
The moment the heavy doors of the Muay Thai Dojo were pushed open, the distinct, pungent scent of hot liniment oil assaulted the senses.
The oppressive atmosphere was filled with aggressive grunts and the dry thud!
thud!
of shins repeatedly smashing into thick heavy bags.
All the fighters—boasting chiseled, stone-like musculature and hands wrapped in dark hemp ropes—halted their movements simultaneously.
The sharp, bloodthirsty gazes of actual combatants zeroed in on the intruder.
Ignoring the gunpowder-thick tension, Kento casually strolled into the center of the training mat.
His deep, faded black eyes swept over the tightly conditioned waists and heavily scarred bodies of the crowd.
He then broke the silence, his flat, arrogant tone ringing clearly:
— “Who is the strongest guy here?
And…
do any of you have a cigarette?”
END OF CHAPTER 22