8:00 PM
Sunset Beachside.
Ryōdō Junichi. Twenty-seven. One hundred ninety-five pounds; five foot ten. Second but truthfully first disciple to Kuroki “Devil Lance” Gensai, there was not the “Superhuman” but the “Devil Arbor,” Ryōdō Junichi. A karateka his entire life, he was taken in under the master assassin’s tutelage in his teenage years, only brought back into the world of active martialism in the recent years of his twenties.
A Japanese wolf-man with red hues under his eyes and a tense gaze, his fluffed tail wooshed in the cool beach air, his body shadowed by the skyline of bleeding blues, purples, and pink hues.
Too many onlookers, Ryodo thought, but still persisted. A fight was arranged on the beachside. This was his chance to prove to Gensai-sensei… everything!
Perking his ears at the calling on the sunset beachside as he prepared to fight, Junichi’s eyes narrowed; having taken off his shoes, the Devil Arbor had on only a white wife beater, black saggy pants held up by a black belt cloth, and black weighted wristbands. Soon after, the assassin karateka wolf-man would casually raise his hands; then he would drop them, plowing into the sand! That was twenty kilos he walked around with each arm on—he just dropped them like they weighed almost nothing!
Only then, and in that then, did Ryōdō assumed a stance, slanted and deepened in footing; one palm upward in orbit of his stomach, and the other set long and sturdy outward, palm extended and facing his snout.
KAIWAN STYLE.
“…Come,” the Devil Arbor of the underground world coldly ordered, only speaking curt words of degradation to dwindle away at what his opponents would see last…