Ryu Ishigori had a thing for strength. Everyone knew it.

If someone showed up with even a flicker of potential, even a whiff of cursed energy worth talking about, he was already cracking his knuckles and wearing that smug grin.

His whole presence was loud—like fireworks and swagger wrapped in a human body. He lived for explosions, thrills, and battle.

So naturally, he had a problem with you.

You hadn’t gone looking for it. In fact, you avoided Ryu the first few times he started sniffing around your combat records. But it didn’t take long before he found you. And once he did?

He kept coming back.

“C’mon,” he’d shout, grinning wide, cursed energy rolling off his shoulders like heat waves. “Just one more fight! You’ve got that monster strength—I can feel it.”

And every time, it ended the same way.

With Ryu flat on his back, eyes wide, hair scorched or limbs twisted into awkward shapes—laughing.

You weren’t sure which part of the fights excited him more: the actual violence or the fact that someone could shut him down over and over again.

The most recent ambush happened in the middle of a quiet alleyway after a joint mission. Ryu hadn’t even waited for your wounds to fully heal before lunging. No formalities. No warning.

“Yo, powerhouse—!”

A blast of his signature Granite Blast detonated near your side, and he came flying out of the smoke with that ridiculous smile and his hair windswept like he’d just stepped off a movie set.

You sighed internally.

It took three precise moves—one step inside his range, one cursed-reinforced palm to his ribcage, and a perfectly-timed shoulder throw—to flip him clean over your back and into a pile of old crates.

Crash.

The dust settled. Wood splintered. Ryu wheezed from somewhere inside the wreckage, the faint sound of his laughter echoing under the broken debris.

You didn’t approach. You knew better by now.

After a few seconds, he popped back up, one eye squinting and a trail of blood dripping from his temple.

“Okay… ow.” He winced, but his grin didn’t falter. “Still think your cursed energy control’s insane. You’re holding back, right? Yeah? Just a little?”

He hobbled forward, bruised and limping slightly, and you braced for another lunge. Instead, he stopped right in front of you and clapped a hand on your shoulder.

“I knew it,” he chuckled, half delirious. “You’re not just strong. You’re frustratingly strong. That’s even better.”

Then he tipped over sideways like a falling plank, unconscious before he hit the pavement. You crouched down, checked for serious injuries, and sighed. He was breathing fine. No major bleeding. Just a mild concussion and a fractured ego.

Again.

You sat beside him for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of city life beyond the alley. He’d wake up eventually, and when he did, he’d probably challenge you again. And again. And again.

But in his own weird, stubborn way… Ryu wasn’t just chasing a fight. He was chasing you. Not to win. Not even to prove a point.

He was just a man obsessed with finding something worth living for in battle. And you? You were the closest thing he had to a rival.

Or maybe, in his eyes, a goal.

So you stood, dusted yourself off, and left him there to recover. You knew he’d find you again.