The Wall of Flesh and Iron

The Nerima Sports Center smelled of analgesic spray and anxiety. Sixty-four fighters crowded around the four rings set up in the main hall. They were men of all sizes: veterans with scars, young prodigies from elite academies, and street brawlers with empty eyes.

Renji Sato stood in the Blue Corner of Ring B, trying to control his breathing.

The crowd, mostly composed of the fighters' friends and illegal gamblers, laughed when his name was announced.

"In the Blue Corner... with a record of 1 win and 15 losses... the 'Punching Bag of Nerima'... Renji Sato!"

There were ironic whistles. Someone threw an empty paper cup in his direction.

"Hey, Sato! Try not to die in the first ten seconds!" shouted a voice from the audience.

Renji ignored it. He was focused on the strange sensation permeating his body. He felt... dense. His feet seemed glued to the canvas. Air entered his lungs with difficulty, as if his chest were made of lead, but every breath oxygenated his blood super-efficiently.

In front of him was his first obstacle: Kenta "The Flash," a Kyokushin-style karateka known for his high, fast kicks. Kenta grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet, warming up his legs.

"Sorry, buddy," Kenta said, dropping his guard. "I'm gonna end this quick to save time. I've got a lunch date."

The referee gave the signal. "Fight!"

Kenta didn't lie. He exploded with impressive speed. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance and launched a mawashi geri (roundhouse kick) straight at Renji's ribs.

Renji's mind saw the strike. Habit screamed to retreat. But Renji's body—anchored by the weight of the seal—refused to yield ground.

Accept it, whispered the memory of the Master.

Renji simply lowered his elbow to cover his liver and firmed his stance.

BAM!

The sound was horrible. It didn't sound like meat hitting meat. It sounded like a baseball bat hitting a light pole.

Kenta's leg ricocheted violently. The karateka's smile vanished, replaced by a grimace of confusion. He limped back.

Renji looked at his own ribs. Nothing. No pain, no shortness of breath. It felt like someone had thrown a pillow at him.

"Was that it?" Renji asked, his voice coming out deep and calm.

Kenta frowned, annoyed. "You got lucky!"

The karateka advanced again, this time with a flurry of fast punches to Renji's chest and stomach. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Renji didn't even raise his guard. He walked through the punches. Every impact vibrated in Renji's dense bones and dissipated without causing damage, but caused visible pain to Kenta's hands. It was like punching a concrete wall coated with a thin layer of skin.

"Why won't you fall?!" Kenta screamed, desperate.

Kenta retreated to the ropes and prepared his final strike: a high kick to the head, his signature move. He spun his body and launched his foot with full force against Renji's temple.

Renji saw the foot coming. This time, he raised his left forearm. A rigid block.

Kenta's shin collided with Renji's iron forearm.

CRAAAACK.

The sound of snapping bone echoed through the silent gym.

Kenta fell to the floor screaming, clutching his own leg. His tibia was bent at an unnatural angle.

"My leg! He broke my leg!" the karateka bawled, rolling on the canvas.

The referee ran over, shocked. He looked at Renji, searching for a weapon, some illegal protection. But he only saw the boy's bare arm.

"Winner by Technical Knockout... Renji Sato!"

The audience was in absolute silence. Renji looked at the fallen opponent, feeling a mix of pity and power.

13:00 PM - Quarterfinals

The news spread like wildfire. There was something wrong with the "Punching Bag."

In the second fight, a kickboxer tried to keep his distance. Renji cornered him and knocked him out with a single jab to the solar plexus that made the guy vomit.

In the third fight, a judoka tried to throw him. It was useless. Renji was immovable. When the judoka attempted a rear-naked choke, Renji simply flexed his neck muscles. The judoka exhausted his arm strength trying to squeeze a windpipe that felt like a steel pipe, and ended up quitting from exhaustion.

Now, at four in the afternoon, only two remained.

16:00 PM - The Locker Room

Renji sat on the wooden bench, motionless as a gargoyle. His uniform was soaked in sweat, but there was no blood.

Kenji ran in, bringing a bottle of ice water. The coach looked at Renji as if he were looking at a stranger.

"I don't know what you did," Kenji said, his voice trembling as he checked Renji's gloves. "Four fights. Four brutal victories. That Karate guy was taken out on a stretcher. The judoka says he felt like he was fighting a statue."

Renji took a sip of water. His body was heavy, an anchor threatening to sink through the concrete floor. The magic kept him standing, but he felt the energy being consumed with every movement.

"They hit something hard," Renji replied.

"Luck doesn't break bones," Kenji retorted. "Listen. Now it's the final. It's Goro. 'The Shredder.' He saw your fights. He knows you're tough. He's not going to play around."

"Is he the last obstacle for Spot 32?"

"Yes. But he's a monster. He knocked teeth out of his previous opponent with a headbutt. If he grabs you..."

"He's going to get hurt," Renji stood up. The bench groaned. "Let's go."

16:15 PM - The Wildcard Final

When Renji stepped into the ring for the final, the fear in the audience was palpable. The "Punching Bag" had died. Here was something new.

On the other side, Goro "The Shredder" banged his gloves together. He was huge, bald, covered in tribal tattoos. But unlike the others, he wasn't smiling. He watched Renji with predatory caution.

"Heard you're made of stone," Goro growled. "I work in construction, kid. I break stone every day."

The referee called them. "Spot 32. Anything goes. Fight!"

Goro didn't punch. He knew punches didn't work. He charged like a bull and dove for Renji's legs in a rugby tackle.

The impact shook the ring. Goro, at 240 pounds, crashed into Renji's waist. The plan was to take him down, mount him, and smash his face into the floor.

But Renji slid only four inches backward. His boots tore the canvas, but he didn't fall. His center of gravity was a black hole.

Goro grunted, trying to lift Renji. The veins in the giant's neck bulged. "Why... won't... you... go... up?!"

Renji looked down at Goro's exposed back. He interlaced the fingers of both hands, forming a sledgehammer, and let his weight drop onto the giant's shoulder blades.

CRUNCH.

Goro screamed, his knees giving way. The giant released Renji and rolled to the side, gasping.

"You're not human!" Goro shouted, struggling to stand.

Furious and humiliated, Goro resorted to his secret weapon. He grabbed Renji's collar, pulled him close, and delivered a brutal headbutt straight to Renji's nose.

The crowd screamed. It was the illegal move that had finished many fighters.

TOCK.

The sound was of a stone hitting another stone.

Renji's head was thrown slightly back. But it was Goro who stumbled away, hands on his face. Blood gushed from the giant's forehead. He had opened a deep gash in his own skin by hitting Renji's densified skull.

Renji wiped a hand across his nose. It was whole. Not a drop of blood.

"Is it my turn?" Renji asked.

Goro backed away, eyes wide with pure horror. He was fighting a golem.

Renji advanced. One heavy step. Two. Goro threw a desperate punch. Renji didn't even bother to block; he took the punch on his forehead and kept walking.

He cornered the giant against the ropes.

"It's over," Renji said.

Renji rotated his hips. He didn't need speed. He needed mass transfer. He threw a left cross, putting the full weight of his "girder bones" into the motion.

The fist connected with Goro's jaw.

It wasn't a snap. It was a crash. Goro's head whipped violently, and the 240-pound giant was lifted off the ground by the impact, spinning in the air before falling face-first onto the canvas, inert.

The referee didn't even count. He called the medics immediately.

"It's over! Knockout!"

The silence lasted a second, then the gym exploded. Not in applause, but in chaos. "He killed the giant!" "Sato won the spot!"

Kenji jumped into the ring, hugging Renji, but stopped upon feeling the hardness of the boy's body. "You did it... Spot 32. We're in the tournament."

Renji looked at his own intact hands. Then, he looked up at the VIP area.

Tatsuya, "The King," was there. The undefeated champion had risen from his chair. He took off his sunglasses and looked at Renji with a serious, analytical expression. The predator had recognized another predator.

Suddenly, a sharp stab shot through Renji's spine, making him waver. His vision blurred for a second.

Twenty-two hours, the Master's voice reminded him. The clock is ticking.

Renji broke free from the coach and walked to the exit, ignoring the crowd that now parted to give him passage with respect and fear.

He had the spot. Now, he had a week of collapse ahead of him. The price of power was about to be collected.