"Mochigase-sensei, were you sent here by someone to test me?" Ayanokoji Kiyotaka asked calmly, sidestepping the incoming blow with ease.
Mochigase, who had been entirely focused on the fight, flinched for a split second. The question caught him off guard. Why would this boy ask that in the middle of combat?
Kiyotaka keenly observed the reaction, his mind quickly piecing things together.
So that's how it is.
He had already ruled out the possibility that Mochigase was sent by his father. This man knew who he was, but based on the way he fought and the gaps in his knowledge, it was clear he only had surface-level information.
Kiyotaka was certain his father wouldn't allow him to stay in this school peacefully, but this approach—this clumsy, almost hesitant confrontation—wasn't his style. His father wouldn't waste resources on something so meaningless. If he truly wanted to interfere, he would have sent someone with a full dossier, someone who would act with precision, not skepticism.
Not to mention, if Kiyotaka wanted to, he could easily turn the tables and have this teacher expelled, which would be a waste on his father's part. His father wouldn't make such a miscalculation.
Mochigase has been underestimating me from the start. His approach felt less like an attack and more like an evaluation.
Was he trying to confirm something?
That meant an external force was at play—someone separate from his father.
His father's enemies? No, that didn't add up.
Mochigase had come at him without killing intent.
That left only one possibility. Someone wanted to gauge his abilities. The why wasn't clear yet, but his mind drifted to the brief interaction between Kure Ragna and the teacher.
Are they connected?
It was becoming evident that he was caught in the schemes of multiple parties, with his father likely being one of them.
There was no need to drag this fight out any longer.
Bang! Bang!
Elbows and palms clashed again, a brief grapple before it was broken in an instant.
Mochigase's instincts screamed at him.
That soft touch again…
A realization struck him just as Kiyotaka's next move began.
The tackles were feints. The real attack was aimed at his center—a headbutt designed to shatter his balance.
Without hesitation, Mochigase tensed his core, driving his knee upward with all his strength to counter.
But the moment he moved, his strike met only empty air.
At the same time, a sweeping kick shot forward with explosive force, smashing into the ankle of his supporting leg.
The shift in balance was immediate. His center of gravity crumbled. His knee hit the ground, unable to absorb the force, and Kiyotaka's final kick became the finishing blow.
A sense of weightlessness overtook him. His vision flipped.
For a brief moment, he was airborne.
Then, impact.
His thoughts blurred, but one thing was clear—he had lost.
Yet there was no bitterness, only disbelief.
At that range, his knee should have connected. The reaction time required to evade it was beyond normal human limits. Even if someone saw it coming, dodging it completely was nearly impossible.
But Kiyotaka had not only dodged—it was as if he had predicted the attack before it even started.
There was a name for such a skill.
In martial arts, countering after the opponent moves was called "the first after the first."
Reacting at the same time but landing first was "before the opponent."
But seeing through an attack before it even began, moving ahead of time to dismantle it?
That was "first first."
In fact, he had only heard of such a skill before. Even among top-tier fighters, mastering it usually took until middle age. Only a handful of true prodigies managed to grasp it by their thirties.
But a sixteen-year-old?
That was simply absurd.
And Ayanokoji Kiyotaka had just used it effortlessly.
Monster.
Mochigase barely had time to register the thought before Kiyotaka followed up.
In a fluid motion, Kiyotaka spun mid-air, using the momentum of his previous attack to drive a downward elbow straight into the back of Mochigase's neck.
Bang!
Mochigase hit the ground, face-first.
His vision faded.
Five minutes later.
A dull ache ran through his body as consciousness slowly returned.
Mochigase found himself still in the same room, lying on the carpeted floor. A faint smell of fried chicken lingered in the air.
Turning his head toward the source, he saw a familiar figure sitting cross-legged against the wall.
Kure Ragna.
One hand held a piece of fried chicken, the other scrolled through his phone. Beside him sat a large KFC paper bag and two unopened bottles of Coke.
"…Ugh."
Mochigase let out a low groan as he pushed himself up on his elbows.
Surprisingly, despite taking such a direct hit to the neck, the pain was only a dull throb. No fractures. No serious damage.
It was controlled. Ayanokoji Kiyotaka had deliberately held back.
With a quiet sigh, Mochigase got to his feet and walked over to where Kure Ragna was seated. Before he could say anything, a cold bottle of Coke was handed to him.
"Here, drink up. Helps take the edge off." Kure Ragna spoke, his voice slightly muffled from chewing.
"…Thanks."
Mochigase unscrewed the cap and took a sip. The cool carbonation felt oddly refreshing.
After a moment of silence, Kure Ragna finally spoke again.
"So… mind telling me what happened?"
Mochigase hesitated.
"…Let's just say I was testing someone," he admitted with a wry smile, "and failed miserably."
Kure Ragna raised an eyebrow. "Huh. You, looking all dazed and defeated… It's rare to see you like this. Almost looks like your girlfriend ran off with another guy."
Mochigase let out a dry chuckle, but deep down, his mind was still reeling.
Just who was Ayanokoji Kiyotaka?
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