He stood on the rooftop of Todoroki Dojo, his family's legacy, now a gutted husk of splintered wood and shattered signboards. Three weeks ago, the Buchikome High Kick Tournament had been stolen. Not won. Stolen . The Kurokawa-gumi, a yakuza syndicate with a fetish for martial arts, had rigged the final match, drugged the champion, and declared their enforcer—a mountain of a man named Goro "The Pulverizer" Mutō—the "King of Kicks."
Goro exploded forward—no feint, no courtesy. A low, scything kick aimed at Kenji’s left shin. It would have snapped a normal leg like a dry twig. Kenji didn’t block. He absorbed , twisting his shin outward at the last microsecond, letting the blow glance off the thickest part of his bone. The impact sounded like a baseball bat hitting a side of beef. Buchikome High kick- -Final- -Aokumashii-
The word again. The bruise-colored finality. The first exchange lasted 0.8 seconds. He stood on the rooftop of Todoroki Dojo,
"I finished what you started," he said. "No more Kurokawa. No more fear. The dojo—I’m going to rebuild it." Stolen