Shirano nearly spat out his barley tea, caught between laughter and exasperation. "Boss, in gaming, it's not about who has the biggest weapon!"
Amid this extraordinary atmosphere, Daigo Uhara absorbed the wisdom of two top-tier players like a dry sponge soaking up water.
Shirano taught him the most intricate calculations, revealing the risks and rewards behind every move.
Nagai Kenta instructed him in the craftiest psychological tactics, showing him how to read his opponents' habits and set the most profound traps with the simplest actions.
Once, Daigo had been a beast who relied solely on claws and fangs to tear apart his prey.
Now, this beast was learning to set traps, conceal his presence, and deliver a fatal blow with a single strike.
The last Saturday in August, Nippon Budokan.
This hallowed ground, once a sanctuary for rock bands' roaring anthems, had transford into a massive, shimring electronic arena.
The massive screen overhead displayed the blue Sega logo and the TV Tokyo emblem in alternating brilliance. Countless spotlights swept across the sea of heads, illuminating the dazzling "GG" banners that hung everywhere.
In one corner of the audience, Uhara Masao and his wife appeared sowhat bewildered.
Mrs. Uhara clutched her handbag tightly, looking around at the young people waving their glow sticks and shouting hoarsely, feeling as if she had stumbled into another world.
Uhara Masao maintained his usual stern expression, but his sharp eyes—honed on construction sites—were fixed intently on a small figure standing on a beer crate in the distant players' area.
"Don't be nervous, Uncle, Auntie!" Boss Sato, in his wrinkled suit, squeezed between the couple, his face flushed with excitent. "See that? This is the atmosphere of the national tournant! It's completely different from our little shop!"
He pointed at the stage, spittle flying as he took on the role of comntator. "They're playing Virtua Fighter now, but that's boring. Wait for The King of Fighters to start. Then we'll see how our Tokyo Team crushes them!"
Uhara Masao remained silent, rely grunting in acknowledgnt through his nose.
With the comntator's triumphant announcent, the screen transitioned, and the familiar opening the of The King of Fighters reverberated throughout the arena.
"It's here! It's here!" Sato exclaid, slapping his thigh in excitent.
The Tokyo Team's first match pitted them against the Hokkaido Team.
Their vanguard was Shirano.
He took a deep breath and stepped onto the arena floor, his expression as focused as if he were solving a complex mathematical equation.
The match began. Shirano's Mary fought with remarkable precision, each move and step executed with ruler-like accuracy.
"Beautiful! He capitalized on his opponent's recovery ti to land a combo!" Nagai Kenta murmured from the sidelines.
In the end, Shirano single-handedly defeated both the Hokkaido Team's vanguard and middleweight.
"Good job," Nagai Kenta said, patting Shirano on the shoulder as he exited the arena.
"Not bad," Shirano replied, wiping sweat from his palms. "The opponent's attack patterns were pretty unorthodox. He almost caught off guard."
Nagai Kenta was caught between laughter and tears. Shaking his head, he walked onto the stage.
As the team's middle player, he faced Hokkaido Team's final ace.
His opponent was a fiercely aggressive player who imdiately launched a storm of relentless attacks.
Yet Nagai Kenta stood like a rock, unmoved by the tempest.
In a critical mont when he seed pinned against the stage edge, his opponent executed a habitual jump and heavy landing, aiming to end the match.
"Now!" Nagai Kenta's eyes lit up.
His Kusanagi Kyo unleashed a crisp "Demon Burn" the instant his opponent's character left the ground!
A perfect Rising Dragon! An unparalleled anti-air strike!
K.O.!
The arena erupted in thunderous applause.
"We won! We won!" Sato leaped up in the stands, excitedly grabbing Uhara Masao's arm.
Uhara Masao staggered slightly from the impact, but didn't push him away, his gaze remaining fixed on the players' bench.
His son hadn't even entered the match.
The subsequent rounds beca a showcase for Nagai Kenta and Shirano.
One relied on seasoned composure, psychologically and experientially overpowering his opponents.
The other depended on ticulous calculation, dismantling enemies with precise data and fra-perfect execution.
The Tokyo Team swept through the competition like a whirlwind, crushing all obstacles in their path as they stord into the semifinals.
The comntator's voice grew increasingly excited. "They're incredible! The Tokyo team is simply too strong! Their vanguard, Shirano, and center, Nagai, have demonstrated overwhelming power! We haven't even seen their ace—eleven-year-old "Beast" Uhara Daigo—take the field yet!"
The cara panned to the athletes' bench.
Daigo Uhara stood expressionless, as quiet as a bystander.
"Hey," Shirano nudged Nagai Kenta with his elbow and muttered, "We're out there risking our necks, and this guy just stands around raking in the cash?"
Nagai Kenta smiled. "Isn't that perfect? Keeping him as our trump card lets the opponents wonder and worry."
At that mont, the bracket for the semifinals appeared on the big screen:
Tokyo Team vs. Osaka Representative Team.
When "Osaka" appeared, the smile vanished from Nagai Kenta's face.
Shirano also gasped, instinctively flipping through his notebook.
"The Osaka team, known as the Naniwa Three Gods. Their captain, nicknad the Western Oni—"
The cara swept across the Osaka team's bench, focusing on a young man with a flamboyant hairstyle and a faint, arrogant smile, staring across the sea of people at the Tokyo team.
He extended his finger in Daigo Uhara's direction and made a throat-slitting motion.
The Budokan fell silent for a mont.
In the audience, Sato's cheers caught in his throat.
Uhara Masao's brow finally furrowed into a deep frown.
Semifinals, the battle for the final four.
All the spotlights converged on the central main stage. When the words "Tokyo vs. Osaka" flashed on the big screen, the atmosphere in the Budokan grew scorching.
The Osaka team, known as the Naniwa Three Gods, were the undefeated legends of the Kansai region.
The match began with Shirano as Tokyo's vanguard.
However, Kyo Kusanagi, Osaka's vanguard, fought like a mad dog, completely disrupting Shirano's rhythm.
Chaotic, reckless, each of his attacks ca at a price.
Shirano's finely tuned system of calculation failed for the first ti in the face of absolute chaos.
On the screen, as Shirano's last character fell, even he seed dazed.
He had only taken out the opponent's second character, yet he had already lost.
"It's alright, leave it to ," Nagai Kenta said, patting Shirano on the shoulder before stepping onto the stage.
As Tokyo's mainstay, Nagai Kenta faced Osaka's second fighter, who was in peak condition.
He fought with steady composure, successfully turning the tide, but ultimately fell to Osaka's captain—the man known as the Western Oni.
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