Chapter 43: Scion of the Imperial Family
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 43: Scion of the Imperial Family
Ivan Vladimirovich Romanov.
Forty-eight years old.
The world's strongest martial artist, known by nicknames such as the God of Destruction, the Thunder Emperor, and the Tsar.
He was born in Vladivostok in 1969. His grandfather was the illegitimate son of Nicholas II, the last emperor of the Russian Empire, which had fallen in the revolution.
Though his lineage was never officially recognized, the imperial blood running through his veins allowed his family to live in wealth until his father's generation. However, after his father recklessly expanded the business and ended up buried in debt, the entire family was thrown out onto the streets.
After a bleak childhood, Ivan joined the Red Mafia based in the ice-free port of Vladivostok at the age of seventeen. He quickly rose to the top of the organization and began a career in arms smuggling.
Until the collapse of the Soviet Union on December 26, 1991, Ivan sold various weapons and tanks leaked from military bases to countries in Southeast Asia, Africa, or third-world nations embroiled in civil wars. With his outstanding business acumen, he accumulated immense capital, becoming one of the wealthiest figures in the underworld in just five years.
When the Soviet Union fell and the Russian Federation was established, he used the vast fortune earned from the arms trade to found the Easter Egg Company.
Through his connections with the Russian government, he began to amass a fortune incomparable to his previous earnings, building the Easter Egg Company into one of the world's leading conglomerates.
And in July 1999.
At a time when the world was abuzz with whether Nostradamus's prophecy would come true, Ivan, now thirty years old, hosted the first "God of Fist" tournament under his title as chairman of the group.
The purpose of the tournament was simple.
To determine the world's strongest martial artist.
People from 138 countries around the globe were captivated by the battle-royale-style tournament that unfolded over a month. Ivan, the first-ever champion of the God of Fist tournament, became a legend in the underworld, earning the nickname "God of Destruction (Angolmois)."
*
'Interesting.'
Ivan took a liking to the East Asian boy standing before him.
It was as if he were looking at a younger version of himself.
At first, it had all been a misunderstanding.
When he heard that Boris, one of the elite guards he had handpicked, had been defeated, he thought the Black Yaksha, who had vanished ten years ago, had finally returned.
The God of Fist tournament, first held in 1999, had since gained considerable renown.
Ivan himself had won the first, second, and third tournaments. But in the fourth, the Black Yaksha, whom he had faced in the finals every time, finally defeated him after seven hard-fought attempts.
It was only natural that Ivan, tasting defeat for the first time in his life, would be deeply shocked and train relentlessly while awaiting the next tournament.
However, his rival, the Black Yaksha, did not participate in the fifth 'GOF' held in 2011. Having lost all motivation, Ivan stopped participating in any tournaments thereafter.
For Ivan, the man named Fuma Kotaro was the person he wanted to meet more than anyone else.
But when he arrived, the Black Yaksha he had anticipated was nowhere to be seen; only an unfamiliar East Asian boy stood there.
Disappointed, he was about to return to the hotel with his runaway daughter, but he suddenly realized something was off.
It was impossible for anyone living in Japan's underworld not to know the name 'Fuma Kotaro.'
So he tested him.
He wanted to see if the boy before him truly had no connection to the underworld.
And he was thrilled.
Thrilled by the fact that a boy who was a complete blank slate, having never learned any martial arts, had defeated his elite guard, Boris.
A truly heaven-sent talent, the kind that appears perhaps once in a century.
Though their meeting was purely coincidental, a desire sparked within Ivan.
To discover such talent and simply let it be would be a loss for all of humanity, and he felt something like fate in the fact that he was the one to discover it.
'If I train him well, I can raise him to a level where he can spar with me in ten—no, five years.'
Unlike himself, who had no master and had to learn everything from scratch, it was entirely possible if he, as a master, guided the boy properly.
Then, a new worthy opponent, not Fuma Kotaro, would emerge into the world.
For Ivan, who had grown bored with everything, the mere thought was truly exhilarating.
But the East Asian boy refused his extraordinary offer.
"Thank you for the offer, but I refuse."
The moment he heard those words, Ivan thought.
He had been too complacent.
In his forty-eight years, he had met only a handful of people who dared to defy him, so he must have taken acceptance for granted.
"Is that so? Then you will die."
Since it had come to this, he would force the boy to accept his offer.
That was his decision.
*
I barely managed to block the sudden knife-hand strike with my right forearm.
Throb! Throb!
Even though I had blocked it cleanly, an intense pain shot up the bone.
His eyes, now even more ferocious than before, told me the atmosphere had turned grim.
He looked ready to kill.
'...An opening!'
Since he was Sasha's father, I had been strictly on the defensive, but now, for the sake of self-preservation, I launched my first attack.
My fist shot out, striking his exposed chin.
CRACK!!
The impact snapped his head back.
But as if nothing had happened, Sasha's father returned his head to its original position and muttered with a deadpan expression.
"Too shallow."
Then, in the exact same way I had just done, he slammed his fist into my chin.
"Kuh!"
A blood vessel burst in my mouth, and the metallic taste of blood filled it.
Not only that, but the impact must have rattled my brain, because my balance faltered.
Sasha's father stood before me, slightly lifting one foot and bringing both fists up in front of his face.
"Let me give you some advice, boy."
The moment his raised foot stomped down hard on the earth,
"When you hit someone, whether they are weak or strong, you must strike with the intent to kill."
THUD!!!!
With a sound that tore through the air, the ground caved in.
Simultaneously, a furious barrage of attacks began.
Up, down, left, right, upper-right, lower-right, upper-left, lower-left.
From eight directions, a merciless hail of fists rained down, as fierce as the Siberian winter.
The weight and speed behind his punches were on a completely different level, making our previous fight seem like child's play.
At the same time, the movements of his left and right hands were different, making it feel as if two people were attacking at once.
"Gah!"
My eyes alone couldn't keep up!
I somehow managed to block the first eighteen strikes, but after that, my defensive posture crumbled. I took the remaining hits, managing only to shield my vital points and the money in my pocket.
A total of thirty-two strikes.
True to his own advice, his merciless punches, thrown with the intent to kill, had already left my clothes in tatters.
"Hah, hah, hah, hah."
The fists had missed all my vital points, but honestly, it was hard to even breathe.
Every muscle in my body was screaming.
"Двойной орёл императора."
Sasha's father stopped right in front of me, looking down as he spoke in Russian.
"In Japanese, it means 'the Emperor's Double-Headed Eagle.' It's one of the secret techniques of the martial art passed down through the Romanov imperial family for generations."
So it's an imperial martial art.
For a world based on a rom-com, this part felt straight out of a battle manga.
"Boy, if you don't want to die, come and serve under me. I will teach you not only this technique, but every technique I know. You are a natural-born warrior. I will give you the power to reign over all the weaklings of the world."
"Heh, you beat a man to a pulp and that's all you have to say?"
I let out a hollow laugh, finding the situation absurd.
The man standing before me fell squarely into the 'eighth-grade syndrome' category.
I will give you the power to reign over all the weaklings of the world.
How could he say something so embarrassing in this day and age without batting an eye?
The pain made it difficult to even lift my arms, but with trembling hands, I managed to pull down the zipper of my hoodie.
The inner pocket of the hoodie was bulging.
It was the two million yen Sasha had given me.
Honestly, I felt like an idiot for being relieved that the money was safe even in this state, but when I thought of it as the money for my home gym, it felt more precious than my own life.
Flap!
I threw the tattered hoodie to a safe place, now in just a short-sleeved shirt, and raised my fists.
"Like I said before, I have no intention of accepting your offer."
My parents were here.
Director Nakayama was here.
The President was here.
The Vice President was here.
Minami was here.
Rika was here.
Karen was here.
All the precious bonds I had formed over the three years since I possessed Kim Yoo-Sung's body were here.
I had no intention of abandoning all of that to serve under the man before me.
That's why I resolved to put everything on the line and fight with all my heart, just for this moment.
"So just give it up, old man."
Hearing my words, Sasha's father flashed a vicious, demonic smile.
"Magnificent. Those are the eyes of a man with his own convictions."
He clenched his right fist and said,
"I will crush that conviction myself."
CRACK!!
The moment the conversation ended, my fist and Sasha's father's fist simultaneously struck each other's faces.