A shadow hangs over Tokyo Dome—and Hanma Baki is falling into it.
After a deliberate loss drops him from Fighter to Apprentice in the underground arena known only as Shadow Line, seventeen-year-old Baki wanders the empty parking garage beneath the dome, haunted by the memory of his mother's death at his father's hands. The pendant against his chest is cold. The truth of that night is colder.
Then a woman in black steps out of the darkness.
She knows about his mother. She knows how she died—an
BAKI IF: Devour the Mother's Love - Shadow Ring — Bloody First Battle
The light pouring through the classroom window beat down mercilessly on the back slumped over a desk.
Hanma Baki kept his eyes closed, letting the teacher's distant voice wash over him. The tap of chalk on the blackboard, the smell of chalk dust, someone beside him turning notebook pages. All of it clung like a thin film over the memory of cold air fifty meters underground.
(Been a week now, huh.)
Every day after school, he headed for Shinjuku. Descended underground. Got blown across a stone floor by an old man's fingertips. The bruises all over his body deepened in color night by night.
His fingers twitched faintly.
The words Kaku Kaioh had said last night echoed deep in his ears.
"Your body still doesn't know killing intent. And because it doesn't know, it can't move."
Because it doesn't know, it can't move.
The meaning of those words still hadn't sunk all the way down to his gut.
The lunch bell rang.
The classroom erupted into noise all at once. People spreading out bento boxes, people bolting into the hallway, people fiddling with their phones. Baki didn't lift his head—he stayed face-down on his desk.
"Baki-kun."
A voice.
He raised his head. In front of him, a light-brown semi-long bob swayed. The ends were soft and fluffy, glowing gold where the window light shone through them. Big amber eyes peered at him anxiously.
Matsumoto Kozue.
His girlfriend, and his classmate. Bright, kind, liked by everyone. She had a small dimple on her left cheek that dented when she smiled.
"Want to eat lunch together?"
She held a small bundle in her hands. A light-blue furoshiki cloth. A carefully tied knot.
"...Yeah."
Baki sat up. His back creaked. The spot around his shoulder blade that he'd slammed yesterday during training throbbed dully.
The two of them left the classroom and headed for the courtyard.
The cherry blossoms were already half fallen. Petals danced in the wind, laying a pale pink carpet over the stone paving. Kozue sat down on a bench and untied the furoshiki.
What emerged was a two-tiered bento box. When she lifted the lid, the sweet smell of tamagoyaki drifted out.
"Today I really put some effort into the egg. I made it dashimaki-style."
"You're a good cook, you know."
"You haven't been eating much lately, have you, Baki-kun? Your face looks a little thinner."
Saying that, Kozue picked up a slice of the egg with her chopsticks and held it up to Baki's mouth.
"...I can feed myself."
"Come on, say ahh."
A little embarrassed, Baki opened his mouth. The aroma of dashi spread through him, along with the faintly sweet taste of egg.
"Good."
"Yay."
Kozue smiled. Her dimple dented. The spring sunlight shone through her hair, making her outline glow softly.
(Why is she so straightforward, this girl?)
As he worked his chopsticks, the thought crossed Baki's mind.
The cold underground air. The smell of blood. The sound of bones creaking. She stood in a place completely separate from all of that.
"Hey, Baki-kun."
"Hm?"
Kozue's voice dropped just a little.
"You've been making a scary face lately. Are you getting into fights?"
Baki's chopsticks stopped.
"...Not really. I'm just a little busy."
"Liar. You've got dark circles under your eyes. And besides—"
Kozue's gaze fell to Baki's hands.
His left hand, holding the bento box. The knuckles were red and swollen. The skin was scraped raw, with thin scabs forming. Not bad enough to need bandages, but anyone who knew what to look for could tell these weren't the hands of an ordinary high schooler.
"...What happened to your hand?"
"I fell. It's nothing."
"You don't get hands like that from falling."
Kozue set down her chopsticks and wrapped both her hands around Baki's left.
It was warm.
Her hands were small, and soft, and trembling, just slightly.
"Hey... are you pushing yourself too hard? I don't understand at all what you're doing, Baki-kun. But I'm really, really worried."
Her voice was shaking.
Tears welled up in those big amber eyes. They looked ready to spill over, but she was fighting desperately to hold them back.
Baki couldn't say anything.
There was no way he could say it.
The underground arena. The Bukyukutsu. The killing-intent fist. The truth about his mother's death. Shuzawa Emi.
He couldn't tell her any of it.
(I can't drag her into this world.)
"...I'm fine. You worry too much."
Baki smiled.
Even he thought it was a terribly clumsy smile.
Kozue kept holding his hand, staring straight into his eyes.
"...Are you really okay?"
"I'm okay."
It was a lie.
There was no way he was okay.
His body hurt. He couldn't sleep. The truth about his mother's death was still lodged in the back of his throat. Kaku Kaioh's warning sounded an alarm in the corner of his mind.
"Don't trust that woman, Emi."
But the only one who knew his mother's final words was that woman.
Caught between.
Whichever way he turned, he'd lose something.
Kozue held his hand for a while, then slowly let go.
"...Okay. But promise me. Don't push yourself too hard."
"...Yeah."
"Then let's finish eating, okay? It'll get cold."
Kozue wiped her tears and forced a smile.
That smile stabbed deep into Baki's chest.
---
After school.
Baki left the school gate and boarded a train for Shinjuku.
The scenery through the window was dyed in the colors of dusk. A sky mixed with orange and purple. The windows of buildings reflected the light, twinkling like countless stars.
(Today too, underground, huh.)
He'd gone every day for a week.
The stone floor of the Bukyukutsu. The cold air. The old man's fingertips.
He hadn't even learned the first letter of the killing-intent fist. Just moving his body, collecting bruises, getting knocked to the floor day after day.
But the old man had said it.
"Spend a week getting your body used to it. After that, we move to the next stage."
Today was the day of that "next stage."
He got off at Shinjuku Station and pushed through the crowds. The heat of the masses, the smell of exhaust. Neon light bled into the damp air.
He turned into a back alley.
The foot traffic thinned abruptly. He slipped between buildings and descended the stairs leading to the basement of an old mixed-use building.
Partway down, Baki stopped.
"...It's you."
On the landing halfway down the stairs stood a woman in a black coat.
Shuzawa Emi.
Her glossy black hair gleamed as if wet in the dim light of the emergency lamp. Her narrow black eyes gave away nothing. The small black pearl earring on her left ear swayed faintly.
She blended into the darkness as naturally as if she'd been standing there from the start.
"Good evening, Baki. Lovely night, isn't it."
"What do you want? Today's the day I go to the master's."
"I know. But I've prepared a chance for real combat—a little early. There's something I absolutely have to show you."
Baki's brow twitched.
(Real combat?)
Kaku Kaioh's voice revived in his head.
"Don't trust that woman, Emi."
"...Did you tell the master? He said not to change the schedule on my own."
"The master's training alone won't get you used to real killing intent. What have you learned this past week? Just how to move your body, right? And you think that's enough to beat that man?"
Emi's voice was cold as ice, and yet it resonated pleasantly deep in his ears.
"...I want to know the truth about my mom's death, fast. That's all."
"Yes, I know. That's why we're going to give that impatience a shape, right now. Real combat. Feel real killing intent on your skin. Then your body will change."
Emi extended her right hand.
Her white fingertips floated up in the half-darkness.
"Come. It's all for your sake."
Baki stared at Emi's hand.
(Where is this woman trying to take me?)
He didn't know.
But to learn the truth about his mother's death, he had no choice but to follow her.
"...Fine. I'll go."
Baki didn't take Emi's hand.
He simply followed behind her and started down the stairs.
Emi's lips twisted, just slightly.
---
Where she took him was deeper still, past the subway station—a corner of a deserted warehouse district.
When she opened the rusted iron door, the smell of damp mold hit his nose. A few bare bulbs hung from the ceiling, dimly illuminating the gloomy space.
At the back was a ring.
A makeshift fighting stage about a meter high. No ropes. Just a square section of wooden flooring marked off.
"This is the Shadow Ring. An unofficial match site for the Shadow Line. Separate from the public underground arena, there are plenty of places like this."
"...What's a mock match supposed to be?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. A practice bout. To measure your current ability. I've prepared your opponent."
Emi looked toward the back of the warehouse.
From the shadows, a man stepped forward.
He was thin.
His cheeks were hollow, and only his eyes glinted with an unnatural light. His hair was cropped short, and there was an old scar on the back of his neck. He wore filthy work clothes. But the way he walked was like a wild animal.
"...This guy's my opponent?"
"Allow me to introduce him. He's a former death-row inmate. The Faulkner Group prepared him for you. You're better off not asking his name. Not worth remembering."
A cold chill ran down Baki's spine.
(A former death-row inmate...)
The man climbed into the ring and looked down at Baki without a word.
Those eyes.
Something was different.
Something fundamentally different from the opponents he'd fought in the underground arena.
"The rules are simple. Until one of you can't move. Weapons are forbidden. Though he might be carrying one hidden. Be careful."
"Hey, you said no weapons."
"That's why I'm telling you to be careful. I'm blaming your carelessness. There's no honest assassin in this world who follows the rules."
Emi sat down on a wooden crate by the warehouse wall.
A complete spectator.
"Begin."
The man moved.
Fast.
Baki reflexively turned his body sideways and raised his right fist. The basics of the killing-intent fist—the sense of "reading" an opponent's movement. The technique for catching a presence that Kaku Kaioh had drilled into him all week.
(Here it comes—left!)
Predicting the man's left step-in, Baki shifted his weight to the right.
But in that instant.
The man's eyes flashed.
Killing intent.
Real, genuine intent to kill.
Baki's body went rigid.
(Wh-what is this—)
His body wouldn't move.
His head understood. The man was reaching into his coat. About to pull something out. A blade. He was about to draw a hidden blade.
But his body wouldn't move.
He was paralyzed by the killing intent.
"Gah...!"
The man's right hand flashed.
A small knife.
It sank deep into Baki's abdomen.
A wet, squelching sound.
Hot.
A sensation like something bursting deep in his gut.
"Gahh—!"
The taste of blood spread through his mouth.
Baki crumpled to the floor.
His own blood spread across the wooden boards. Red. Hot. It wouldn't stop.
His vision dyed red.
"...gh..."
Somewhere far away, Emi's voice.
"Kill before you're killed. That's the technique to defeat Yujiro. What you lack isn't technique. It's resolve. The resolve to kill your opponent. Because you don't have it, you end up like this—sprawled on the floor, feeling the warmth of your own blood, dying."
A cold voice.
Emi didn't move a single step.
Still sitting on the crate, legs crossed, looking down at him with cold eyes.
"Today's lesson ends here. Remember it well. Your body's reaction when faced with real killing intent. That is everything you are right now."
Baki's vision darkened.
(Mom...)
His mother's face floated up.
A gentle smile. Warm hands.
"Baki, dinner's ready."
He thought he heard her voice calling from far away.
---
The same night.
Matsumoto Kozue was on her bed in her room, clutching her smartphone.
The screen showed her message exchange with Baki.
The last message was from a few days ago: "I'm fine. Just a little busy."
Since then, her me
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