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 - Full license mastery—Mom, it's almost time.
The morning light slanting through the classroom windows cast the textbooks left on the desks in a pale white glow.
Hanma Baki sat at his own desk for the first time in a while. Class 2-3, Seiken Academy. Around him, his classmates were starting to stir up the usual break-time chatter.
(...Man, this feels nostalgic.)
He scratched at his short black hair, ruffling it. The old scar on the back of his left hand surfaced faintly in the light. Against his chest, beneath his shirt, hung his mother's pendant. The cold metal had slowly warmed to his skin.
Two days had passed since that night.
The forced killing that woman, Shuzawa Emi, had orchestrated. The stone floor of the Fukuryuu Cave, where he'd been bound in chains. And Kaku Kaioh's thunderous shout. All of it felt at once like something from long ago and like it had happened just moments ago.
The wound in his gut hadn't fully healed. He wore his uniform over the bandages, but every time he moved, pain shot through him.
(Still—I'm glad I came.)
Baki listened to the buzz of the classroom.
"Hanma-kun, good morning!"
A bright voice called out. One of his classmates. Baki raised a hand lightly in reply.
"Morning."
In the classroom doorway stood a familiar figure.
Light brown hair falling to her shoulders, the ends swaying softly. Big amber eyes. A small dimple on her left cheek. Matsumoto Kozue looked his way and paused, just for a moment.
Her eyes seemed to waver, just for an instant.
(Yeah... I worried her.)
Baki met Kozue's gaze head-on. She pressed her lips together uncertainly, then slowly walked toward him.
"...Good morning, Baki-kun."
Her voice was a little quieter than usual.
"Morning."
Baki answered shortly, trying to act as normal as possible.
Kozue sat down at the desk beside him. Facing forward, she looked like she wanted to say something. Her fingertips fidgeted slightly on the desktop.
"...You came today."
"Yeah. A lot happened—I was out. Sorry for worrying you."
"No. I'm just happy you came."
Kozue shook her head slightly. Her profile—she was trying to smile, but somehow looked on the verge of tears.
The chime rang.
The homeroom teacher came in. The chatter slowly died down. Baki faced forward.
(After school... I'll talk to her properly.)
The writing on the blackboard looked far away.
---
Lunch break.
The area in front of the school store was packed with students, as usual. Yakisoba bread, croquette bread, sandwiches. The bread lined up in the glass case reflected the fluorescent lights and looked awfully good.
"Baki-kun, what are you getting?"
Kozue stretched up on her toes beside him, peering into the case. Her amber eyes sparkled.
"I'll just get yakisoba bread."
"That again? Baki-kun, you really do love yakisoba bread."
Kozue giggled. The dimple on her left cheek dented slightly.
"It's not that I love it. It's just the most filling."
"Honestly, you're so bad at being honest."
As she said it, Kozue picked up a curry bread and a melon bread.
"Wait, you're eating two?"
"One's for you, Baki-kun. Just yakisoba bread isn't a balanced meal, right?"
"I mean, calling bread 'nutritious' is a stretch..."
"Here. Curry bread or melon bread—which one?"
Kozue held both breads out in front of Baki.
"Then... curry bread."
"Here you go."
The curry bread he took was still faintly warm.
The two of them sat side by side on a bench in the courtyard. All around the lunchtime courtyard, students had clustered together, spreading out their bento. Laughter, chatter, birdsong in the distance.
(It's been a while since I had a moment like this.)
Baki opened the bag of yakisoba bread. The rich sauce smell tickled his nose.
"By the way,"
Kozue said, taking a small bite of her curry bread.
"Your face has changed lately. You look... stronger."
"You think?"
"Yeah. Before, you were more like... a normal high schooler. Now you seem really grown-up somehow."
Kozue stared intently at Baki's face. Her gaze was serious, and a little sad.
"Not really. I've always been me."
Baki stuffed the yakisoba bread into his mouth, hiding his embarrassment.
"Oh, that looks good. Give me a bite."
"Huh? You've got your own bread."
"Come on, let's trade. I'll give you half my melon bread."
Kozue split the melon bread in half and held one piece out to Baki.
"...Fine. Just one bite, got it?"
Baki held the yakisoba bread up to Kozue's mouth. She bit into it happily.
"Delicious!"
"Of course it is. The school store's yakisoba bread hasn't changed in years."
"That's not what I mean. It's extra delicious because I traded with you, Baki-kun."
Kozue smiled brightly.
(...This kind of thing... it's good.)
Baki bit into the melon bread. Sweetness spread through his mouth.
(Maybe the things worth protecting... are moments like this.)
He thought so, deep down.
---
After school.
The stairwell leading up to the rooftop was chilly. When he pushed open the emergency door, the evening wind rushed in all at once. The western sky was beginning to stain crimson.
"...I'm sorry."
Baki stood before Kozue, his back to the rooftop fence.
"For what?"
Kozue tilted her head. The wind fluttered her shoulder-length hair.
"For worrying you. For missing school, for not contacting you. I'm really sorry."
Baki bowed deeply.
Kozue said nothing.
Only the sound of the wind swept across the rooftop.
"...Lift your head."
Kozue's voice was trembling.
When Baki looked up, a single tear spilled from Kozue's big amber eyes.
"I was scared the whole time. That you might go somewhere far away. That I might never see you again."
"Kozue..."
"But today, you came. Just that made me so happy."
Kozue wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
"...I can't tell you everything."
Baki began to speak slowly, conscious of the wound in his gut.
"What I'm doing now. Where I am, what I'm fighting. ...There's so much I can't say. But this much I can tell you—I've stepped into a dangerous world."
Kozue's shoulders gave a small shudder.
"So I don't want to drag you into it. Maybe I shouldn't even let you close. But I... I couldn't stand leaving you worried without saying anything."
Baki gripped the pendant against his chest.
"So I'll promise you. I will come back. To you. No matter what happens, I'll come back alive."
Kozue stared at Baki, unblinking.
Her tear-wet eyes, lit by the setting sun, shone gold.
"...Really?"
"Yeah. Really. I've never broken a promise."
"...Okay. I believe you."
Kozue took one step closer to Baki.
Then she reached out both arms and held him tight—so tight.
"Don't carry it all alone anymore. I'll be waiting. I'll always be waiting."
Kozue's warmth seeped through his uniform.
Baki couldn't move for a while.
(...She's warm.)
Gently, he wrapped his arms around her back.
"Thank you, Kozue."
He murmured it softly.
The rooftop wind blew gently between them.
---
Night.
Somewhere in Shinjuku. A hidden stairwell leading to the basement of a mixed-use building. Beyond it, fifty meters further underground.
The Fukuryuu Cave.
The stone hall was lit only by the flames of the candelabra. No sound from the outside world reached this far. A perfect silence had soaked into the very air.
Hanma Baki stood at the center of the hall.
He'd changed out of his uniform into a black shirt and pants that were easy to move in. The bandages on his gut had been redone by the Kaioh.
"...You came. Good."
From the back of the hall appeared a small old man. Long white hair tied back, a staff in one hand. A face carved with deep wrinkles. Clear black eyes glinting quietly in the darkness. Kaku Kaioh. A master of Chinese martial arts over a hundred years old. The lord of the Fukuryuu Cave.
"Yes. Please."
Baki bowed deeply.
"Today is a special day. I intend to bestow this upon you."
The Kaioh stood before Baki, leaning on his staff.
"...Full transmission, you mean."
"Exactly. Full transmission of the Satsui-ken—the first level."
The Kaioh's voice was swallowed by the stone walls.
"But I haven't done anything yet. Only a few days of training..."
"A few days is enough. That night, you were forced to choose to kill—and you didn't. That was the first gate of the Satsui-ken. To receive killing intent and let it flow through. You learned that technique with your own body."
The Kaioh slowly set his staff on the floor.
"What I can teach you ends here. The rest can only be learned in real combat. It's not theory. A true fist is born only in the exchange of lives."
The Kaioh slowly laid his right hand over Baki's right fist.
A wrinkled, bony hand.
But the heat that flowed from it was far stronger, far deeper, than any young man's.
"With this, you've learned the art of receiving killing intent. You've finally made it to the starting line."
The Kaioh's hand drew away.
Baki stared at his own fist.
(With this fist... finally.)
(Can I reach that man?)
"...Thank you, Master."
Baki bowed deeply once more.
"No need for thanks. More importantly, there's something I want to ask you. About that man—about the fight with Hanma Yujiro."
The Kaioh's expression tightened slightly.
"Twenty years ago, in Hong Kong. I fought that man."
Baki caught his breath.
"...I know. You're the only man who ever drew with Yujiro."
"A draw, is it. That's how it's told. But the truth is a little different. I could only deflect that man's killing intent. I never had any intention of attacking—not from the start."
"...What do you mean?"
"That man's killing intent is off the scale. Before he even swings his fist, he dominates the space itself. With a century of martial skill, I somehow endured that torrent of killing intent. But that was all. Defeating him was utterly beyond me."
The Kaioh's voice was matter-of-fact.
"...Even you couldn't beat him."
"That's precisely why I taught you. The art of receiving killing intent. To take that man's killing intent head-on and still stand—you need that first. Without it, you can't even stand in the ring."
Baki clenched his fist.
Sweat seeped into his palm.
(Is that man that much of a monster?)
(And I'm supposed to...)
(No. That's exactly why I have to do it.)
A light of fighting spirit kindled in Baki's black eyes.
"...I'm trembling with anticipation."
"Oh?"
The Kaioh narrowed his eyes slightly.
"I'm scared. Honestly, I'm scared. But more than that, my chest burns. Just thinking that the day will come when I can receive that man's killing intent with these hands—my body shakes."
"Youth. You've got a good face now. That's exactly what I wanted to teach you. To know fear and still look forward. That is the way of the martial arts."
The Kaioh smiled.
---
"Now then—after full transmission comes a match."
The Kaioh suddenly spoke in a serious voice.
"A match?"
"Yes. In the next match, I'll confirm whether your fist is the real thing."
The Kaioh picked up his staff and tapped it against the floor—clack.
"Who's the opponent?"
"I can't say yet. But I'll tell you one thing. Your father is involved."
Baki's expression hardened.
"...My father."
"Yes. And an organization called the Faulkner Group is on the move. The ones behind that woman, Shuzawa Emi. The match approval may have been their doing too. Be careful."
"The Faulkner Group..."
Baki repeated the name aloud for the first time.
(The organization behind that woman.)
(They're trying to make me fight my father.)
(Why?)
"Master, what does that organization want?"
"Who knows. Even I don't understand all of it. But one thing I can say—those people intend to use your fight with Yujiro as a tool for business. The strongest father-son brawl on earth. There's no spectacle that turns more profit."
A bitter note crept into the Kaioh's voice.
"...I won't be anyone's tool."
"That's the spirit. But be careful. They may have factored in even your will. They may be exploiting the very fact that you want to defeat your father."
Baki fell silent.
The candelabra's flame flickered, swaying.
---
The same night. Roppongi.
Top floor o
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