Japan, 1985.
This was no land of peace.
No land of law.
This was a world where the strong decided everything.
Where Kings ruled not from thrones...
But from the crushed remains of anyone who dared challenge them.
Each prefecture of Japan belonged to a different King:
-
Strength.
-
Speed.
-
Durability.
-
Endurance.
-
Intelligence.
-
And more.
No kings wore crowns.
They wore blood, bruises, and pride.
Tokyo Prefecture — Shinjuku District.
Riku Hanekawa walked alone.
Sixteen years old.
Messy black hair.
Wearing his half-torn school uniform, his bag slung over one shoulder.
Small for his age.
No bulging muscles.
No aura of intimidation.
He didn’t stand out...
he disappeared.
And in this world, that made him nothing.
In a time when fourteen-year-olds could tear open steel doors,
Riku struggled to even finish gym class without gasping for air.
"Tch..." he clicked his tongue, frustrated at himself.
Still...
Something inside him refused to die.
A stupid, stubborn ember.
"I’ll get stronger... somehow."
Even if it took years.
Even if it killed him.
School Life.
The hallway floors were cracked from past fights.
Bulletins posted school rankings based on combat prowess, not academics.
Everywhere he turned...
he saw giants.
Boys and girls who could lift motorcycles, bend pipes with their bare hands, or dash faster than a speeding car.
Fighting wasn’t punished at school.
It was part of the curriculum.
"Learn to survive."
That was the first lesson on the syllabus.
Riku kept his head down.
He wasn’t ready yet.
After School.
The sun melted into the horizon, painting the sky gold.
Riku walked the cracked sidewalks, passing abandoned lots and flickering neon signs.
The sounds of fists smashing against flesh echoed from a nearby alley.
Boom!
He flinched instinctively, glancing over.
A group of young fighters, maybe fifteen or sixteen, were pounding each other bloody.
One boy was thrown into a brick wall, the bricks caving inward.
Another girl shattered the ground with a flying kick, sending dust clouds into the air.
A bystander’s scooter was crushed under a falling body.
Riku tightened his grip on his bag.
He wasn't stupid.
He knew his place.
He turned away...
and kept walking.
A Passing Giant.
As he crossed the street near the local gym, a sudden pressure filled the air.
Like the whole atmosphere had gotten heavier.
His heartbeat quickened.
He glanced sideways... And nearly stumbled.
There he was.
A mountain of a man exiting the gym.
Round belly, but packed muscle underneath.
Loose black shirt stretched over his massive frame.
Messy short hair.
A lazy, half-bored look on his face.
But those eyes...
those deadly calm eyes...
could only belong to one man.
Daigo Enishi.
The Lazy King.
The Strongest Human Alive.
Even the air around him seemed to warp, like gravity itself bent a little toward him.
Daigo casually stretched, yawning so wide you could see his molars.
In one hand, he absentmindedly carried a duffel bag,
stuffed so full it looked like it should tear apart.
It swung easily from two fingers.
Riku’s body instinctively froze.
He was in the presence of a living legend.
A man who once ruled the Era of Legendary Fighters.
The Crushed Bag.
Daigo wandered toward a hanging punching bag outside the gym.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
One slow punch.
BOOM.
The punching bag exploded on impact, shredded to pieces.
The nearby gym windows shattered.
The ground quaked beneath Riku's feet.
Everyone outside stopped.
Turned.
Stared.
Daigo just scratched the back of his head.
"Tch. Cheap bag," he muttered, yawning again.
He turned and strolled off down the street, like it was just another Tuesday.
Riku watched him disappear into the crowd.
His heart was still pounding.
That.
That was strength beyond anything he could imagine.
But somehow...
instead of feeling crushed...
he felt something else.
Hope.
A crazy, dangerous kind of hope.
If power like that was possible,
maybe, just maybe,
he could reach it too someday.
Even if he had to start from nothing.
Even if he had to crawl.
Even if it took him years.
Riku clenched his fists, trembling slightly.
One day.
One day he'd stand on that level too.
The next day.
The morning sun cut through the thin curtains of Riku’s room, lighting up the peeling wallpaper and the dust floating lazily in the air.
His alarm buzzed angrily.
Riku slammed it off and stared at the ceiling, feeling yesterday's adrenaline still buzzing faintly in his veins.
Seeing Daigo Enishi,
the Lazy King himself,
had lit a fire inside him.
But inspiration wasn't enough.
He knew it.
Everyone knew it.
Inspiration without action was just another lie you told yourself.
The Decision.
After a quick breakfast, a cold rice ball and instant miso soup.
Riku tightened his old sneakers and slung his school bag over his shoulder.
He didn't head straight to school.
Instead, he took a detour.
The small, worn-out public gym near the train tracks.
The place smelled like sweat, iron, and cheap cologne.
Half the machines were broken.
The mats were torn.
The old punching bags had duct tape wrapped around them like mummies.
It wasn’t fancy.
It wasn’t flashy.
But it was open.
And it was real.
The Gym.
Inside, a few locals were already working out:
A guy with shoulders bigger than Riku’s head was benching a bent barbell.
A girl with braided hair was skipping rope so fast the rope was a blur.
Some middle-aged guys practiced jabs in the corner, slow and deliberate.
No one looked twice at Riku.
No one cared.
And for now, that was good.
He made his way to the back, where the weights were lighter, more worn out, half-forgotten.
Starting Point.
Riku stared at the dusty dumbbells lined up like old war relics.
He picked up the smallest one,
it barely weighed 5 kilograms,
and nearly dropped it.
"Ghh-!"
His arms shook violently as he tried to curl it.
One.
Two.
By the third rep, his muscles burned like fire.
The others didn’t notice.
Or maybe they didn’t care.
Riku gritted his teeth, sweat already dripping from his forehead.
No shortcuts.
No magic.
Just hard work.
He finished ten shaky reps, barely, and dropped the weight with a soft clatter.
His arms felt like spaghetti.
"Is this... how it starts?" he thought, panting.
Elsewhere in the Gym...
Heavy footsteps echoed.
Everyone looked up for a moment, then quickly looked away.
Daigo Enishi had entered the gym again,
hands in his pockets, chewing lazily on a skewer of grilled chicken.
He wore the same stretched black shirt, loose sweatpants, and a blank, almost sleepy expression.
He was so casual...
but his presence crushed the air like a mountain sitting on your chest.
Daigo glanced around, yawning.
Then made his way to the back, where the heavier punching bags were.
BOOM.
One casual punch.
Another punching bag burst at the seams.
The gym shook.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
No one dared complain.
No one dared speak.
Daigo just sucked the meat off his skewer, tossed the stick into a trash can without looking, and stretched like a bored lion.
"Tch. These bags are made for kids," he muttered under his breath.
Riku Watched.
From behind the worn-out weight rack,
Riku's eyes stayed glued on Daigo.
He could barely lift a dumbbell...
and this man shattered punching bags like they were balloons.
The gap was enormous.
Suffocating.
Yet somehow...
somehow it didn’t crush Riku.
It motivated him.
Made him want to push even harder.
Made him want to prove,
not to others,
but to himself,
that he could get there.
One day.
Reality Check.
After two miserable hours of light weights and trembling arms,
Riku stumbled out of the gym, exhausted beyond belief.
His muscles screamed with every step.
He could barely lift his school bag.
Strength wasn’t going to come easy.
Or quick.
But that was fine.
Because he wasn’t chasing quick.
He was chasing real.
Even if it took years.
Even if it broke him.
He'd keep going.
Later that week.
Rain hammered the streets of Tokyo like endless nails from the sky.
Umbrellas bloomed open along the sidewalks, a sea of black and gray.
The city felt heavier.
Colder.
And so did Riku.
Inside the Gym.
It was miserable.
His arms were still sore from three days ago.
The weights he struggled with still mocked him from the racks.
He could barely run five minutes on the old treadmill before his knees buckled.
Each rep felt like it was tearing him apart, molecule by molecule.
Every muscle in his body screamed to stop.
He Did It Anyway.
Because quitting wasn’t an option anymore.
If he walked away now, he'd never forgive himself.
"Just... one more,"
he gasped, shaking through another half-hearted dumbbell curl.
One more.
Then another.
And another.
No shortcuts.
No miracles.
Only slow, miserable progress.
Sudden Stirring.
The gym's rusted door creaked open.
Heads turned.
Even the air seemed to hush.
Stepping inside, water dripping from the brim of his hat, was Daigo Enishi.
He wore a brown, pinstriped long coat that looked straight out of a yakuza movie,
loosely buttoned over a dark red vest and a white-collared shirt.
The sleeves were rolled up carelessly.
Brown slacks and polished black shoes completed the look.
He was the kind of man that made normal people feel smaller just by existing.
Without a Word.
Daigo tossed his soaked coat onto a bench, rolled his neck lazily, and headed straight for the free weights, the biggest, meanest section of them.
Guys twice Riku's size cleared out without being asked.
They knew.
Everyone knew.
Daigo’s Casual Strength.
Without warming up,
without so much as stretching,
Daigo gripped a 150-kilogram barbell in one hand,
one hand,
and began curling it like it weighed nothing.
Each motion sent faint shockwaves through the floor.
The plates clinked violently.
The bar bent slightly under the force.
Riku Stared.
He couldn't even lift a 5-kilo dumbbell properly a few days ago...
And here was Daigo, looking like he was just playing.
A Man Approached.
One of the local tough guys, broad shoulders, thick arms, swaggered up to Daigo, trying to act cool.
"Oi, old man," he said, smirking.
"You hogging the weights or what?"
Daigo slowly put the barbell down.
Turned his head.
His deadpan eyes locked onto the man.
The Atmosphere Shifted.
It felt like the entire room lost five degrees of heat.
"You can have it," Daigo said casually, voice low and almost... disappointed.
He walked past the man without another word.
The tough guy forced a laugh, trying to save face.
He walked up to the barbell and tried to lift it.
His arms trembled violently.
His face turned red.
He couldn’t even budge it.
Not even a centimeter.
Riku Saw Everything.
He saw the gap.
The canyon between ordinary "strong" and Daigo Enishi.
He also saw something else:
Daigo’s loneliness.
How no one could reach him.
How no one could stand beside him.
Everyone either feared him, hated him, or worshipped him.
No one truly... understood him.
Later, in the Rain.
Riku, muscles destroyed, staggered out of the gym.
He passed Daigo sitting under the gym’s overhang, watching the rain like it was a movie.
The rain blurred the city lights into smeared streaks of neon.
Daigo’s brown coat was draped casually over one shoulder.
He looked more like a war general waiting for a battle than a high schooler's idle inspiration.
"Oi,"
Daigo called out.
Riku froze.
"Don't die before you get strong, kid,"
Daigo said, not even looking at him.
Then smiled, just a little.
A sharp, dangerous smile, but not unkind.
Riku bowed instinctively.
Then ran.
His heart pounding harder than any workout had ever made it.