Masaru's Cold Efficiency: The Brutal Annihilation of Gesshoku
Masaru and Akane strode through the bustling academy grounds, their presence drawing countless eyes. The whispers, the murmurs—he heard them all. Being a vampire gave him an acute sense of hearing, and every hushed voice reached his ears, carrying the same tone of disbelief and mockery.
"That loser is back? Why is he even showing his face?"
"He's just going to get humiliated again."
"I bet Gesshoku will break his ribs this time."
Masaru didn't react. He simply walked, his steps unwavering, his eyes fixed on the only purpose he had today: crushing Gesshoku beyond repair.
Less than a minute later, they arrived at the dojo. The air was thick with tension, the scent of sweat and blood lingering from previous fights. Inside, Gesshoku was already in the ring, his massive frame towering over a trembling opponent.
The match was pathetic—a one-sided beatdown. Gesshoku barely moved, effortlessly dodging sluggish punches before driving his knee into his opponent's gut, making the poor fool collapse, coughing blood onto the mat.
The crowd roared with laughter.
"That's what happens when you challenge the king!"
"Gesshoku's a monster!"
Then, their cheers faltered. A presence heavier than steel suffocated the dojo.
Masaru had arrived.
All eyes instinctively turned toward him, including Gesshoku's. For a split second, something flickered in his expression—a sliver of hesitation, a moment of recognition. Then, it twisted into a grin.
"Have you perhaps come to learn a thing or two from watching me fight, bottom feeder?" Gesshoku sneered, loud enough for the entire room to hear.
Masaru's lips curled slightly, but there was no warmth in his smile—only the frigid edge of a blade.
"If you're trying to provoke me into fighting you, then you're wasting your time." His voice was calm, almost bored.
Laughter erupted from the audience.
"He's scared!"
"Of course, he won't fight! He knows he'll get his ass kicked!"
Even Gesshoku's shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension easing from his stance. Good. Let him think that.
"I figured as much," Gesshoku said, waving a dismissive hand. "Why don't you scurry on out of here?"
Masaru took a step forward. The dojo fell silent.
"You've all gotten the wrong idea." His voice cut through the air like a scalpel. "What I mean is, you'd be wasting your time trying to provoke me… because I already plan on wiping the floor with your sorry ass."
The room froze.
Gesshoku's grin twitched. "What?"
Masaru didn't answer. Instead, he slowly uknot the tie around his neck, twisting it around his right fist with deliberate precision.
The crowd erupted.
"Did he just accept?!"
"He's lost his damn mind!"
"Gesshoku's gonna destroy him!"
A wild grin spread across Gesshoku's face. "Ah! What a dream come true! I finally get to beat you publicly without holding back!" He flexed his knuckles, a predator ready to feast. "I'll even give you five minutes to change into something easier to move in. Wouldn't want you making excuses when I clap your cheeks!"
More laughter. The boys in the crowd jeered, feeding off Gesshoku's arrogance. Masaru, however, wasn't listening.
"No need." His tone was sharp, unwavering. "Preparing to squash a bug is pointless."
A flicker of irritation passed over Gesshoku's face, but he quickly covered it up with a smirk. "Fine, then! The rules are simple: the match ends when one of us is unable to continue."
He expected Masaru to hesitate. He didn't.
"Let's get this over with." Masaru rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly. "I have better things to do than step on insects."
The words shouldn't have rattled Gesshoku. But they did.
For the first time, it didn't feel like an insult. It felt like a fact.
And that unnerved him.
---
Gesshoku assumed his stance, towering over Masaru. "I'll give you a handicap. Attack whenever you feel like."
The audience roared at the humiliation, but Masaru remained unfazed. His body was relaxed, almost lazy.
Gesshoku sneered. "What a joke."
Masaru lunged—reckless, wide open, no form, no technique. A desperate swing straight for Gesshoku's face.
"Too easy."
Gesshoku raised his guard, smirking—until the real attack came.
The moment his arms went up, Masaru's fist buried itself into his gut.
A sickening crack.
Silence.
Gesshoku's eyes bulged. Air. He couldn't breathe.
His knees buckled as he coughed up blood, body trembling violently. His mind screamed in denial. This isn't happening.
"What the—""
The crowd barely registered what had happened. The movement was too fast, too smooth. From the outside, it looked like Masaru had thrown a simple punch.
But no.
It was a perfect feint.
The punch to the face was a lie. A split-second misdirection that forced Gesshoku to block, exposing his true weakness.
Masaru had aimed for his liver.
A precise, surgical strike. The pain was unlike anything Gesshoku had ever felt. His ribs—**cracked. His stomach—**burning. His entire body—shutting down.
One punch.
Masaru stood over him, staring down with detached coldness. "Still standing? My mistake. I held back."
Gesshoku's pride screamed at him. No. No. No.
He forced himself up. His legs shook. His vision blurred. But he stood.
Masaru smiled. "I won't make that mistake again."
---
Rage. Fear. Desperation.
Gesshoku roared, throwing a left jab. Masaru stepped aside.
A hook. Masaru ducked.
A roundhouse kick. Masaru leaned back just enough for it to graze his shirt.
No wasted movement. Just cold, precise evasion.
Gesshoku screamed, throwing everything he had. None of it landed.
And then—
"Night out for you, dummy."
Masaru pivoted on his heel, delivering a spinning heel kick to Gesshoku's temple.
The impact sent him flying out of the ring, crashing to the ground like a broken puppet.
Unconscious.
The dojo was silent.
Masaru stood still, savoring the moment. He could feel it—the fear. The shift in the air. They weren't laughing anymore.
The audience wasn't mocking him.
They were afraid.
The medical team rushed to Gesshoku's limp body. No one spoke. No one moved.
Masaru turned to the crowd.
"If anyone else has a problem with me, let's settle it. Right here. Right now."
Silence.
Then—a voice.
"Would you mind sparring with me?"
Masaru's eyes flicked to the source.
Renji Kuroya.
Unlike the others, he wasn't afraid. He was curious.
Masaru grinned. "Enlightenment, huh?"
His era had begun.
---