Hot-blooded anime: Starting from being a bad boy, you can dominate the world!

They recognized the newcomer as Mitsumasa Tsukimoto, the head of the Tohoku branch of the Hōsen High School.

As the saying goes, one does not visit the temple unless he has something to ask for.

The head of another branch school came to visit; there must be something going on.

A rather burly, bald man stepped forward, blocking Tsukimoto Mitsumasa's path. His tone was wary, but still polite: "You... are you Tsukimoto Mitsumasa from the Tohoku branch? May I ask what brings you to our Northwest branch?"

"I've come to see your boss, Ryuji Kurosaki!"

Mitsumasa Tsukimoto stopped and spoke.

"Then come with me!"

The bald-headed man from Housen nodded, then led Mitsumasa Tsukimoto toward the gymnasium inside Housen.

Mitsumasa Tsukimoto followed closely behind, stepping through the heavy gate of the Northwest Branch School of Housen.

The last rays of the setting sun were cut off by the towering school buildings, casting long shadows.

The campus was unusually quiet, with only the faint, rhythmic, muffled thuds coming from afar, like war drums striking the ground.

Fengxian, with her bald head, led Tsukimoto Mitsumasa straight towards the indoor gymnasium.

The closer they got, the clearer and more powerful the dull thud became.

The bald man leading the way took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy doors of the stadium.

boom!

A wave of heat, a mixture of strong sweat, leather, rust and pure male hormones, hit me like a real shockwave!

Mitsumasa Tsukimoto paused for half a second as he stepped through the doorway.

The sight before him caused even Mitsumasa Tsukimoto, a man accustomed to weathering many storms, to suddenly shrink in the pupils.

What kind of stadium is this anymore?

This is clearly a huge fighting arena.

The huge space was fully utilized, and in the original location of the basketball court, several arenas made of thick logs and canvas stood, exuding a strong sense of combat.

The walls were covered with heavy sandbags, ranging from ordinary standing sandbags to giant hanging sandbags that required multiple people to move.

At that moment, a dozen or so bald men, shirtless, were launching a fierce attack on the sandbag.

The dull thud came from there, and sweat streamed down their taut backs.

The other half of the space is occupied by a dazzling array of professional-grade strength training equipment that gleams with a cold light: squat racks, bench presses, cable machines, rowing machines, and mountains of dumbbells and barbell plates.

The sheer number and variety of these facilities rival those of top-tier combat training camps.

Dozens of bald men and some cadres with hair were sweating profusely on these machines.

Their muscles, under extreme load, tightened and bulged like steel wires, emitting low growls and the clanging sound of metal rubbing together.

The air was thick with the white mist of steaming sweat, mixed with heavy breathing, the clanging of metal, and the muffled thuds of flesh striking sandbags, all creating a symphony of primal power and steely will!

There is no laughter, no slackness here, only an atmosphere of near-reverence and the ultimate pursuit of power!

And at the very center of this vortex of boiling power, in front of the largest suspended sandbag.

Ryuji Kurosaki!

His 190-centimeter-tall body is like steel, with every muscle containing explosive power.

His movements are not fancy; they consist of only the most basic and direct combinations of straight punches, hooks, and uppercuts.

But every punch is accompanied by a sharp whistling sound that tears through the air!

boom!boom!boom!boom!

The heavy blows were like the pounding of a drum!

The specially made giant sandbag was like a small boat in a storm under his fists, twisting, deforming, and swinging violently!

The thick iron chains connecting the top of the sandbags groaned under the weight, as if they might break at any moment.

The tough leather on the surface of the sandbag has developed obvious dents and damage after countless heavy blows.

The moment Mitsumasa Tsukimoto stepped into the stadium.

It was as if an invisible electric current swept through the entire boiling space in an instant!

Swish!

It was like the pause button had been pressed!

All the bald men who were sweating profusely, hitting and roaring as they lifted the iron blocks stopped moving in unison.

The sound of heavy barbell plates hitting the floor, the lingering echo of the swinging sandbags, the heavy breathing... all the sounds vanished in an instant!

Their gazes, like searchlights, were filled with cold scrutiny and an invisible pressure, instantly focusing on Mitsumasa Tsukimoto standing at the door.

This terrifying pressure, which gathered in an instant and felt almost tangible, crashed down on Mitsumasa Tsukimoto like an invisible mountain.

Even though Mitsumasa Tsukimoto could remain unfazed by Kawada's presence.

At that moment, however, I felt an immense sense of oppression wash over me, and a chill ran down my spine.

This sense of oppression was completely incomparable to anything that could be felt on Kawada's side.

Just then, the sound of pounding sandbags, like war drums, came to an abrupt end.

Ryuji Kurosaki slowly withdrew his fist, the last drop of sweat dripping down his sharply defined jawline.

He raised his hand, and a bald man named Fengxian immediately and respectfully handed him a clean white towel.

Ryuji Kurosaki took the towel and casually wiped the sweat from his face and neck, while slowly turning around.

Those deep and sharp eyes calmly looked at Tsukimoto Mitsumasa at the door.

He strode towards Mitsumasa Tsukimoto.

As he approached, the pressure from the hundreds of gazes in the stadium seemed to be drawn by an invisible force, becoming more concentrated and heavier, all converging on him and then projecting onto Mitsumasa Tsukimoto through his gaze.

The entire stadium was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Only the steady footsteps of Ryuji Kurosaki echoed in the vast space.

Finally, he stopped three steps away from Mitsumasa Tsukimoto.

"The head of the Tohoku branch, Mitsumasa Tsukimoto."

As Kurosaki Ryuji tossed the towel he'd used to wipe his sweat to the bald-headed Housen behind him, he asked, "You found me, what's up?"

Mitsumasa Tsukimoto took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the turmoil stirred up by the surroundings and the invisible pressure in his heart.

He straightened his back, meeting Kurosaki Ryuji's eyes without flinching, his voice cold and sharp, carrying a questioning edge:

"Yesterday afternoon, Kawada No. 2 High School launched a large-scale, dispersed attack on the Tohoku branch school, causing us heavy losses."

His voice was filled with suppressed anger, each word carrying a chilling edge: "And the root cause of all this is your Northwest Branch School. It was your reckless actions that led to the attack on Kawata, which provoked their frenzied retaliation against the Northeast Branch School. Kurosaki Ryuji, shouldn't your Northwest Branch School at least have consulted me before taking action against Kawata?"

Mitsumasa Tsukimoto's questioning echoed like a cold blade in the silent stadium.

The bald men around them glared at each other with even more hostility, and the air thick with the smell of gunpowder.

Ryuji Kurosaki listened quietly, his face expressionless, as if Mitsumasa Tsukimoto were talking about something that had nothing to do with him.

He didn't speak until Mitsumasa Tsukimoto finished, his voice still steady, but carrying an undeniable, almost cold, forcefulness.

". Mitsumasa Tsukimoto."

Ryuji Kurosaki's voice wasn't loud, but it seemed to carry immense power: "What we, the Northwest Branch, do is none of our business. We don't need to ask your Northeast Branch for permission, after all, you're not our superiors."

He leaned forward slightly, his deep eyes revealing a sharp edge: "We have our reasons and methods for doing things. The Kawada guys retaliated against the wrong person; that was their stupidity, and it also shows that your Northeast region... isn't strong enough."

"Not strong enough?!"

Rage blazed in Tsukimoto Mitsumasa's eyes, and the skin on his cheeks twitched slightly with anger: "Kurosaki Ryuji! No matter what you say, this was caused by your Northwest Branch School. You must give my Northeast Branch School an explanation!"

"Explain?"

Ryuji Kurosaki's lips twitched slightly upwards, giving him a cold smile.

He slowly straightened up, his gaze sweeping over Tsukimoto Mitsumasa's tense body, which was taut with anger, and then around the breathless, bald-headed men of Housen.

Then, his gaze refocused on Mitsumasa Tsukimoto's face: "What kind of explanation do you want? If your Tohoku branch were strong enough, and had taken down Kawata earlier, we wouldn't have had a chance to make a move, and those guys from Kawata wouldn't have dared to come up to me and provoke us at Housen!"

"Besides, it was Kawada who hit someone from your Northeast branch school. If you want revenge, go find Kawada, why are you coming to me?"

Listen to what Ryuji Kurosaki said.

Mitsumasa Tsukimoto's pupils contracted, and after letting out a long breath, he gradually calmed himself down.

After calming down and understanding what had happened, he...

I understand that Ryuji Kurosaki's actions were not actually wrong.

We just have different perspectives.

“Okay, I understand. I will go to Kawada and demand an explanation. I have already agreed to a fight with Kawada to settle things once and for all. But this matter was caused by you, so you also need to give me an explanation.”

Mitsumasa Tsukimoto took another deep breath and said.

"Then let's solve it in the most direct way."

He raised his right hand, his five fingers slowly clenching, the knuckles making a crisp sound like popping beans, his eyes locking onto Tsukimoto Mitsumasa: "Let's have a fight."

“You win. From now on, my Northwest Branch School is under your control, Mitsumasa Tsukimoto.”

"I won. From this day forward, the entire Tohoku branch of the Hōsen University, including you, Mitsumasa Tsukimoto, will obey my orders!"

"In that case!"

Ryuji Kurosaki's voice carried an icy air of complete control: "This kind of pointless thing, where no one has to 'explain' to whom, will never happen again... It's all over."

"How about it?"

As soon as he finished speaking, the air in the entire stadium seemed to freeze completely.

The eyes of the hundreds of bald men from Fengxian blazed with intense light, and they held their breath.

All eyes were fixed on those two figures!

Chapter 140 Let Us Crush the Phoenix Fairy

After Mitsumasa Tsukimoto disappeared from the Housen Northwest Branch School.

The stadium was once again filled with the roar of equipment and the sounds of bodies colliding.

The bald men from Fengxian threw themselves back into their frenzied strength training, as if the conversation that had shaken the two Fengxian branch schools had never happened.

Only Ryuji Kurosaki remained standing in the center, calmly moving his wrists, his gaze deep, lost in thought.

Not long after, another bald man with a phoenix-like hairstyle rushed into the stadium from outside.

He walked through the bustling training ground, went straight to Kurosaki Ryuji, bowed slightly, and spoke with a hint of urgency:

"Boss, a guy from Kawada No. 2 High School has come. He asked me to pass on a message that Ishihara Yujiro... will be waiting for you on the overpass next to Longqing Road tonight."

"Longqing Road overpass?"

Ryuji Kurosaki raised an eyebrow slightly, a hint of barely perceptible interest flashing in his eyes.

He nodded without saying anything more, simply picked up the uniform draped over the equipment, casually put it on his sweat-soaked upper body, and strode off alone towards the exit of the gymnasium.

.............

Longqing Road, the overpass across the river.

This is an old steel structure bridge that spans a busy river.

Beneath the bridge, traffic flows like a never-ending roar.

On the bridge, the night wind was biting, blowing against the cold metal railings and making a faint whistling sound.

Yujiro Ishihara leaned against the cold bridge railing, his short, needle-like hair gleaming with a hard, cold sheen under the dim streetlights.

With his hands in the pockets of his black jacket, his gaze, sharp as a hawk's, pierced the night and locked onto the entrance at the other end of the overpass.

The night wind whipped up the hem of his jacket, making it rustle and adding to his cold, hard, and bleak aura.

The footsteps were steady and powerful, approaching from afar.

A tall, imposing figure, like a blade tearing through the night, stepped alone onto the empty overpass.