Borschmack was perhaps the deadliest underling of Toda's. He had the longest and bloodiest track record of all the Minerals, a veteran forged through attrition rather than spectacle. While I used Reinforced Body primarily to enhance striking, he applied it with a grappler’s pragmatism—tightening joints, locking muscles, and turning every clinch into a slow death sentence. He was no slouch when it came to striking. His fundamentals were clean. Still, in a straight exchange, I had the clear advantage.

  I held his fist tight, feeling the density of reinforced muscle beneath the skin, and launched a left hook, reinforced. The impact echoed sharply, but his chest did not cave in like it usually did with lesser opponents. Instead, it held firm—unyielding, dense. He had reinforced it at the exact moment of contact.

  He pushed his palms forward for a clinch, feet grinding against the concrete, "You'll have to do more than that."

  I ducked under his arms and raised my right palm for an uppercut, aiming to split his guard. Surprisingly, he kneed my forearm mid-motion, the strike precise and vicious. I was unable to reinforce in time. Pain flared up my arm as the force knocked me backward several feet, my boots skidding across the concrete and leaving shallow trails. That kind of reactive counter was out of character for him.

  I raised myself using one knee, breath steadying as I re-centered. Borschmack dashed forward, right arm raised high for a punch, his shadow looming. He yelled, "Scared?!"

  I raised my cross guard and reinforced it just in time. His punch slammed into my forearms, making them groan under the pressure, bones vibrating from the impact—but it was manageable. I rotated my forearms outward and swiped with both arms at his head in a scissoring motion. It was like Vellin's Permeated Cross technique. He blocked with his forearms, reinforced, absorbing the blow—but they shook from the force.

  Borschmack lowered his stance abruptly and shot forward for a tackle. He was quicker than me, even if only by a fraction of a second. I dashed back, but his hand clamped around my ankle. I lost balance and fell hard onto my back. He crawled on top of me immediately, pinning my hips and cocking his arm back for a hammer fist.

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  A ground and pound?!

  He launched his full weight toward my head. I barely blocked it in time, forearms catching the strike inches from my face. The sheer mass behind it made my arms buckle. His attacks were more powerful now with gravity and body weight added. He was taller and heavier than me. This was his domain.

  He punched again. My guard absorbed it, but the pressure. How do I get out of this one? I can't stay here blocking for long.

  He threw a sloppy right hook, overcommitting. I rolled to the left and trapped his arm against my waist, locking it in place. Reinforcing my legs, I drove my shoulder into him, shoulder-checking him into the ground.

  But he was a grappler, not me.

  The moment his head slipped behind mine, he twisted his arm—reinforced—and tore it free. His legs wrapped around mine like steel cables, and his arm snaked around my neck, locking me into a headlock. The pressure spiked instantly. Darkness crept into my vision. I was going to pass out in an instant.

  He reinforced with all his might immediately, "Rest. Vellin does not want you to suffer."

  I used it.

  I reinforced my entire body. It was something my body had only recently become capable of doing. Hundred Percent Reinforcement. Legs, arms, chest, back, and head—every muscle fiber, every tendon, every ligament tightened simultaneously. My muscles expanded only a few inches, but it was enough. His hold snapped apart. I rolled forward and released the Hundred Percent Reinforcement at once. Borschmack rolled back, shock written across his face. His bicep—the one that nearly crushed my windpipe—was already bruising.

  I cracked my knuckles, "The Demon Buddha decides his own fate. Whether I suffer or not... is not up to you"

  I tore off my green shirt, the fabric ripping away—a remnant of a past brother I no longer needed clinging to me.

  I ran at him, reinforcing my legs for speed. The increase was about fifty percent.

  It was enough to surprise him, just as he had surprised me earlier.

  I jumped and curled my knees inward, feinting a dropkick.

  He raised his guard instinctively.

  Midair, I shifted my center of gravity and stomped the ground instead, the reinforced impact cracking concrete and kicking debris upward. The shockwave disoriented him, creating a brief opening.

  He looked around, confused—and of course, didn't see me.

  I was in the sky.

  My fist descended from the Sun, reinforced to its limit. It struck the top of his head. I felt something crack. It was most certainly his skull.

  His head drove straight into the concrete, crushed downward as I landed on my knees atop him, dust and fragments scattering.

  I held my arm steady, "Did Vellin anticipate this?"