Rinzen rubbed his temples, already exhausted by the sheer logistics of mattress preservation. “Must I? Surely the Pagoda has redundant systems for catastrophic events. My sleep is a vital component of my… well, my everything.” Paldor merely raised an eyebrow, a gesture that spoke volumes of imminent, painful instruction. Tirza, however, stepped forward, her gaze fixed on the Grandmaster. “Master Paldor. Is there truly a technique that can stop this… Garmon?” “There is,” Paldor rumbled, his eyes briefly flicking to Rinzen, who was already slumping back against a cargo crate, eyeing a stray dust bunny with intense focus. “A dormant art. One that requires… focus. And energy. Both of which, I fear, are in short supply with my current disciple.” Tirza crossed her arms, knuckles white against her sleeves. “Then I will ensure he has it. I will drag him by his collar, if necessary. For the honor of true martial arts.” She shot a glare at Rinzen, who pretended to be deeply engrossed in the dust bunny’s migration patterns. Before Rinzen could fully commit to his dust-bunny research, a shrill, insistent chime pierced the air. A blue transmission beam crackled into the dust before them, casting the sharp, angular jaw of Vylia Mabari across the crates, her silver hair coiled into an immaculate bun. Behind her, Jenshi Mabari looked less confident than his usual Chi-Net persona, a faint bruise blooming on his cheek from Garmon’s earlier display. “Rinzen Mabari,” Vylia’s voice crackled, devoid of warmth. “You are ordered to report to the Mabari Clan’s executive suite, Sector Gamma-Nine, immediately. Your presence is required to rectify… certain public relations disasters.” Her eyes narrowed, cutting to Paldor. “Alone.” Paldor’s lip curled. “My disciple goes nowhere without my express permission, Vylia. And certainly not ‘alone’.” Vylia’s projection crackled with static. “This is a family matter, Paldor. The clan’s reputation, our sponsorships, our very future, are hemorrhaging Chi-Net currency thanks to your… disruptive protégé and his association with that thug Garmon. Jenshi’s new supplement line has plummeted by sixty percent! We demand Rinzen return to his rightful place. Our contracts depend on it.” Rinzen groaned. “Rightful place? You mean the place where I serve as Jenshi’s personal crash dummy for his ‘dynamic’ stunt videos?” He eyed the faint bruise on Jenshi’s face. “Looks like he’s already found a new way to get hurt without my help.” Jenshi’s face darkened, but Vylia cut him off. “This is not a negotiation, Rinzen. Your antics have been… entertaining, perhaps, for a time. But Garmon’s threat has exposed the fragility of our carefully constructed image. Your… *unique* talents are now required to demonstrate the Mabari clan’s resilience. We need a live, televised sparring session. You and Jenshi. A triumphant return. A reaffirmation of our strength.” Rinzen stared blankly. “So, you want me to get punched through another wall, live, for Jenshi’s benefit, all while a madman threatens to blow up the building? That sounds like… work.” Paldor let out a low, dangerous chuckle. “I think not, Vylia. Rinzen is no longer a tool for your paltry Chi-Net schemes. He is my disciple. And he has a mattress to protect.” “This is an ultimatum, Paldia!” Vylia snapped, her patience worn thin. “Return the boy, or face the full economic might of the Mabari Clan. Your training halls will wither. Your imports will rot on the docks.” Paldor showed his teeth in a slow grin. “Then we shall see who buys what. Come, Rinzen. Tirza. Let us pay our respects to the Mabari empire.” Minutes later, the pressurized doors to the Mabari executive chamber hissed apart, opening onto a hall of black basalt and polished chrome. A massive lacquered table dominated the center, flanked by silent directors and nervous underwriters. Vylia sat at the head, tapping manicured nails against the dark grain. Jenshi, nursing his cheek, sat opposite. Rinzen, trailing behind Paldor, immediately spotted a plush, unoccupied chair near a window, his mind already contemplating its napping potential. “Rinzen, you insolent fool!” Jenshi barked, leaping to his feet, enraged by Rinzen’s casual demeanor. “You think this is a joke? My ratings are in the gutter! My fans think I’m a fraud! This is *your* fault!” Jenshi lunged, his hand raised, aiming a furious slap directly at Rinzen’s face. It was a move born of pure frustration, without any of the practiced flair of his Chi-Net performances. Rinzen, however, was no longer the boy who passively accepted every indignity. Paldor’s rigorous, albeit often annoying, dart-dodging drills had honed his reflexes to an almost unconscious perfection. Without a thought, without even fully opening his eyes, Rinzen executed a subtle, almost imperceptible lean, a fractional shift of his weight. Jenshi’s hand, meant for Rinzen’s cheek, sailed harmlessly through the space Rinzen’s head had occupied a millisecond before. The momentum carried Jenshi forward, his arm outstretched. With a sickening CRACK, his palm slammed full-force into the corner of the solid oak conference table. A collective gasp rose from the assembled executives. Jenshi screamed, a high-pitched wail of agony that cut through the sterile boardroom air. He clutched his hand, tears streaming down his face as he collapsed back into his seat, cradling a visibly distorted, swollen mass of flesh. The silence that followed was absolute, save for Jenshi’s whimpers. Rinzen, having perfectly dodged, merely blinked, a flicker of surprise in his usually placid eyes. “Oops,” Rinzen murmured, genuinely startled by the sound. “Did he… break the table?” Before Vylia could unleash her fury, the boardroom doors burst open again, this time with a violent clang. Tirza Fen stood framed in the doorway, a whirlwind of emerald green and righteous indignation. She marched in, her twin hair braids swaying like angry serpents, her eyes burning with an unholy fire. She carried a small, antique brass alarm clock, which she brandished like a weapon. “You!” she roared, pointing the clock at the Mabari elders. “You want Rinzen to be your pathetic punching bag again? You want him to sacrifice himself for your hollow, holographic ratings? Never! I am Tirza Fen, and I declare myself Rinzen Mabari’s designated alarm clock! From this moment on, no one, *no one* will rouse him for anything less than a truly worthy endeavor!” She slammed the clock onto the table, its sharp ring echoing in the stunned silence. She rounded on Vylia, her voice dripping with contempt. “You claim to be a martial arts dynasty? You rely on stunt doubles and pre-recorded flailing! You cast aside true talent for a flashy lie! And you, Jenshi,” she pointed a trembling finger at the sniveling brother, “you can’t even land a simple slap without breaking your own hand! Rinzen, with his *laziness*, possesses more innate skill than your entire fraudulent clan combined!” Vylia Mabari’s practiced poise shattered into an ugly baring of teeth. Her eyes, cold and calculating, swept from Tirza to Paldor, then finally settled on Rinzen, who was now attempting to subtly recline in his chair, already half-asleep. “This… this charade ends now!” she spat, her hand darting beneath the table. “You think you can disrupt my clan? You think you can embarrass us on our own ground?” With a sharp click, a small, black device hidden under the table activated. A low hum vibrated through the room, followed by the sudden, unnerving pop of every screen, every holographic display, every light source flickering and dying. The room plunged into a sudden, oppressive gloom, lit only by the faint, emergency glow-strips along the floor. “I’ve activated the internal EMP!” Vylia’s voice, now distorted by the electronic interference, cackled with triumph. “No Chi-Net, no communications, no outside interference! Our internal holo-security systems are down, but so is your precious Paldor’s lev-platform, and all your silly gadgets. Now you are truly alone!” But as the last light died, a far more ominous sound echoed from the depths of the Zenith Pagoda: a deep, metallic groan. Then another. And another, closer now, accompanied by the distinct, heavy thud of multiple explosions, shaking the entire tower. Rinzen, now fully awake, felt a strange vibration through the floor. Vylia froze, color draining from her cheeks. The internal EMP, designed to disrupt communications and disable holo-security, had also, in its indiscriminate pulse, shorted the Pagoda’s outer blast doors. The sound of heavy footsteps, and the unmistakable, brutal shouts of Lord Garmon’s syndicate bombers, thundered up from the lobby.

The Boardroom Brawl