Chapter Ninety-Five: The Television Drama and the Martial Arts Training Room

Aoki sat at his desk in his room, one hand turning the pages of a textbook on traditional medicine while stuffing his mouth with food.

“Have you finished eating, Aoki?” Another message from Kokoro Shouhashi popped up on his phone. Aoki sighed and unlocked his screen. “Yes, I’m going to take a shower now.”

“Oh, alright. Then let’s talk after you’ve showered,” Kokoro’s reply carried a hint of disappointment.

Aoki casually locked his phone again and continued studying the medical book. The many technical terms left his mind foggy; so much was convoluted and tongue-twisting, difficult to make sense of, and it frustrated him. Still, he forced himself to read carefully—only this way could he gain more skill experience.

He endured for nearly half an hour before his eyelids grew heavy and he began yawning repeatedly.

It was no wonder—he hadn’t slept well all day, and had gotten into a fight. Of course he was exhausted.

He glanced at the time; it was just after eight o'clock, but Aoki felt that if he kept on studying, he’d truly collapse.

But what else could he do? Play games with Sora? She seemed to still be asleep. Play alone? That held little appeal.

He set aside the medical book and decided to watch television to shift his mood and relax his body. After tidying up his takeaway trash and bringing it downstairs, Aoki lazily sprawled on the living room sofa for the first time, somewhat awkwardly turning on the TV.

“Call our hotline at 0122...!”

“Ah! R-chan, hurry, dodge...”

“Today’s news is...”

Aoki flipped through channels, feeling nothing caught his attention. Suddenly, a scene made his eyelid twitch; his hand paused mid-channel change.

On the screen, a man with a head of flaming red hair, fierce and imposing, sat in a classroom seat, surrounded by what looked like thirty or forty delinquent youths.

“Tiger, today is your death day!” A burly, rough-faced man who seemed about forty, dressed in a school uniform and holding an iron rod, grinned viciously at the red-haired Tiger.

Tiger calmly pulled a lollipop from his pocket, clamped it between his teeth, and sneered, “Just you lot?”

“Looking for trouble!” Without another word, the iron rod man swung and smashed Tiger’s head. The camera zoomed in; Tiger’s head was instantly covered in blood, but with the lollipop still in his mouth, he remained astonishingly composed, smiling faintly. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The next moment, Tiger kicked, sending the iron rod man flying out of the classroom, crashing through the window and screaming as he plummeted from the building.

Aoki gasped. Judging by the scenery outside, that had to be at least the third or fourth floor!

Tiger was terrifying beyond belief.

Then, the classroom full of delinquents rushed at Tiger, shouting. But Tiger remained unperturbed—whether struck with steel pipes, baseball bats, or even desks, he stood steady as a mountain. For every punch or kick, a delinquent was sent flying, smashing through windows and tumbling down.

Aoki stared, dumbfounded.

When the fight was over, Tiger wiped his face, miraculously stopping the blood. He stood by the window, looked down at the writhing, howling delinquents below, and gave an arrogant smile, crunching his lollipop and tossing the stick aside. To the camera, he left a suave silhouette: “I, Tiger the delinquent, am not someone you small fry can defeat!”

The screen then flashed “Stay tuned,” and the ending theme began.

Aoki swallowed, eyeing the TV title: “Gangland Storm Returns: Tiger the Delinquent.” He shakily picked up the remote, rising from the sofa with a shattered worldview, muttering, “They can roll around screaming after being thrown from the third or fourth floor? People actually watch this? This is absurd. What’s the point of this show?”

He pressed the channel button, and a talk show appeared.

The female host looked smoothly into the camera, speaking energetically.

“We’ve just discussed the ratings for ‘Winter Grudge, Spring Love.’ Next, let’s talk about the hot new drama, ‘Gangland Storm Returns: Tiger the Delinquent.’”

“Since its debut, this drama has sparked heated discussion. Its ratings keep climbing, and it’s now the top show in its time slot.”

Aoki snapped off the TV and stood up from the sofa, dazed. “It’s actually number one in ratings… Maybe I shouldn’t watch TV after all…”

Just then, his phone chimed again. Opening it, he saw another message from Kokoro Shouhashi.

“Are you done with your shower, Aoki? What are you up to?”

Aoki replied casually, “Finished. I’m tired—going to sleep.”

“Oh. Remember to drink plenty of hot water after your bath. It’s getting cold, so wear warmer clothes, and go to bed early. Goodnight.”

Looking at Kokoro’s string of messages, Aoki thought for a moment and typed simply, “Goodnight.”

No punctuation.

Because of his injuries, Aoki only took a quick shower, returned to his room, and nestled into his comfortable bed.

Soon after, he fell into a deep sleep.

[Enter Dream Training Grounds?]

“Yes.” In the now familiar white space, Aoki stretched. Here, he was always in peak condition; all muscle soreness and pain had vanished, and his mind was crystal clear.

[Dream Training Grounds activated. Available training: Kendo, Mixed Martial Arts. Please select practice duration and sleep time.]

“Mixed Martial Arts. Time… I can stop training anytime in the dream to sleep!” Aoki gritted his teeth. “Did you deliberately let me get killed in there yesterday?”

[Mixed Martial Arts Training: Choose ‘Technique’ or ‘Combat’.]

Receiving no response, Aoki snorted, “Combat!”

[Combat—Beginner training grounds activated. Enemy count—1.]

What could be faster than gaining experience through a real fight? Aoki rolled up his sleeves, ready, his expression fierce. Truthfully, Sora’s angry and upset face still lingered in his mind; it was impossible to be unaffected. So, all his irritation and gloom, he decided to vent in the Dream Training Grounds.

Kendo? Hmm, maybe in a few days...

The scene shifted again. Coming to his senses, Aoki was startled by an eruption of deafening cheers, clutching his ears in panic, feeling his hearing was under threat.

Glancing around, he found himself inside an octagonal cage, surrounded by thousands—tens of thousands—of spectators, all cheering wildly for him. It was a professional MMA arena, one he’d only ever seen on TV! And judging by the setup, it had to be a top-level event.

“Click!” The overhead lights dimmed, all illumination focused on the octagon. The suited host stood at the center stage, holding a microphone, voice brimming with excitement.

“The long-awaited battle of the century! The MMA Lightweight World Championship! ‘One-Punch Man’ Aoki versus ‘White Devil’ Stephen Scythe!”

“Let’s begin!”

Cheers erupted as Aoki looked up. His opponent, a tall, muscular white man, stood at the opposite corner, flashing him a provocative grin.

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ps: Please be gentle with your criticism—I'll take it slow. I see your suggestions, just give me some time. I’ll work hard to craft the coming chapters, striving to bring you an even better story.