The silence between the name and the next blow was short—a heartbeat stretched to eternity.
Then Riku moved.
Faster.
Sharper.
Driven.
Akuma barely blocked the sudden barrage—punches rained down like thunder, each one tighter, more refined, more vicious. Riku no longer looked like a warrior in a fight.
He looked like a son in mourning.
A son with answers that only fists could finish asking.
"You killed him," Riku snarled mid-strike, launching a vicious left hook that Akuma caught—but the force behind it dragged him three steps back. "You killed my father."
Akuma's face tightened—not in guilt, but in acknowledgment. "He made his choice. Just like you've made yours."
Riku twisted under Akuma's arm, elbowed him in the ribs, then spun into a rising knee that actually lifted Akuma off the ground.
Akuma grunted—his first sound of pain.
He landed and retaliated with a savage backhand—but Riku ducked, pivoted, and drove his shoulder into Akuma's sternum like a bullet. The ground cracked beneath their feet.
Akuma stumbled back, wiping blood from his lip.
"You're fighting harder," he said.
Riku's eyes gleamed—icy and storming at once. "I'm fighting smarter. I'm fighting like Naizen Hayashi."
The name felt like fire in his mouth now—burning, but keeping him alive.
Akuma launched forward, fists flying—but Riku was inside the pattern now. He had seen it all. Countered with parries that flowed like water, redirecting Akuma's power back into him.
A step here.
A lean there.
An opening—struck with precision.
Every movement now felt like an echo of Naizen—not that Riku had ever known his father's style, but it was as if the will behind his fists had awakened something ancient and buried.
Akuma felt it too.
"His blood… really does live on," he muttered, catching Riku's wrist mid-swing and locking him in a grapple. "But blood alone won't save you."
Riku slammed his forehead into Akuma's nose—a direct hit.
Akuma reeled, stunned.
Riku pulled back, panting, knuckles bruised but steady.
"I'm not asking to be saved," he said, voice low and burning.
"I'm here to finish what he started."
Akuma stood, blood trickling from his nose, wiping it away slowly.
Then he smiled.
"Then fight like it."
And they did.
They rushed each other again—no hesitation, no words.
Just combat.
Fists.
Purpose.
Legacy.