Chapter 048: The Deadly Gaze

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“Huh? Are you really joining the Kendo Club? But didn’t you just refuse a moment ago?” Kana was completely baffled, unable to understand why Su Cheng’s attitude had shifted so abruptly.

“You didn’t mention it was the Kendo Club recruiting new members earlier,” Su Cheng teased Kana with a smile.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Kana blushed, her face turning scarlet with embarrassment. She wished she could crawl into a hole and hurriedly apologized.

“The Kendo Club should be quite popular at school, right? Why is it facing disbandment? Is there some special reason?” After filling out the application form, Su Cheng noticed that the club’s recruitment efforts had yielded little success and asked, his face full of doubt.

Asakura Miyu hesitated for a moment, then answered honestly, “The Kendo Club used to be very popular, but since last year, there’s been a surge of interest in MMA—Mixed Martial Arts—at school. Most of our original members switched over to the MMA Club next door. Even many newcomers who wanted to join the Kendo Club were drawn away.”

Mixed Martial Arts is a highly open-rules combat sport. Competitors are allowed to use techniques from boxing, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, Muay Thai, wrestling, karate, judo, sanda, and more—a true decathlon of fighting sports.

Just days ago, while browsing domestic news, Su Cheng saw that a notorious MMA enthusiast named Xu had stirred up trouble again, defeating a Wing Chun master. Apparently, the MMA craze had already spread to Tokyo.

“Hmph, it’s all because the MMA Club hired a busty female coach from outside. If Asakura-senpai drank more papaya milk, she’d definitely surpass that coach,” Kana said, squeezing her delicate fists and earnestly cheering Asakura Miyu on.

Asakura Miyu’s cheeks flushed; she flicked Kana’s smooth forehead.

To their delight, this recruitment event unexpectedly brought in four freshmen—three boys and one girl.

Su Cheng was surprised to see Lu Wanpeng joining the Kendo Club as well.

According to Lu Wanpeng, he originally intended to join the MMA Club next door, but his physique didn’t meet their standards, so he was rejected. Just when he was feeling downcast, Kana’s smile soothed his spirit, and he decided to join the Kendo Club instead.

But Su Cheng saw right through his little scheme. “You’ve got your eye on Kana, haven’t you? Three years minimum, and the highest penalty is death, young man.”

Lu Wanpeng’s plump cheeks quivered. “Kana may have a petite build, but she’s already an adult—a legal loli.”

His reasoning was so sound that Su Cheng was left speechless.

“I’ll take you to the Kendo Club to familiarize yourselves with the environment,” Asakura Miyu said, leading the four new members to the club.

The Kendo Club’s dojo was spacious, but the atmosphere felt somewhat subdued. In the large hall, only a few dozen members were sparring.

Su Cheng observed that the club members had proper stances, but their sparring lacked vigor and seemed a bit feeble.

“Let me introduce the four new members of the Kendo Club,” Asakura Miyu said, briefly presenting Su Cheng and the other freshmen to the club.

“President, I suggest these new members experience kendo by sparring with our senior members. What do you think?” A tall, burly man stepped forward from among the club members and proposed to Asakura Miyu.

“Iwakawa’s suggestion is right. Let these adorable freshmen feel the tension and excitement of kendo sparring—it’ll help them understand the art better.” Iwakawa held considerable sway in the club, and the other members quickly agreed with his idea.

However, Su Cheng noticed that Iwakawa had been staring at him since they entered, his gaze tinged with subtle hostility.

In this world, there is neither love nor hate without reason.

Upon closer inspection, Su Cheng realized that Iwakawa seemed to harbor feelings for Asakura Miyu, and Miyu’s different attitude toward Su Cheng must have led Iwakawa to misunderstand.

“Have any of you practiced kendo before?”

“I have some experience. Let me spar with Iwakawa-senpai,” Su Cheng said, smiling at Iwakawa. He had no time to explain any misunderstandings, so he decided to nip this trouble in the bud.

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Iwakawa was taken aback. He had planned to find an opportunity to teach Su Cheng a lesson and drive him out of the club—yet Su Cheng volunteered to spar with him.

“In that case, I’ll offer some guidance,” Iwakawa said, his smile strained as he shot a glance at Su Cheng, plotting how to embarrass him in front of Asakura Miyu.

Su Cheng donned a kendo uniform and casually picked up a bamboo sword, facing Iwakawa.

“I advise you to withdraw from the Kendo Club. Otherwise, I have a hundred ways to make your life here unbearable,” Iwakawa muttered, his voice low and threatening.

This wasn’t Iwakawa’s first time intimidating club members. Whenever someone got too close to Asakura Miyu, he would intentionally challenge them to spar, driving them out of the club eventually.

The Kendo Club’s dwindling membership was partly due to Iwakawa’s handiwork.

Unfazed by Iwakawa’s threat, Su Cheng’s lips curled. “Only a hundred ways? How weak.”

Seeing this freshman undeterred by intimidation, Iwakawa scowled and prepared to teach him a lesson.

“Begin!”

With a loud roar, Iwakawa lunged forward, gripping his bamboo sword and striking downward.

Iwakawa had trained in the club for two years, with private coaching to boot. His stance looked impressive, full of bravado. But to Su Cheng, hardened by real-life mortal combat, it was just flashy posturing—his strength was all in the shouting.

Su Cheng simply held his sword, unmoving, and glanced at Iwakawa.

A terrifying aura of slaughter washed over. Iwakawa’s vision warped.

“Where am I?”

Suddenly, Iwakawa found himself standing in the midst of a medieval battlefield, surrounded by broken corpses and shattered weapons and armor. Thick blood pooled past his knees, forming a sea of blood. A vanguard of fierce knights charged toward him.

“Don’t kill me!”

Back in the dojo, Asakura Miyu and the others watched as Iwakawa, without even touching Su Cheng’s clothes, let out a pig-like scream, collapsed to the ground, and began to cry.

The club members exchanged bewildered glances, watching Iwakawa weep like a two-hundred-pound child.

Su Cheng hadn’t expected that merely simulating the murderous aura of a dark knight with a single glance would induce such vivid hallucinations—and even reduce Iwakawa to tears.

Well, after this, Iwakawa would hardly have the face to remain in the club or cause trouble for him.

“Huh, what happened? Why did Iwakawa suddenly start crying?” Asakura Miyu asked, baffled, looking at Su Cheng.

“I’m not sure. Maybe he didn’t sleep well last night.”

Just then, Lu Wanpeng seemed to grasp something and smacked his fist into his palm.

“I get it! This is the legendary ‘killer glance’!”

The so-called killer glance.

The other members regarded Lu Wanpeng with expressions of tender concern, as if for someone mentally challenged.

Once he recovered, Iwakawa realized how much he’d embarrassed himself in front of Asakura Miyu. Grief overtook him—and he cried even harder.

After leaving the Kendo Club, Asakura Miyu treated Su Cheng and the other new members to a meal in the school cafeteria, as a welcome to the club.

For the next week, Su Cheng reported to the club almost daily, even more diligently than Asakura Miyu herself, the president.

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After a week of training, his Swordsmanship Mastery skill had indeed improved significantly, though it was still some way from reaching C-level. Su Cheng estimated that after the next dungeon, he would be able to unlock C-level Swordsmanship Mastery.

“Only twenty-four hours left until the next dungeon opens. I wonder what kind it’ll be this time.”

Su Cheng logged into the game forum’s trading channel, browsing the items players were auctioning in preparation for the upcoming dungeon.

The trading channel featured a dazzling array of items—not just ordinary weapons and armor, but also single-use consumables crafted by professionals: talismans, bullets, potions, food, and more.

These consumables were much cheaper than those in the points shop and their effects were decent too.

With plenty of game points to spare, Su Cheng bought some alchemical healing potions and blood-stanching bandages, stocking up his item inventory.

“Psionic Footgear? Paranormal defense equipment.”

At that moment, Su Cheng spotted a player selling a rare-grade piece of armor in the trading channel.

[Psionic Footgear]

Type: Armor (Feet)

Quality: Rare

Defense: Average

Speed: Fast

Skill: Psionic Jet—propels the wearer forward in a burst of psionic energy, enabling instant dashes. In charged state, can be used three times consecutively. After the energy is depleted, it must be recharged before further use.

The stats for this armor were average for its rarity, but the Psionic Jet skill suited Su Cheng’s combat style perfectly.

If he encountered enemies specializing in ranged attacks, Psionic Jet would prove invaluable.

Checking the price, Su Cheng saw the [Psionic Footgear] cost 3,000 points, and the seller insisted on no bargaining.

For melee-based professionals, Psionic Jet was a highly practical skill. Su Cheng guessed the item hadn’t sold yet because the price was steep and the owner refused to haggle.

“I’ll take the [Psionic Footgear]. How do we trade?”

The seller replied promptly, “Sign a trade contract first. Payment on delivery.”

In the horror game, trades were mainly done via contract or consignment. Consignment was convenient but required a 5% fee, so most budget-conscious players preferred contract trade.

With the trade contract in place, both parties were under system supervision; any scam detected resulted in severe penalties.

After signing, Su Cheng received the [Psionic Footgear], and 3,000 points were automatically transferred to the seller’s account.

Just then, blood-red text flashed across his phone screen.

“The dungeon will open in twenty-four hours. Please prepare accordingly.”