Bachiko the Grappler Ch. 02

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Author’s note: This series is my homage to the manga and anime series, “Baki the Grappler”. Yes, I know there are about 3 different mangas and, I think, 2 different animes with different titles, but I’ll just call the whole thing “Baki the Grappler”. So, meet Bachiko. Any resemblance to the original work in terms of characters, plot and theme is entirely intentional. I hope fans of the series will enjoy my homage!

IMPORTANT NOTE: The original character Baki is 13 years of age at the beginning of the series. Bachiko is a 21-year-old girl.


The lift doors opened onto a wide, curving corridor. Kaito followed Bachiko until out of nowhere, a spry old lady in a business suit came around the corner, flanked by two muscly female bodyguards dressed in tank tops and camou pants, and wearing military-style boots.

“Bachiko-chaaaaaan!” She came straight for Bachiko, who managed to open her arms in time to receive the embrace from the old lady. Kaito knew that he was now looking at one of the most powerful executives in all of Japan, if not all of the world, fussing and cooing like a kindly grandmother over his girlfriend (2 days and counting). “Finally, you’re here!”

“Baa-chan, good to see you,” Bachiko laughed. “You needn’t have troubled yourself, baa-chan. You’ll be missed by the others.”

“Stop it with the ‘baaaaa’, will you!” Fujiko said, playfully swatting Bachiko’s shoulder. “How many times have I told you, just call me your nee-chan!”

“That’s… that would be too inappropriate, despite your obvious youthfulness,” Bachiko said, clearly trying not to laugh.

“And who is this rude staring young man, hmm?” Fujiko turned her attention to Kaito, who jumped involuntarily and cringed. “A fan of yours, Bachiko?”

“I’m… I’m so sorry! Please ex-excuse me!” he stammered and bowed hastily. “I’m Ishida Kaito. Pleased to meet you, Tachibana-sama!”

“Baa-chan, Kaito’s my boyfriend,” Bachiko said, so off-handedly that Kaito’s face went beet-red and he spluttered.

“Boyfriend, eh?” The Chairwoman of Omega Zaibatsu gave him a critical once-over, wrinkling her nose. Kaito suddenly found himself wishing that he had decided to hit the gym regularly 5 years ago. He felt scrawny and inadequate, especially with the soldier girls standing there a few feet away. They were ripped and lean. Much less muscular than Bachiko, they still looked deadly and competent.

“Well, if you like him, I suppose you can do as you like!” she declared, with a sniff.

“He’s oya-san’s son. He’s nice, baa-chan.”

“I’m sure. Have you had sex yet?”

“No, not yet, but I’ve given him a blowjob, if you want to count that.”

“Anything special?”

“Not really. A bit less than 5 inches. I suppose better than average. But good enough for me. He’s pretty thick when erect, though.”

“Ah yes, that’s always very important. You don’t know if he’s got stamina though, and he doesn’t look very fit. You might want to train him up a bit.”

“Oh don’t worry about us, baa-san! We’ll be fine. He’s really a nice person.”

“Be sure he appreciates you for who you are. He’ll be rooting for you tonight then?”

“Yes. I’ve arranged for him to have a ringside seat.”

“Too up-close! Let him come join me in my box! Then he wouldn’t have to jostle with everyone else, and it’s a better vantage point anyway. I could also tell him all he wants to know about the Arena.”

“Oh, I couldn’t trouble you like that, baa-chan…”

“Nonsense! If he’s the boyfriend of Hanma Bachiko, he’s coming up to sit with me during her matches, no two ways about it. Besides, I think I’ll like his company myself, while you’re down there fighting! Will you let your boyfriend keep me company, Bachiko-chan?” Fujiko fluttered her eyelashes and simpered.

“Of course, baa-chan. You can do what you like with him, just don’t traumatize him too much because I still want him good for all kinds of things later.”

“I told you, it’s nee-chan! I’m not even 70 yet! Well, just you send him along afterwards. Call Emi and Aki, they’ll come pick him up.” The two bodyguards snapped to attention and saluted.

“Well, I’d best get going, baa-chan. I’ve to tell them to send my food to my room.”

They hugged again, and then Tachibana Fujiko and her bodyguards were gone.

Bachiko turned to Kaito. “Come on. Let’s go to my room.”

After a few steps, she turned around. “Kaito? Are you alright?”

He stood there, rooted to the spot, ashen-faced. Bachiko came back, looking worried. “Are you feeling unwell?”

His mouth opened. “Whaaaaaaaaaaa…”

Bachiko sighed, took her boyfriend’s hand, and led him along to her room.


She had stripped down to only a black loincloth, a fundoshi. As Kaito watched, mesmerized, she jumped and flipped herself, coming down onto her palms. Holding her body rigidly straight, she began doing hand-stand pushups.

Kaito gasped. “That’s amazing! Were you a gymnast?”

“No,” she said, sounding as if she wasn’t exerting herself at all. “My training routines involve some gymnastics, bingöl seks hikayeleri though. Gymnasts are very strong.”

“I’ll say! Hey, who’s that at the door?”

“Get that for me, will you, Kaito? It’s my pre-fight food and drink.”

He opened the door, and a pretty girl in a servitor’s costume pushed the tray into the room, bowed, and left without a word. Bachiko was now doing one-handed handstand pushups, doing 5 with each hand before switching.

Kaito lifted the covers off the dishes, and stared blankly at what he saw: an extra-large bowl of rice porridge, 3 bananas, and a liter-bottle of soda. The rice porridge had a few pickled plums in it.

“Didn’t you have dinner before we left the house, Bachiko-chan?” he asked. She had eaten a fairly protein-rich meal, with a slab of chicken and cod fish.

She flipped herself upright again and bent herself over backwards in an inverted U. “Yes, but this is what I eat about half an hour before every fight. For energy.”

“I see…” Her metabolism had to be very high, he reflected. Which, of course, it was bound to be, given the density of her muscle tissue.

She continued with her pre-match routine, her body moving with such grace and obvious strength that soon Kaito was sporting a full-on erection in his pants. When she was done, she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Her muscles glistened as she walked over to him and grabbed his crotch playfully. “Don’t let my baa-san do anything to this,” she said playfully. “I want it for tonight.”

“To… tonight? We’re going to… to do it… tonight?”

“To celebrate my victory. I want my prize, and only you can give it to me, Kaito-chan.”

He swallowed. “Of… of course! Bachiko… you look amazing. You look like the strongest girl in the world! I can’t imagine anyone beating you!”

She smiled but said, “I’m not the Strongest yet. That’s where I want to get. And from now on… I have your help. Now… will you oil me up while I eat, Kaito?”

As she ate while standing, he rubbed the mildly fragrant oil into her muscles, feeling as if he was about to ejaculate into his underwear as he ran his hands over every inch of Bachiko’s sleek body. She paused while eating as he massaged her small breasts in circles, and moaned contentedly. “After my match, making love with you will be all the better for the anticipation,” she told him. He could only nod, his throat dry again, while he rubbed her buns of steel and ridged abdomen.

She finished the rice porridge in short order, and then the bananas. Finally, she picked up the bottle of soda, examined it, and frowned. “They didn’t completely… gah. I really should take it up with the servitors,” she muttered, and gave the bottle such a vigorous shaking that her arms briefly became a blur. The bottle opened with a “ffffssssssshhhhhhhhh…”

“Hear that? Still so much carbon left in it,” she grumbled, before gulping down the flat soda.

“I suppose they can’t shake it as strongly as you can,” Kaito commented. “Hey, are you really ok eating and drinking so much before a match? I suppose you’d have to, um, go to the restroom in a bit?”

“Not always. But we’ll see. Heh,” her face brightened, “one time, I actually saw one of the contestants piss herself in the arena. She had been kneed in her crotch, see, and when she was on her knees it all just came running out between her legs, and…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA! STOP! WHOA!” Kaito threw his hands up. “Kuso!”

“Well, yes, a little bit, now that you mention it…”

“Gah! Stop! Please! Does that kind of stuff happen all the time??”

She looked blank. “What, the pissing? Not as a rule, no!”

“I meant the kneeing in the… you know! Aren’t there rules? That’s dirty fighting, isn’t it?!”

She laughed. “Didn’t I tell you before? There are practically no rules, except for one: no weapons. Our bodies are our only weapons. Oh, I suppose the victory conditions are rules: victory is by verbal submission, tapping out, unconsciousness, or being forced off the dais.”

“Then… then are injuries often… serious?” Kaito whispered, aghast.

“Sometimes. It’s part of the Arena. All of us know what we’re participating in. We all take it as a matter of honor, to determine who the stronger is, in a fight between two women. So it will get intense. But any injured fighters are taken to the medical bay after the matches, and the Yakushi tanks get them back into fighting shape in just a few days, usually.”

Of course! The Yakushi tanks, patented and manufactured by Kyocera Medical, a fully-owned subsidiary of Omega. Of course this Arena would have them, seeing as it belonged to Tachibana Fujiko. Kaito felt a lot more reassured now that he knew this. But he still could not help asking, “So… what’s the most severe injury any fighter’s ever sustained in the Arena?”

“Well…” Bachiko looked thoughtful. “I suppose that would be the time this woman got her spine broken. She was trading back-breaker slams with her opponent.”

“Is that more or less exactly what it sounds like?” In response, Bachiko quickly and effortlessly scooped Kaito up in her arms. “Ok, ok! I get the idea! Spine down across thigh, got it!”

“Across the knee, in this case,” Bachiko said, setting Kaito down. “They both switched to using their knees for maximum force. I remember watching them, slam after slam. I think they traded about 8 or 9 before one of them finally broke the other’s spine. And even then, the loser didn’t submit until her opponent put her in a camel clutch. Took two full months in the Yakushi tanks after that, before she was back in fighting form. I don’t recall who they were, though… the winner was a black, I remember, from America. The loser was Japanese.”

Kaito was shaking his head. “This is insane. I… I can’t believe you’re a part of something like this. Or that something like this exists! I… I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Bachiko’s eyes were hooded. “This is what I do, Kaito. This is my life. And… because of my feelings for you… if I am fighting and I know you are watching, hoping for me to win, I know I will fight harder. But if you do not wish to be a part of this, then I will not force you. And I cannot blame you. You can leave anytime you wish.” She looked away.

“Bachiko! No… I didn’t mean that! I… of course I’ll stay!” he exclaimed, grabbing her hands. She seemed taken aback by his gesture, but also pleased. “I’m… I’m behind you completely! It’s only that… when I think of you getting… kneed down there… or having your bones broken or… I just don’t want that!”

She smiled, and cupped the back of his head. “Relax, Kaito. That kind of thing happens very seldom. Most of us don’t really get so violent or gruesome. It is meant to be a test of strength, skill and endurance. What kind of test would it be if we were all gouging eyes and such? You’ll see for yourself. And… actually… I hope that when you’re watching me… you find it a turn-on.”

Her lips were very close to his. He was very conscious of how unclothed she was. “Do you think you’d find it sexy, to watch me wrestle… fight… match my strength against another woman?” she breathed. “My muscles straining against hers… me using all my might to prove I am the stronger, better woman… so that at the end of the match, I am the one who stands above her, raising my arms in victory… looking up at you while I flex my muscles… do you think you’d like that?”

The mental images she was painting had captured his imagination. He nodded. She smiled, rubbing up against his erection. “Then tonight, you’ll be fucking the stronger, better woman.” And she pressed her lips hard against his in a fierce kiss.

“Now it’s time for you to go to Fujiko-san’s box. I’ll call the escorts.” They arrived shortly, and greeted him, inviting him to follow them.

“Bachiko!” Kaito stopped outside the door. “Um… good luck,” he said lamely, unable to think of anything else.

Bachiko smiled and blew him a kiss as the door slid shut.


“You may address me as oba-san, if you like,” Tachibana Fujiko said brusquely. “That’s ‘oba’, not ‘obaa’, if I hear you say ‘obaa’ I’ll have my bodyguards do things to you that would seriously hinder your relationship with my Bachiko-chan, do you understand?”

“Yes, oba-san,” Kaito replied with alacrity. “Thank you, oba-san.”

“Good boy.”

She was really quite a nice lady; in this day and age, even “dono” might be an appropriate honorific for her, he reflected. He was more than glad to accord this formidable woman her due respect and deference, and pander to her little whims. After all, he had a premium seat at the Arena. He looked around again, taking it all in.

The main Arena was like a coliseum. In the middle, there was a raised circular dais, somewhat like a sumo dohyo, similarly constructed from clay. The surface of the dais itself was white, but the floor around it was black – presumably, as Bachiko had told him, if one fighter was forced onto the black, she was the loser.

The spectators seated around the ring all seemed to be well-heeled, though most dressed casually. There was a fair number of non-Japanese too – at a quick glance, he could see a smattering of brown skin, a few prominent instances of very dark African complexion, and some white Westerners scattered all around, usually with Japanese companions. There were also a few Asian but non-Japanese faces he could discern. The Arena truly had an international character to it.

“The fighters come from all over the world, too,” Fujiko said, when he voiced some of his observations aloud. “Most are from Japan, though. That’s just because I happen to do most of my scouting in Japan. I’m starting to travel a bit more, so we ought to see more foreign competitors this year forth.”

“You scout?”

“Yes. I handpick the fighters myself! Women with strength, spirit… I offer them something they cannot resist.” She grinned. “A chance to see just where they stand with other like-minded women, in physical contest… A chance to indulge in our primal need to compete and prove ourselves superior to our rivals… and get paid for it, and other fringe perks too. Like our Yakushi tanks, they get the benefit of that. We’re not inhumane.” She sipped her cup of green tea, brewed for them by an attentive young servitor. “Have some tea, young man.”

Kaito sipped his tea. Never before had he heard women described as having such urges. His own mother, like so many other women he knew, was practically a yamato nadeshiko. This was an alien world to him, a world in which women were described as having some kind of primal need to fight one another and engage in contests of strength and will. He could not imagine such a world, peopled with Bachikos and Kaoris. Before meeting Bachiko, he would not have been able to imagine a Bachiko. He could not even imagine Kaori, now.

Well, he thought, that was about to become a moot point. He was about to see Hanayama Kaori with his own eyes.

And after that… he’d get to see just how this crazy world worked.

A gong sounded. The announcer, a woman in her thirties dressed in a formal single-shoulder black gown, spoke into her microphone from her desk across the arena from Fujiko’s special VIP box. “Ladies and gentlemen, the next bout is about to start! This is the final event for the night, the battle you have all been waiting for!”

The lights dimmed, except for two spotlights, one above each entrance, to the east and the west of the arena. Kaito noticed those entranceways for the first time. They had signs above them, in kanji; the east one was labelled “Azure Dragon”, and the west one, “White Tiger”. His heart began racing. Soon, Bachiko would emerge from one of them.

“Approaching the stage, from the Azure Dragon – age 19, standing at 5’7, weighing in at 204lbs… she is the Yakuza Princess of Tokyo… the Girl with the Iron Grip… Hanayama… KAORI!”

She strode in, an ornate robe draped around her bulky frame, and the spotlight followed her. She had the build of a sumo wrestler, but moved with a certain athletic grace, not in the least bit clumsy or ungainly. Her hair was done up in a traditional bun, and her sharp features were set in a grim mask of resolve. The scar running across her right eye and down her cheek was very distinctive indeed. She raised a fist to acknowledge the wild cheering that accompanied her entrance, but otherwise made no grand gestures to showboat. Instead, she stood impassively, her eyes fixed upon the opposite entrance.

“And her opponent, coming in from the White Tiger – age 19, standing at 5’6, weighing in at 165lbs… you all know who she is… Hanma… BACHIKO!”

If the cheering for Hanayama Kaori had been loud, it was now raucous. Bachiko strode out in her near-nude state of dress (or un-dress), just as Kaito had left her. Without acknowledging the audience, she marched straight to the marked spot in the ring and stood there, arms hanging loosely by her sides, feet shoulder-width apart, in a relaxed neutral stance.

“She’s got almost 40lbs on Bachiko!” Kaito gasped aloud as the thought struck him. He was a bit surprised that Bachiko weighed so much herself, but then again she was almost all compact muscle.

“That worries you, boy?” Fujiko chuckled.

“Well, I… I don’t know much about fighting, but I know weight is important!”

Kaori stepped forward, and with a single roll of her shoulders let the robe fall from her body. It was quickly retrieved by servitors behind her, but all other eyes were on Kaori’s topless body. Audible gasps were heard all throughout the crowd.

Both her arms were covered in beautifully inked tattoos, and her shoulders as well. Her back was bare, but the tattoos covered the outer halves of her sizeable breasts. They were floral designs, but intertwined with the flowers were swirling dragons. In fact, they had been inked such that a pair of dragon claws seemed to hold each of her nipples.

“She’s declared before that on the day she defeats Bachiko’s mother, she will ink a youkai’s face on her back,” Fujiko helpfully supplied.

Kaori was stocky, and there was a layer of fat all over her, but apart from her breasts, barely of it jiggled when she moved. In fact, the curves of muscle were clearly visible on her limbs. Even her thick belly seemed to have a faint line down the middle. Her thighs and calves were even thicker and larger than Bachiko’s own, and Bachiko had wheels to put male weightlifters to shame.

Looking from one to the other, Kaito could not decide who the victor was likely to be. Bachiko looked more muscular overall, but with Kaori’s weight advantage and the stories told of her grip strength, he supposed Bachiko would have to resort to quickness and skill to win.

Then a quartet of servitors brought up a reinforced steel table, struggling slightly with the weight, and Kaito did a double-take. “What’s that for, ba-san?”

“It’s customary for the women to have a bout of arm wrestling before the match proper,” Fujiko explained, cackling and leaning forward with eager anticipation. “This is just a preliminary gesture. They want to try and assert dominance, see, with a show of strength. Sometimes the outcome can have quite the effect on a fighter’s morale.”

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