The thought of becoming homeless had never once crossed my mind.
I thought that as I sat with my back against the wall of a small shop at the corner of the street, staring at the crowd passing by.
Children. Women. Men.
Some looked at me with pity.
Others with disgust.
But what hurt the most… was when they didn't look at me at all.
This was the first time in my life I had ever felt so insignificant.
My name is Akiha Yusuke. A 34-year-old NEET.
Like any NEET, I was a burden on my family. I spent my days locked inside the house—playing video games, jerking off, doing nothing that benefitted society.
Even a dog's life sounded more meaningful than mine.
"I… I don't want to die…" I muttered, tears streaming down my face ' i dont want to die alone in the streets im so scared ...so scared '
People passing by glanced at me a strange, overweight bum crying in the street.
Some of the kinder ones whispered among themselves, concerned.
Others laughed quietly at my misery.
But what could I even do about it?
Truth be told… I didn't even deserve anyone's concern.
No.
I didn't deserve to live at all.
Akiha Yusuke—a grown man who wasted his entire life. Even when his parents died, he didn't attend their funeral.
The only people who had ever believed in him…
And he couldn't even show up for them.
Instead he was at home jerking off to illegal porn like the piece of shit he is
Until his brother cought him him doing so and kicked his fatass out of the house
"...I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" he muttered, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, apologizing .
Then—
The sadness vanished.
Replaced instantly by a sharp jolt of fear.
He looked up.
The crowd had changed.
They all wore the same expression.
Fear.
Is this it?
Is the world ending?
Before his thoughts could spiral any further—
He saw it.
The source of that suffocating feeling.
At the far end of the street, a man was walking
Everything about him was dark.
His clothes.
His hair.
His skin.
Even the air around him felt… heavy.
He was the gloomiest man Akiha had ever seen.
He looked somewhat older. In another context, he might even be considered handsome due to his sharp, masculine face and long hair
But any such qualities were completely overshadowed by the oppressive aura surrounding him.
People moved out of his way instinctively, avoiding him like contamination.
Its like they're afraid to get close because they think they might spontaneously transform into a middle-aged men with a shitty jobs and no love life.
That was how suffocating and demonic his presence felt.
' utterly… inhuman '
Thats how he can simply describe it
That man was Juumei Kuga—an infamous figure in the world of karate.
A practitioner of Hagio-ryuu.
A style so violent, so warped, that even Gichin Funakoshi—the father of modern karate once attempted to write an entire book condemning this so-called "dark art," advising young karateka to never follow Kuga or the style's creator, Rozan Steps.
But the book was never finished.
Time claimed him before it could be published.
However, the manuscript was still released.
And that incomplete text ,fragmented, unrefined, and missing its main message was published anyway
Which is what gave Kuga his infamous reputation.
And yet…
What was a man like that—someone feared even among masters heading toward?
An ice cream shop.
Right at the end of the street.
"Hey mom who's that?" a child asked, clutching his frightened mother's arm as he pointed.
The boy's voice, along with the murmurs and whistles rising from the crowd, made Akiha turn his head toward the other side of the street.
There stood a man.
Tall—especially for the average Japanese.
He wore a white karate gi so clean it almost seemed to glow.
The complete opposite of the dark figure from before.
If that man was gloom
This one was light.
He was beautiful.
Strikingly so.
His features were so refined they bordered on unreal—more delicate than anyone Akiha had ever seen, even compared to the women he used to obsess over.
His long hair flowed down his back, soft and smooth like a quiet waterfall.
And his entire presence—
Was wrapped in white.
The two men looked like opposites given form.
Like yin and yang.
One was absolute darkness—
And the other…
Akiha squinted.
"…!"
Wait… how is this even possible?
His eyes widened.
I can see through him…
The shop sign behind the man remained perfectly visible—clear, undistorted.
As if he wasn't fully there.
The man kept walking.
Around them, the crowd fell silent. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the air itself felt still.
Everyone was watching.
Waiting.
The street was wide—wide enough for both men to pass without even brushing shoulders.
But would either of them move?
Not a chance.
They walked straight ahead.
Toward each other.
A collision was inevitable.
A merging of yin and yang
Akiha swallowed.
What kind of person would emerge from something like that?
As they stepped into each other's space—
Juumei Kuga raised an eyebrow at Yang.
A silent question.
What do you want?
"Kuga-san…" Yang's voice was calm. "Let's continue what we left unfinished that day."
"…Are you serious?"
Yang shrugged slightly. "Why are you acting surprised? Did you really think I'd let that slide? You humiliated me, i cant just simply forget about it"
Kuga's eyes drifted past him, scanning the crowd gathering around them—the tension, the curiosity.
Then his gaze returned.
"…Are you serious?"
Yang's expression didn't change. "I'll give you the same answer every time you ask."
Kuga cut him off.
"You have a tournament in a month."
"yup..." yang saying that with a smirk like kuga was asking him
' i wasnt asking ' Kuga blinked once, slow.
"So you're fine with having all your limbs broken?"
A faint smile tugged at Yang's lips.
"Yup. A month's more than enough for bones to heal."
He wasn't wrong.
It was only logical—fighters entering a big tournament like this would train harder than ever before their debut, pushing their skills to the absolute limit.
But Yang was a different case.
The representative of his school had been changed suddenly, leaving him with only one month to prepare—far less time than the others.
And that kind of preparation…
Wasn't something you could afford to do with shattered limbs.
" even if you die ?"
"Yes im fine with that too "
Kuga frowned.
He's not taking me seriously… is he?
But that wasn't the case at all.
Yang took him very seriously.
Kuga was a man constantly compared to fighters like Doppo. Even his master spoke highly of him.
That alone was enough.
Broken bones didn't matter.
Whether his body was intact or shattered—
Yang believed the outcome of the tournament wouldn't change.
He will Win
He turned slightly, gesturing with his thumb to an alley down the street.
"Let's go somewhere more private."
_________________
Kuga turned and walked into a narrow back alley, Yang following right behind him with his hands in his pockets.
Akiha—the same fat man who had been drowning in despair earlier —quietly trailed after them, curiosity dragging his feet forward.
He thought they hadn't noticed him.
He thought he was being subtle.
But he wasn't.
Not even close.
His heavy breathing echoed faintly in the alley, loud enough that even someone with the survival instinct of a sunfish could've sensed him sneaking
And so of course
They both noticed they just didn't care
"Is this place good enough for you?" Kuga asked, glancing back at Yang
His eyes widened.
A fist filled his entire vision.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through his nose before he even registered the hit. His body was launched backward, his back slamming hard against the wall.
Kuga crossed his hands in front of his face to protect it
He already knew what was coming.
Yang didn't give him a second.
He lunged.
His fists shot forward in a relentless barrage.
They moved like snakes—sharp, precise, slipping through gaps in Kuga's guard. Every strike found its mark, snapping Kuga's head back, digging him deeper into the wall with each impact.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Just violence.
Old, pure, unfiltered violence.
The barrage continued—unceasing witn every second
That went on for half a minute.
Then
Kuga's right hand blurred.
THUD.
It struck Yang clean in the chin.
Yang had gotten too deep into it.
Too consumed by the violence—he forgot who he was fighting a grandmaster.
His vision flickered for a split second.
That was all it took.
Kuga's right hand shot forward, gripping Yang's face. His leg slid behind Yang's knees—
And in one smooth motion—
He slammed him to the ground.
The back of Yang's skull slammed hard against the ground
His eyes bulged outward almost popping from the sockets.
Kuga raised his leg
THUD.
It crushed into Yang's face.
Again.
And again.
And again.
With each stomp, his eyes seemed to push further out, swelling under the pressure.
Dust and blood mixed together, smearing across his face until it was barely human anymore. His nose bent at a sick angle, his features drowned in red and grime.
Kuga finally paused, stepping back to look down at him.
Yang stared back.
Eyes bulging
"…What are you looking at?"
Kuga's eyes widened.
His leg came down again
But Yang immediately rolled out of the way.
He stood up slowly
His fingers pressed against his own eyes, forcing them back into place. He blinked twice
Then he lunged at Kuga.
Kuga's leg shot out again
But this time, Yang was ready.
Kuga was tall and has Long legs which is perfect for controlling distance.
He crossed his arms over his torso, moving in to catch the incoming leg. If he could grab it
One kick to the standing leg…
And Kuga would be on the ground.
Right where Yang wanted him
But instead, Kuga's kick changed trajectory mid-motion.
From Yang's torso
To his left shoulder.
"Eh—!"
CRACK
The kick landed clean.
Yang's left arm went limp instantly followed by a sharp, unbearable pain that detonated through his shoulder joint.
"Geh…"
Yang's fingers brushed it instinctively.
The moment he touched it, the pain intensified like the joint itself was tearing further apart.
Pain Comparable to having his groin crushed
Even though he had never experienced that before, his brain had no better reference.
This was the closest thing.
Yang had thought about relying on reading Kuga's movements—predicting attacks based on distance and path
But it was useless.
Because Kuga's strikes didn't just move forward.
They change mid-execution.
That realization hit harder than the kick itself.
So it's impossible to win? Heh…
No.
As long as he was standing, there was still a chance to win
He didn't know how—but he believed that possibility existed.
Kuga's palm whipped
straight for Yang's throat.
Yang twisted back just barely, evading the worst of it.
But still got nicked
Then another kick slammed into his ribs.
"Gahh—!"
Air, saliva, and blood were forced out of his mouth in a single violent burst.
Kuga didn't pause.
His leg snapped up again—
A clean kick under the chin.
Yang staggered backward.
His balance broke.
For a moment, he looked like he was falling apart mid-step—like his body had forgotten how to stand correctly.
Akiha watched it all.
"…A fight?"
No.
It wasn't a fight.
What was happening in front of him was a massacre.
From the start, Kuga had been going for the kill.
Stomps aimed at the face.
Strikes aimed at the throat.
Blows targeting the heart.
And Yang…
Yang had barely landed anything beyond that first sucker punch
And yet
He was still standing.
He refused to fall.
Instead of collapsing, he simply folded forward—then forced himself upright again.
His right hand shot out.
Again.
And again.
Not caring anymore.
Because at this point, winning wasn't the goal.
his was something simpler.
His fist had to reach the dark man in front of him.
That was all.
And then
Akiha noticed it.
Kuga's back had touched the wall.
Kuga glanced behind him.
"Tch."
He clicked his tongue.
He'd been driven back.
Pushed into a corner.
Yes.
That was it.
Akiha's heart jumped.
Yes…!
Do it, mister Yang!
He didn't even know the man's real name.
To him, he was simply "Yang"—not a person, but the yang in yin and yang symbol
A foundational force in philosophy representing the active, bright principle of nature: light, heat, movement, and strength.
And somehow, the fighter in front of him embodied that concept perfectly.
Every step forward, every refusal to fall, every broken breath forcing itself into motion—
It all felt like that same relentless principle made flesh.
"Look…" Kuga scowled. "Are you trying to impress me with this display? If that's the case, say it clearly. Because if you want to continue, this becomes a death match."
Yang let out a low chuckle, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand.
"Heh… you talk like it wasn't from the beginning."
Not even half a second after Yang finished speaking
Kuga's fist snapped forward.
The sound was like a gunshot.
And it hit like one
His fist buried itself deep into Yang's stomach.
Yang folded instantly, clutching his abdomen. His tongue swelled as he struggled to breathe.
"Th—" he choked, pointing weakly at Kuga. "o...ok im not gonna lie "
He smiled." That was painful "
He was smiling Even through the pain twisting his face.
...
"Oi… tell me that's not who I think it is."
A tall, muscular man in a black tank top with slicked-back hair stood beside Akiha, staring at the fight.
"Isn't that Juumei Kuga-san? What's he doing in a place like this…?"
"Eh? Who?" Akiha blinked, startled. When did this guy get here?
"Is he a friend of yours?" he asked nervously.
"Nope. Not even close," the man replied casually. "I just know him."
He chuckled dryly "or In other words… I got crushed by him once. Me and two others. We were all pro wrestlers."
A pause.
"They both died from their injuries."
Akiha's face went pale
"D-died? C'mon… something must've happened in the hospital, right?" Akiha stammered. "This is just a fight…"
The man glanced at him raising an eyebrow " A fight!? " he scoffed.
"Don't be stupid."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"kuga is killing that poor guy i bet you a million bucks that kids is probably wishing he was that garbage bag right there"he pointed at garbage bag thrown near a full bin
....
Kuga walked forward slowly.
Yang, still clutching his stomach, stepped back.
'He's… getting pushed back? ' Akiha thought, confused ' but why ?! He was doing good ?He had him cornered just a moment ago '
Kuga suddenly stepped yang side
His leg lashed out, kicking the back of Yang's knees.
Yang staggered.
Before he could recover, Kuga grabbed a fistful of his hair with his left hand and forced his head down almost tearing his scalp out .
Then
He raised his right hand high into the air.
"…It's over he's as dead" tanktop muttered
Akiha's heart skipped.
"Dead…?"
"Yes," the man said quietly. "Kuga-san is going for a Vertical Overhead Strike."
His gaze hardened.
"Don't be surprised if boyo gets decapitated."
Kuga's hand came down—fast.
The air split under the force of it.
Then—
Squelch.
A sickening sound, flesh and bone giving way.
His palm connected clean with Yang's throat.
Grak!
Yang's neck snapped and bent into a wrong direction from the impact , tho as his head hit the ground it returned to place in an unnatural motion
Yang's bloodshot eyes were wide open.
He had literally died for a moment—then returned, purely by luck.
This time, instead of repeating the cycle, he saw the angel of death for a split second.
"Kh—… ehe… kaah—!"
He tried to breathe.
Nothing came.
His nose was shattered.
Now his throat was crushed.
But even after all of that kuga wanted to made sure hes dead
Kuga stomped on his face
Again again again
His body twitched once… then stilled.
Yang was dead now for sure
Akiha was certain.
Kuga turned his back and began to walk away.
"W-wait… haaah…"
A voice—barely more than a whisper—dragged itself through the alley.
Kuga stopped.
Slowly, he turned his head.
Yang…
Was getting up.
His body trembled violently, breath broken, throat barely functioning—yet he was still forcing himself upright.
And then
A wide smile spread across Kuga's face.
Deep.
Crooked.
It looked like something had opened inside him.
Like a void stretching across his mouth.
What yang saw Earlier wasnt the angel of death no no
it was kuga
Him standing over yang with his voidy smile
Added with yang brain hallucinating gave kuga giant dark wings
He was now sure after seeing his smile again
Yang forced himself fully upright, one hand gripping his throat.
"…aaaah…"
His voice came out broken and raspy
"…aaah… nice. Perfect."
He rolled his neck slightly.
"Is my voice back?"
He shifted his throat again.
"Ready for round two, Kuga—?"
A strange, high-pitched squeaky voice came out.
"…ah. Wrong channel."
He pressed it again, making a small adjustment.
"…How about now?"
"…."
"…."
The two witnesses stood frozen.
There were no words for what they were seeing.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't human.
Kuga didn't answer.
He stepped in—
His knee shot up, crashing straight into Yang's face.
But this time—
Yang didn't move.
Not even an inch.
Instead, he placed his right fist against Kuga's chest.
Just one inch away.
Then—
He fired it.
THUD.
The impact exploded.
Kuga's body was launched backward, his back slamming into the wall as the air was crushed out of his lungs.
His eyes widened.
Sunkei…!?
Smoke—or rather, heat—rose faintly from the point of impact.
"…superb" Kuga whispered.
Yang rolled his shoulder lazily.
"Surprised? Don't be. Sunkei is just a weaker version of Seikun… that's why it was easy to pick up."
Without hesitation, he reached under his limp arm, grabbed it
He lowered his body, bracing it—
Then drove his shoulder back into place.
GRK.
"Ahhh~… that was nice."
Yang stretched his arms over his head, eyes locked on Kuga, a smirk curling on his face.
"Now I'll ask you again—with my real voice."
He lowered his arms, settling in.
"Ready for round two?"
Kuga didn't answer.
He just smiled.
That same wide smile—
Like there was a void inside his mouth.
Then he stepped forward.
A dark breath seemed to spill from him, heavy and suffocating.
By now, it wasn't just two witnesses anymore.
A small crowd had gathered—five people, frozen in place.
And to them—
Kuga didn't look right.
As he moved, it was like his body split for a moment—
Two overlapping figures walking in the same direction.
Even Yang narrowed his eyes slightly.
Something was off.
Even he could see it.
For a split second—
Kuga was right in front of him.
Close enough to touch.
Yang flinched.
And just as quickly, the figure snapped back—returning to where Kuga actually stood.
"…?"
Am I hallucinating? Yang thought.
His eyes narrowed, trying to steady his focus.
Fighting this man is a headache…
His attacks change direction…
And now he's… multiplying?
His gaze locked onto Kuga again, more cautious this time.
Did he hit my head that hard…?
Or is that black gas coming off him messing with me…?
As far as Yang knew, there wasn't any poisonous gas that looked like that.
Black?
No—nitrogen dioxide came close, but even that was more reddish-brown unless sealed.
This…
This was something else.
"Oh—!"
Kuga was suddenly right in front of him again.
"Another hallucina—"
THUD.
Kuga's leg drove into his groin.
"Gahhh—!"
Yang bent over, clutching it, his face twisting in pain.
"…that's not nice."
The kick didn't stop there.
Mid-motion, it shifted—snapping up into his face and jerking his head back—
Then it changed again.
Driving straight into his ribs.
It made no sense.
It was like Kuga didn't have joints at all.
RING. RING. RING.
In the middle of the onslaught, Yang raised a hand toward him.
"One moment please"
He pulled out his phone, blood streaming from his forehead down into his right eye, staining it completely red.
He tilted his head slightly.
"You don't mind, right?"
Kuga stared at him.
"…Are you mentally ill?"
Yang ignored him.
He raised the phone to his ear.
"Ni hao."
"Yang—where the hell are you?!" Doppo's voice exploded from the other side. "It's been thirty minutes! Who eats breakfast at twelve-thirty?! Did something happen to you in the way"
"Oh… right. I forgot about that," Yang said casually, wiping blood from his eye with his sleeve.
" are you kidding me? "
"I'm currently having a rematch with the dark master himself."
"…What?!! Are you insane?!"
Yang chuckled, glancing at Kuga as he pointed at the phone.
Kuga snickered.
"Funny. He asked me the same thing."
"Come back right now! Give Kuga the phone—I'll talk to him!"
"Come back? And miss this opportunity?"
"He's going to kill you, you idiot! I said give him the phone—!" Doppo groaned. "hafff… it's like dealing with a little Katsumi all over again…"
Yang sighed.
He really didn't want to leave.
A chance like this
A fight against a grandmaster on par with Doppo, someone who didn't holding back at all
You can't just walk away from that.
Kuga raised his hand toward Yang.
Yang sighed… then handed him the phone.
"Hey—"
The very micro instant Kuga brought it to his ear—
Yang moved.
His leg snapped upward
CRACK.
It struck Kuga's hand.
The phone shattered in half against his ear, glass and fragments exploding outward, cutting into skin as the impact rang through his skull.
"How's the kick, you miserable piece of—"
Kuga caught his leg before it could drop.
In the same motion, he swept Yang's only supporting leg out from under him—
And slammed him back down.
The back of Yang's head cracked against the ground again.
Pain flared
But before he could even react, Kuga was already on him.
Yang's vision darkened.
Kuga's face, though inches away, was swallowed in shadow—completely black, unreadable.
Kuga raised his fist—
And brought it down.
THUD.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Then the other hand joined in.
A relentless rain of blows.
The alley echoed with the wet, sickening sounds of flesh being crushed against bone. Blood splattered across the ground, each strike heavier than the last.
The crowd watched in horror.
"Shouldn't we… like call the cops or something?"
"He's going to kill him…"
"Yang-san… please don't die…!"
Kuga kept on punching
Until—
He stopped.
Breathing heavily, he looked down at Yang's ruined face.
Yang twitched.
Then… tried to rise.
Kuga immediately forced him back down and resumed the assault.
But this time
Something was off.
A dull, throbbing pain crept into Kuga's fists.
Yang was moving.
Barely—but enough.
He avoided few punches making them slam into the ground instead, leaving small craters beside Yang's head.
"…Get off me, man," Yang muttered hoarsely."I can feel our dicks touching."
Kuga kept punching.
Relentless.
Each strike drove Yang deeper into the ground.
His white gi was no longer white—
It was soaked in blood.
Some fresh.
Some dried to a dark, almost black shade.
The contrast spread across him in uneven patches—white and black intertwined.
Like yin and yang.
But not in balance.
In conflict.
Yang had changed.
Not stronger.
Not faster.
He had become something so stubborn.
Something that refused to break.
The "great ultimate"
Not of power.
Not of skill.
But of endurance.
He had become the best at taking a beating.
The best punching bag there is
Yang finally stopped moving.
Kuga stood over him.
Then
THUD.
One last stomp to the face.
He's not getting back up again.
Kuga turned to leave.
I want to win.
I really want to win.
In all the lives I've lived so far… I've never won a single fight against a real fighter.
Am I destined to fail?
Am I going to be a loser in this life too?
A memory surfaced
The boat in the lake
The quiet night.
The image of the ugly fish he caught
and most importantly
Doppo's voice.
"You'll be representing Shinshinkai in the tournament… so you're not allowed to lose."
…That's right.
Kuga stopped.
Immediately.
The alley was no longer empty.
It was filled.
A large crowed was blocking the entire exit.
Children stared at him with shining eyes.
Women cried.
Men watched with something else entirely—
Admiration.
There were even familiar faces among them.
Kuga tilted his head.
…This was new.
People didn't look at him like this.
Not ever.
Usually, it was disgust.
Fear.
Hatred.
Much of it came from the reputation of his "dark arts," condemned and misunderstood—especially after figures like Gichin Funakoshi spoke against such brutality. Not out of hatred for Kuga himself—but for what his methods represented.
But some people didn't care about the reasons they just wanted something to hate on
And yet
This.
This was different.
For the first time
People weren't looking at him like a monster.
So why?
The question surfaced quietly in his mind.
After everything I just showed… why are they looking at me like this?
The answer was simple.
They loved it.
Human beings are disgusting creatures.
They crave violence, often enjoying witnessing it through media, sports, and fiction, as it serves as a controlled outlet for pent-up stress.
That's why people from countries with harsh working conditions are among the biggest consumers of gore videos.
Today, they had witnessed a match billions of times greater than fake wrestling matches and the boring passiveness of UFC fights.
Even someone like Kuga—who hated attention—couldn't deny it.
This kind of admiration…
It wasn't bad
"Turning your back on me…
Heh.
Just who do you think I am?
I'm Yang—a proud student of Shinshinkai. As long as I live, there is a chance."
Yang pushed himself up slowly, using the wall for support, blood spilling from his nose and mouth onto the ground.
"Haaah…"
He straightened, cracking his back with a frown as he looked up at the sky—then turned his gaze back to Kuga.
"And as long as I have the strength to stand, I have the strength to fight.
And as long as I have the strength to fight… I will win.
So fight me, dark master.
FIGHT ME!"
A wave of noise erupted
"Yang! Yang! Yang!"
The alley trembled under it. Some in the crowd fainted on the spot, others clutched their noses as blood started to run, and somewhere in the chaos, two men suddenly broke into a fight for no reason at all.
Kuga sighed, shaking his head as he turned back.
There he was.
Still standing.
"…Can't stay down, can you?"
The cheers exploded, louder than before.
The crowd roared.
They respected Kuga.
They admired his strength.
But what they felt for Yang
That was something else entirely.
The difference between the two wasn't just small.
It was like the difference between a single drop of water…
And an endless ocean.
His eyes had nearly popped from their sockets.
His nose broken.
His throat crushed.
His arms dislocated.
His skull cracked.
Fingernails torn.
Half his ribs broken.
He probably even lost one testicle
scalp nearly ripped out from the violent hair pull.
And even after all of that
he was still standing.
If that isn't worthy of admiration…
then what is?
One by one, the crowd fell silent.
Eyes closed.
Hands clasped.
They began to pray.
God… please let Yang win this.
But God unfortunately had other plans.
"Hey! Just what's happening here?!"
The shout cut through the stillness, sharp and out of place. It was heard by the two fighters easily no one else was speaking anymore.
A man forced his way through the crowd, pushing shoulders aside, muttering curses under his breath. When he finally broke through, he stood in front of Kuga, bent slightly, catching his breath.
A police officer.
"Just… huff… what the hell is going on here?" he asked, looking up at Kuga.
Kuga met his gaze without interest.
"What do you think?"
The officer frowned, confused for a moment, then glanced past him.
Yang stood there—bloodied, barely holding together. His gi hung loose, exposing a battered muscular torso. A black belt was tied around his head, its ends fluttering slightly.
The conclusion came instantly.
"Hands behind your back—now!" the officer barked, fumbling as he reached for his gun. It slipped from his grip and hit the ground before he quickly grabbed it again.
Kuga didn't resist.
He sighed.
I knew this would happen.
With all the noise, all the attention—it was inevitable.
He turned slowly, placing his hands behind his back.
He could have left. Easily.
Faster than the officer could react.
But the crowd… the sheer number of people packed into the alley itll make movement difficult.
And he hadn't even seen how far it stretched.
It might have spilled into the street beyond the alley
Of course, he could still run across the crowd's heads and escape.
But that would leave him exposed
He could dodge it, no doubt about that.
But a stray bullet… it might hit someone and bring more trouble
So he chose not to.
He accepted it.
But someone else didn't like that decision at all.
"Oh no… I don't think he will. Kuga, raise your hand—let's continue."
Kuga shook his head. "Sorry, kid. It's over."
Veins bulged in Yang's forehead, blood spraying from his open wounds again—this time more violently.
"Too bad… you're not the one who decides that."
He lunged toward Kuga, eyes burning with fury.
"Eek—!"
The officer panicked. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger the moment he got a proper grip.
BANG.
The shot rang through the alley, deafening in the enclosed space.
The crowd broke instantly
Screams replaced prayers as people scattered in every direction, chaos swallowing the scene in seconds.
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If there's any mistake in this chapter feel free to point it out
Juumei Kuga
As for Yang's appearance, no AI-generated image has managed to capture a fitting face tor him, so imagine him similar to that one Fang Yuan chair artwork, but slightly more muscular.