The punks froze as Karen's roar hit them, finally recognizing her. "Wait, ain't that Tojo-senpai? Didn't clock you with all that makeup!" one sneered, pointing at her outfit.
"Always stomping around like a tomboy, but today you're all dolled up? What's the deal? Oh, for a date with this pretty boy?" another taunted.
"Doesn't suit you. Stick to whacking folks with a bokken."
"Flat as a board, too. Stay home, why don't ya?"
Even though it wasn't my fight, their trash talk made my blood boil. Ryuji stepped in. "Shut it! You don't get to talk about Tojo like that!"
"Oh, playing hero again, pretty boy? Too bad for you—we didn't come alone today." The punks parted, grinning. "Big bro, help us out!"
A tall guy in his mid-20s sauntered forward, blonde slicked-back hair and a chewed-up piece of gum. "You the one messing with my boys?" he drawled, sizing up Ryuji.
Ryuji grimaced, stepping back under the guy's glare. The punks, hyped, spilled unnecessary intel. "Big bro's an ex-pro boxer! If he hadn't decked some dude at a bar, he'd still be in the ring!"
"No matter how tough you think you are, kid, you're just a high schooler. You can't touch our bro!"
Ryuji, realizing the odds, turned to Karen. "Tojo, get out of here! They're after me, not you!"
"No way! I'm not leaving you!" she shot back.
The slick-back guy scoffed. "You kidding me? You think I'd just let her waltz off?" He lunged, grabbing Karen's wrist. "C'mon, cutie, ditch this loser and have some fun with me."
"Get off!" Karen yelped.
"Tojo!" Ryuji rushed to pull them apart, but the guy didn't hesitate, slamming a fist into Ryuji's gut.
"Stay down!" he barked.
"Ugh!" Ryuji doubled over, vomiting his lunch.
"Sakamoto!" Karen screamed, her wrists pinned by the guy's grip.
I couldn't hold back anymore. "Rika, stay here," I said, dropping my bag.
"Ryu-chan, where—?!" she called, but I was already moving toward the punks, who were laughing, and the slick-back jerk smirking as he held Karen.
Screw the original plot. These scumbags—thugs who flex muscle and laugh off the law—pissed me off. If they love dishing out fear, I'd make them taste it.
Seeing Karen grabbed by the blonde thug, the Toseikai goons tailing her leapt from their hiding spots. "That bastard!" one growled.
"Who does he think he's touching?!"
"Boss, want us to grab the tools?"
"Hold it," Naoto Tojo said, his voice eerily calm. Everyone froze. "No need for us to jump into a kids' fight. Look at that guy."
He pointed to a hulking figure radiating murderous intent—me, Kim Yuseong. Naoto's hand trembled as he watched. He knew this feeling: the primal fear of facing overwhelming power. Years ago, he'd felt it confronting a Red Mafia boss in Japan, barely escaping thanks to Takeyama. Even now, he doubted he could win against that legend.
And here I was, a kid not even 20, exuding the same aura as Ivan, Russia's mythical "God of Destruction." Raw, unpolished, but terrifying. If I got proper training? Naoto swallowed hard, picturing a monster.
"He's a keeper," he muttered, tempted to recruit me for the Toseikai. But I was Karen's friend, a straight-A student with no need for the underworld's filth. A shame, but he let it go. "Let's watch the show."
If I hadn't stepped up, Naoto would've sent Takeyama to crush the punks and dump them in the sea with concrete shoes. But my vibe—reminiscent of Ivan in his prime—made him curious. He stopped his men, grinning wickedly as I pulled off my hoodie. "Show me what you've got, kid."
***
"Hey." My low voice cut through the air.
The slick-back guy, Ken Hayashi, turned with a scowl. "Who're you?" he snapped, playing cool despite his shock. My frame—ripped forearms, broad shoulders, thick traps, and massive pecs—looked like a statue carved from stone. He'd been a light heavyweight boxer; I was easily 10 kilos heavier, a true heavyweight. My punches would hit like trucks.
Don't choke. He's just a civilian. Probably knows some basic moves, Hayashi told himself. In a street fight, my size and aura might scare off scrubs, but to a pro like him, it was nothing new.
As he sized me up, I spoke to Karen, who stared in shock. "Tojo, take Sakamoto and get out of here. I'll handle these guys."
"But—!" she protested.
"I won't lose to trash like them."
Hayashi's eye twitched. This kid's treating me like garbage? He raised a fist to sucker-punch me, but his lackeys shouted, "Big bro, that's Kim Yuseong! The Ichijo Academy beast who took down a biker gang 50-to-1!"
"What? You idiots believe that? A high schooler? With that face?" Hayashi laughed, kicking himself for taking me seriously. "Big body for a kid, but you think a weight class edge can beat me?"
He danced forward, unleashing his signature move: the Flash Jab, eight punches a second, too fast to track. "Here it is! Hayashi-bro's killer move!" a punk cheered.
"Nobody sees his fists—just blurs!" another yelled.
Hayashi's jabs were his pride, as deadly as his straight punches. Most foes would collapse from a concussion under the barrage. But me? I didn't budge. Not a step. Like a rooted oak, I took every hit, unflinching.
Hayashi's confidence cracked. He was landing clean shots, but I stood there, unbothered, my durability freaking him out. "Fine, try this!" he roared, abandoning the jabs for his trump card—a textbook straight punch, twisting his hips for maximum force, aimed at my face.
For the first time, I moved. Boom! His fist slammed into something hard—not my jaw, but my forehead, one of the toughest bones in the body. Blood trickled from his torn knuckles as I stared down, deadpan. "Now it's self-defense."
Hayashi's skin crawled. He let me hit him?! Too late—my massive fist was already smashing into his smug face.
This wasn't a rom-com anymore—it was a street brawl, and I was done playing extra. Karen's date was a hit until these punks turned it into a revenge plot. Her fury at their idiocy was peak heroine, but Hayashi's cheap shot on Ryuji and grab on her crossed the line. Naoto's goons watching from the shadows? Whatever. I wasn't here for their approval.
Rika's probably freaking out, but I told her to stay put. Hayashi's pro skills were legit, but his Flash Jab felt like mosquito bites. That straight punch stung, but my forehead's a brick wall. Now he's about to learn why you don't poke the bear. If the Toseikai jumps in, I'm ready—nobody ruins Karen's day on my watch.