Akira's pov
The next morning, the air in Sensō High is thick with anticipation. The usual chaos of students pushing past each other to get to class dies down as soon as I step into the hallway. Like a ripple effect, a path clears before me, students instinctively moving aside without a word. Whispers spread like wildfire, hushed voices murmuring my name, but none daring to make eye contact.
They know who I am.
They know what I can do.
At the far end of the hallway, Kuro is waiting. He leans lazily against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with an amused smirk. "Took your time, Ace. Thought you weren't gonna show."
I ignore his remark and glance at the bulletin board where a crumpled, hastily scribbled challenge is still pinned to the surface. King had been calling Kuro out for days, demanding a fight.
And now, we're finally giving him an answer.
I rip the paper down, crumple it in my fist, and toss it to the side. "Let's get this over with."
Kuro lets out a low chuckle. "Cold as ever. Alright, let's go meet the bastard."
The fight is set behind the old building—neutral ground. No one owns this space, but everyone knows it's where the real fights go down. A small crowd has already gathered, students eager to witness a battle between the school's top fighters.
King is already there, stretching his arms, rolling his shoulders. He's built like a tank, every muscle sculpted through relentless training. His dark eyes light up the moment he sees us.
"Finally," he breathes, cracking his knuckles. "I was starting to think you'd keep ignoring me."
I step forward, tilting my head slightly. "We had better things to do."
King grins, but there's nothing friendly about it. "Well, you're here now. That's all that matters."
He moves into his stance, muscles taut, eyes sharp. He's ready. I didn't bother assuming a stance—I don't need one. I simply stand there, hands in my pockets, waiting.
Kuro exhales a puff of smoke from the cigarette he lit moments ago. "Try not to kill him, Ace. We're still in school."
King didn't wait. He lunges forward, a blur of raw strength, aiming a brutal right hook at my jaw.
I shift slightly.
His fist cuts through empty air.
Before he can recover, I pivot on my heel and step past him, making it look effortless. He spins, adjusting quickly, sending a sharp kick towards my ribs. Again, I move at the last possible second, his leg barely grazing my shirt.
"Tch." King narrows his eyes, already frustrated.
He doesn't slow down. His fists fly, rapid and precise, targeting my head, my torso, my legs—every possible weak spot he can exploit. But each time, I step just out of reach. He's fast, but I'm faster. He's strong, but it doesn't matter if he can't land a hit.
The crowd watches in stunned silence. King's attacks grow more aggressive, his breathing heavier. Still, I remain untouched.
I sigh, finally getting bored. "Are you done yet?"
King grits his teeth and swings again. This time, I didn't dodge. I catch his fist mid-air, my grip tightening like a vice. His eyes widen, realization hitting him too late.
"Your form isn't bad," I muse, examining his clenched fist. "But you rely too much on brute force."
I twist his wrist, forcing him to his knees with a pained grunt. Before he can react, I drove my knee into his gut. The impact is devastating—he coughs violently, spitting out saliva as his body folds inward.
But he doesn't stay down. He gasps for air and forces himself back onto his feet. His legs tremble, but his eyes burn with determination.
I raise an eyebrow. "Still standing?"
King wipes his mouth and steadies himself. "Of course I am."
I smirk. "Alright then. Let's see how long that lasts."
This time, I move first. My fist slams into his ribs before he even sees it coming. A sharp exhale escapes his lips as he stumbles back. I didn't give him time to recover. I close the distance and drive an elbow into his sternum, followed by a roundhouse kick that sends him crashing into the concrete wall behind him.
The crowd gasps.
King slumps to the ground, barely conscious. His fingers claw at the pavement as he struggles to rise. My shadow falls over him as I crouch down, watching him with mild interest.
"You're stubborn. I'll give you that."
He chuckles weakly, spitting blood to the side. "I'll keep getting up... until I win."
I study him for a moment before exhaling.
"Not bad."
I stand, turning my back on him. "You've got guts. And heart. I'll take you in."
Before he can protest, I grab his arm and haul him onto my shoulder. The crowd parts as I walk past, carrying the unconscious King back to our hideout.
Kuro walks beside me, smirking. "Guess we have a new recruit."
"Guess so."
***
I sit back, one leg propped up against the old, creaky table in the hideout, the scent of grilled meat and fried rice lingering in the air. Kuro and I have made this our routine—he pays for the food, and I eat in peace. That was the deal. A cheap price for my loyalty, if you ask me.
Kuro sits across from me, leaning back with a lazy smirk as he takes another bite of his food. The guy eats like he owns the world, never in a hurry, never stressed. It's like nothing fazes him. Maybe that's why I tolerate him. I stab a piece of beef with my chopsticks, chewing lazily while the room hums with quiet conversation between a few of our underlings scattered around.
A few days have passed since the fight with King. The bruises he earned that day are still faintly visible, but his attitude? Completely unchanged. Now, he leans by the open window, arms crossed, staring down at Sensō High's courtyard like some kind of watchman. The afternoon sun casts long shadows through the room, highlighting the calmness in his usually fiery eyes. He hasn't said much since that fight, but when he does speak, there's a weight to his words.
"You two really keep this place in check, huh?" he muses, still gazing outside. "Never thought Sensō High could be this... quiet."
I raise a brow, swallowing a mouthful of rice before speaking. "Quiet? This place is still a battlefield, King. The difference is, we don't let it burn down to the ground."
"Yeah," Kuro adds with a chuckle. "We let them fight, but we don't let them destroy. It's controlled chaos."
King scoffs, shaking his head slightly. "Still. Compared to what I've heard, it's way different. Before I transferred, I heard that any day could be the start of an all-out war. Now, fights happen, but no one's losing limbs over it."
I glance at him, noting the way his hands tighten slightly on the window frame. He's been watching over Sensō High like a damn guardian angel ever since we let him in. Maybe he's trying to find his place in this whole mess, trying to figure out where he belongs. Not that I care.
Then, he stiffens.
"Oi," he calls out, voice dropping to something sharper, more alert. "We've got company."
At that, Kuro and I both turn our attention to the window. Below, near the entrance, a group of figures lurks just outside the school gates. Their uniforms are unmistakable—white jackets with gold embroidery, a stark contrast to our own colors. Housen High bastards.
Tch.
"Bold of them," Kuro mutters, standing up as he dusts off his pants. "Stepping into Sensō High's turf like they own the place. Either they're stupid, or they've got a death wish."
I set my chopsticks down and exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders as I stand. "Doesn't matter which one it is. Either way, we handle it."
King pushes himself away from the window, cracking his knuckles. "You want me to go first?"
I smirk. "Nah. Let's see what they want first. Then we break them."
With that, we make our way out of the hideout, the air suddenly heavier, the calm before the inevitable storm.
The sun is still high when we step outside, the golden rays casting long shadows across the pavement. The warmth of the morning seeps into my skin, but it does nothing to soften the sharp focus in my mind. We're not stepping out for a stroll—we're here to deal with these Housen bastards.
Kuro walks beside me, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he doesn't have a care in the world. King trails just a step behind us, still adjusting to his new position at our side. Despite the casual air we carry, there's an underlying tension crackling between us, an unspoken agreement that we're ready to break bones if needed.
As we round the corner, we spot them—fifteen guys in white Housen High uniforms loitering near our school gates, shifting uneasily. They're looking for someone. Or something. Whatever it is, it's not going to end well for them.
Kuro is the first to break the silence. "Tch. What the hell are they doing here?"
King cracks his knuckles, leaning slightly forward as if eager for a fight. "They look uneasy," he observes. "Like scared dogs sniffin' around for scraps."
Kuro lets out a low chuckle, his golden eyes narrowing. "Or maybe they just have a death wish."
I take a step forward, making sure my presence is clear. "Oi." My voice cuts through the air, making the group snap their heads toward me. Some of them flinch. Good. At least they know their place.
One of them, a lanky guy with a nervous look in his eyes, squares his shoulders and tries to act tough. "This ain't got nothin' to do with you, Sensō trash."
Kuro raises an eyebrow and scoffs. "You're in our turf, dumbass. That means it has everything to do with us."
The guy hesitates, his gaze darting around as if searching for backup. "We're just—"
"Looking for something?" I finish for him, my voice calm but firm. "Yeah, we can see that. Question is, what?"
They don't answer. Instead, another guy, bulkier than the first, steps up, rolling his shoulders like he's trying to intimidate us. "None of your business."
Kuro laughs, shaking his head. "That so? Then why do you look so damn nervous?"
The tension in the air thickens. The Housen guys shift uncomfortably, their eyes flicking toward one another. It's clear they weren't expecting resistance tonight—not from us, at least.
I let out a sigh, already bored of this conversation. "Alright, I've had enough."
Before anyone can react, I step forward and drive my fist into the face of the closest guy, sending him crashing to the ground. The moment he lands, everything erupts into chaos.
Kuro is on them instantly, his movements sharp and calculated. He sidesteps a wild swing, grabs the attacker by the collar, and slams his knee into the guy's gut. The sound of air leaving his lungs is almost satisfying.
King moves fast, faster than they expect. He ducks under a punch, twists the guy's arm, and sends him sprawling onto the pavement with a single fluid motion.
Me? I don't waste time. Another idiot comes at me, throwing a sloppy punch. I catch his wrist mid-air and yank him forward, driving my elbow into his ribs. He crumples instantly. Two more charge at me, but I shift my weight and sweep one off his feet before spinning around to slam my fist into the other's jaw.
They start to panic.
One of them pulls out a pipe, swinging it wildly in King's direction. King barely flinches. He tilts his head, avoiding the strike with ease, then grabs the guy's wrist and forces it backward until the weapon clatters to the ground. "Nah, we don't play with toys here," he mutters before headbutting the guy into unconsciousness.
Kuro watches my back, catching a guy mid-sprint and sending him flying with a brutal kick to the chest. "These guys are pathetic," he muses, barely winded.
I grin, wiping a bit of blood off my cheek. "And yet, they still keep coming."
Another one lunges at me from behind. I don't bother turning around—instead, I step aside just as Kuro lands a clean right hook to his face, sending him sprawling. We exchange a glance, and Kuro smirks. "Got your back."
The remaining Housen guys hesitate now, their confidence shattered. Some of them are still groaning on the ground, while the rest realize they never stood a chance. One of them, the last one still standing, looks at me with wide eyes, his breath shaky.
"You... you bastards..." he stammers, taking a step back. "This isn't over."
I crack my knuckles and step forward. "It is for tonight."
He doesn't argue. He turns and runs, leaving his fallen comrades behind.
The three of us stand there for a moment, surveying the damage. Fifteen guys, down. We barely broke a sweat.
King lets out a huff, shaking his head. "That was pathetic."
Kuro scoffs. "They weren't here to fight. They were looking for something... or someone..."
I cross my arms, my mind already piecing things together. "Yeah. The question is, what?"
Silence falls over us as we stare down at the beaten bodies of the Housen goons. Whatever they were looking for, it wasn't just some random scouting mission.
Something's coming. And I don't like it.
Kuro nudges one of the unconscious guys with his foot. "We should head back. No point standing around."
I nod. "Yeah. Let's go."
With that, we turn and walk away, leaving the Housen scum to pick themselves up. But as we head back to our hideout, one thought lingers in my mind.
What the hell is Housen High really up to?