On Riku Abeno's side, something felt off from the very start.
The streets were far too quiet. No lookouts. No emergency flares. No alarms. Just silence.
Riku's eyes narrowed."This isn't normal," he murmured, raising one clenched fist. "Move carefully. Don't trust anything."
His squad spread out, entering the target building with practiced precision. To their confusion, only two guards were stationed at the entrance—half asleep, arms crossed, and completely unaware of the invasion.
Riku knocked both out with two quick strikes, using only his hands. His expression didn't change.
Floor by floor, they climbed. Still nothing. Not even signs of retreat. Just cold, quiet air and empty rooms. It felt like walking through a ghost building.
By the time Riku reached the sixth floor, his pulse had slowed—not from calm, but from the creeping sense that something was very, very wrong.
A single door stood at the end of the hallway, light leaking from underneath.
Riku gestured for his squad to halt, then stepped forward alone.
The room inside was dimly lit, the glow from a low-hanging bulb casting elongated shadows. A lone figure sat on an ornate chair in the center of the room. The man's posture was relaxed—legs crossed, one hand resting casually on the armrest—but the air around him was thick, almost suffocating.
He wore a sharp black suit, perfectly tailored. His skin was pale, his long black hair brushing his shoulders. And as the man turned slightly toward Riku, the dim light caught the scar etched across his left cheek.
Riku's hand clenched instinctively, muscles tightening. The man hadn't moved aggressively, hadn't even stood—but the pressure he gave off was unmistakable.
Then, the man finally spoke, his voice smooth, low, with a cold amusement laced beneath every word.
"Maybe you're wondering why no one stopped you. Why this place is so... empty."He turned his full face toward Riku now, a thin smile curling on his lips.
"Well... maybe you should check on your boss."His eyes gleamed."If he's still alive, that is."A pause. Then, with a cruel grin:"I sent all the guards to the casino. That kid... he's the real target tonight."
Riku's eyes widened, the blood draining from his face.
No alarms. No resistance. Because they weren't meant to stop him.
The trap wasn't here.
It was there.
And Eichi—untrained, inexperienced—was walking straight into it.
Riku's jaw clenched."Damn it."
On Eichi's side, things turned dire the moment he stepped into the underground casino.
What he saw wasn't just a few enemies scattered around.
No.It was a sea of bodies.Over 400 Unuodera Clan members filled the massive underground floor, their presence pressing like a wall of heat and noise.
Eichi's eyes widened.His breath caught in his throat.
"This... this isn't good. I brought only 200 men…! That's twice our number… No, no—this is really bad…"
He tried to steady his breathing, but his thoughts spiraled.
I can't fight them all. What if they charge? What if they swarm me? What am I supposed to do—!?
His eyes darted across the enemy ranks. No one had moved yet. They were waiting. Watching.
His heartbeat thudded in his ears."Think, think! What would the protagonist in a manga do…? Oh!"
Suddenly, a memory flashed in his head—an old manga fight where the hero challenged the enemy boss to a one-on-one."Yes! Of course! That's it!""If I beat their leader… they'll probably just leave, right? That's how it always goes…"
He took a deep breath, gripped his wooden katana with both hands, and stepped forward, letting his voice ring out across the cavernous space.
"KANEMURA!!"His voice echoed off the walls."I know you're here! Come out!"
The noise in the room dimmed.
Eichi's tone grew louder, firmer, even as he inwardly trembled."I am Arata Eichi, the Young Master of the Arata Clan!"He pointed his blade forward."Come face me!"
There was silence.Then—murmurs. Movement.The crowd began to shift.
Someone was walking out from deep within their ranks.
Eichi's heart pounded harder.He gritted his teeth, trying to stop his hands from shaking.
"Okay… Okay… this is fine. I just have to beat him, and then maybe they'll all go home. Yeah. Just like in manga. Please… let that be how this works…"
From within the crowd, a voice called out lazily:
"Man, you're annoying. Why are you yelling so loud?"
The crowd parted slightly, and a man stepped forward.
Eichi blinked."Huh? This guy… is the boss?"
The man wore plain clothes—a worn-out hoodie, loose pants, and slippers.His dark, slightly messy hair fell just short of his neck. A pair of round glasses sat loosely on his nose, giving him a sleepy, careless look. His face was unshaven, with a thin mustache and patchy beard stubble.
He looked like someone who had just crawled out of bed after playing games all night.
The man scratched his head and let out a yawn."First time seeing you. So now the Arata Clan's sending kids to fight me?"
Some of the Unuodera clan members around him chuckled quietly—but no one stood too close to him. Even in that casual look, there was something… off. A dangerous air beneath the laziness.
Eichi's thoughts spiraled.
"So this is Kanemura…? He looks like he should be running a manga blog, not leading gangsters..."
But Eichi didn't say anything. He couldn't. His nerves were strangling his throat.
Kanemura's eyes studied him behind those round lenses, and for a moment… he frowned.
"A wooden sword?" he said with a scoff. "You really came here like that?"He clicked his tongue. "Either you're stupid… or way more dangerous than you look."
The crowd grew quiet.
Kanemura's relaxed posture stiffened ever so slightly. He adjusted his round glasses with one finger.
Eichi stayed silent, standing firm—not because he was trying to intimidate anyone… but because his legs wouldn't move.
To Kanemura, that silence wasn't hesitation.It was confidence.
"Heh... you're not saying anything?" Kanemura muttered."You're serious, huh? Fine then."He stepped forward, just a little."Let's see if you're worth the hype, Young Master."
Eichi swallowed hard.
"Why… why did he agree to fight?! No no no, I was just bluffing! What do I do now!?"
And yet—he raised his wooden sword.His hands trembling.
This was it.His first real fight.Four hundred eyes watching.
Kanemura's brow furrowed slightly.There was something strange about the kid.
He couldn't feel any intent—no aggression, no fear, no hesitation.Just... nothing.
It was like standing in front of an empty shell. A blank canvas.That absence made him tense.
"What the hell is he thinking…?" Kanemura wondered, his grip tightening."When is he going to move? Why can't I read him at all?"
He didn't realize that Eichi wasn't holding back a deadly technique.He simply didn't know what to do.
Sure, he'd trained for weeks, mimicked countless moves from manga, even built some muscle…But experience? Real combat?
He had none.
And yet, that stillness—born from pure inexperience—was now being mistaken for the calm before a storm.
While on Sakimura's side...
The moment he stepped near the building, he was greeted with an unexpected sight—a group of enemy men already waiting outside, lined up in formation, their weapons drawn. No ambush. No hesitation. Just open confrontation.
Sakimura narrowed his eyes. "So they knew we were coming…"
The enemy force was smaller—only 100 men compared to his own 150. But they showed no fear, standing firm as if they had already tasted victory. At their rear stood their leader, a man named Daiki Yamashiro.
He didn't look like much.
In fact, he looked like nothing.
Daiki had a skinny, frail body. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his clothes hung loosely off his bony frame. His posture was hunched, eyes sunken, lips dry and trembling as though he hadn't eaten in days. He didn't resemble a fighter. He didn't even resemble a soldier. And yet… he walked calmly through the ranks toward the battlefield.
The two sides clashed, steel meeting steel in the chaos of the narrow street, but as Daiki moved forward, the fighting parted around him like waves breaking against a stone. He was walking straight toward Sakimura.
And Sakimura—loyal, sharp, always one step ahead—stood ready to face him.
Or so everyone thought.
In truth, Sakimura hadn't slept for two days. Between running intelligence, guarding Eichi, preparing plans, and worrying about every possible scenario… his body had reached its limit. His mind was sharp—but the vessel carrying it was trembling.
Daiki, barely lifting a fist, swung once.
Sakimura didn't block. Not because the punch was fast, or powerful.
But because he fell asleep.
He slumped forward, unconscious—not from damage, but sheer exhaustion.
From the eyes of his men, though…
Their strategist had just been knocked out cold with a single punch.
Gasps spread through the Arata fighters. Some froze, stunned. Others clenched their weapons tighter. Panic trembled at the edges of the ranks.
But Daiki simply stood there, confused, scratching his head.
"Uh… did he just fall asleep…?"
Nobody knew at the time that after this fight, Daiki Yamashiro would be promoted within the Unuodera Clan and given a new title:
"One-Touch Daiki."