The night air was cool against Yuhon's skin, a sharp contrast to the simmering energy beneath. The grinning fox mask felt foreign against his face, a separate entity with its own mischievous intent. He moved through the sleeping town's back alleys not with superhuman speed, but with a practiced silence that made him little more than a shadow. No powers. Not yet. His father's words echoed in his mind: "We're just simple people." A simple person wouldn't leave a trail of frozen footprints or scorched asphalt.
He found the Black Pigeons' "headquarters" exactly where the school gossip had said it would be: a dingy, neon-lit backroom attached to a shuttered arcade. The smell of stale beer and cheap cigarettes wafted from a cracked window. Muffled voices, loud and boisterous, argued inside.
"—a seventy-thirty split? Are you insane? I did the collection on the east side! That old baker put up a fight!"
"You call that a fight? He swung a rolling pin at you, Lao. My crew had to deal with that gym teacher. Now that was a fight."
Yuhon rolled his eyes behind the mask. D-rank washouts indeed. He circled the building, finding a rusted fire escape. His movements were fluid, silent. At the top, a grimy skylight offered a view of the room below. Four young men, maybe in their early twenties, were lounging on battered couches, counting a meager stack of bills and coins on a low table. The "loot" from a week of terrorizing shopkeepers. It was pathetic.
This was it. His first mission. His heart hammered against his ribs, not with fear, but with a giddy, almost unbearable excitement. He was about to do something real. Something the Disaster Duo would… well, probably laugh at, but it was a start.
He took a deep, steadying breath. Okay, Yuhon. Mafia mode. Be cool. Be intimidating.
Instead of smashing through the skylight—which would be cool, but also incredibly loud and messy—he simply unlatched it from the outside with a faint click that was lost in the argument below. He dropped into the room, landing softly behind a tower of empty beer crates.
One of the thugs, a lanky guy with a bad haircut, paused mid-rant. "Did you hear something?"
"It's probably a rat," another grumbled, not looking up from the money. "Place is crawling with 'em."
Yuhon decided it was time to make an entrance. He stepped out from behind the crates, cleared his throat, and said, in the deepest voice he could muster, "I believe you have something that doesn't belong to you."
The four men jumped, scrambling to their feet. They stared, first in confusion, then in dawning amusement, at the figure in the black hoodie and grinning fox mask.
The largest of them, the one who'd fought the gym teacher, recovered first. He smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Well, look what the cat dragged in. Lost your way to a costume party, kid?"
"This is the party," Yuhon said, his voice steadier now. He gestured to the money. "And I'm here to collect the party favors. All of them."
Lanky Thug laughed. "You and what army, you little pipsqueak?"
"No army," Yuhon said, tilting his head. The fox's grin seemed to widen. "Just me."
That was all the provocation they needed. The big one lunged first, a telegraphed, clumsy grab. To Yuhon, it was like watching a tree fall over in slow motion. He didn't use his enhanced speed; he just took a casual step to the side. The thug stumbled past, crashing into the beer crates with a clatter.
"Hey!" the others yelled, surging forward.
This was the tricky part. He had to subdue them without giving away what he was. No flames, no lightning, no frost. Just the basic martial arts his father had taught him since he could walk—presented as "self-defense for farm kids in case a wild dog gets frisky."
A punch came at his face. He deflected it with his forearm, the movement crisp and efficient, and used the man's momentum to send him spinning into a second thug. They went down in a heap of tangled limbs and curses.
The third, the lanky one, pulled a switchblade. "Alright, you little freak. Game's over."
Yuhon sighed internally. A knife. Really? As the man stabbed forward, Yuhon moved inside his reach, his left hand clamping down on the knife-wrist with immobilizing force. His right hand formed a precise, open-palm strike that caught the thug square in the chest. It wasn't a powerful blow—by Yuhon's standards, it was a light tap—but it carried just enough force to knock the wind out of him and send him stumbling backward to collapse, gasping, against the wall.
The big one was getting up, roaring in anger. Yuhon decided to end it. He feinted low, and when the man dropped his guard, he swept his legs out from under him with a simple, practiced motion. The man hit the concrete floor with a ground-shaking thud and didn't get up.
The whole fight had taken less than a minute.
Yuhon stood amidst the groaning bodies, adjusting his hoodie. He walked over to the table, scooped the cash into a spare cloth bag he'd brought, and even collected the coins. Every yuan counted.
He turned to leave, then paused. He looked back at the dazed, terrified thugs. He needed a name. Something for them to remember. Something to report.
He pointed at the big one on the floor. "Tell your friends," he said, his voice a low whisper behind the ceramic mask. "The Grinning Fox doesn't like pests in his town. Clean up your act. Or I'll be back."
With that, he melted back into the alleyway, leaving four very confused and very sore aspiring criminals in his wake.
---
The walk home was exhilarating. The night seemed brighter, the air sweeter. He'd done it! He'd actually done it! He'd been cool, intimidating, and he'd even come up with a decent name on the fly! The Grinning Fox. It had a nice ring to it.
He slipped back into his room just as silently as he'd left, stashing the mask and the bag of money in a hidden compartment under his floorboards. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of golden fire and digital ghosts.
The next morning, the farmhouse was its usual picture of tranquility.
"You're up early, dear," Aoqi remarked as Yuhon practically bounced into the kitchen. She was sipping her tea, already dressed in her elegant, simple farming clothes.
"Just… energized for the day," Yuhon said, helping himself to a large bowl of rice porridge.
Zerkon grunted from behind his newspaper. "Hmph. Listen to this. Some local nonsense."
He folded the paper and read aloud. "'Local gang, the Black Pigeons, reported a bizarre robbery last night. According to sources, their illicit earnings were stolen by a single, masked individual who identified himself only as 'The Grinning Fox.' The assailant reportedly subdued all four gang members with 'impossibly skilled martial arts.' Authorities are investigating, but suspect the report may be an attempt by the gang to explain the loss of funds to higher-ups in their organization.'"
Zerkon lowered the paper, a look of pure bemusement on his face. "The 'Grinning Fox'? Sounds like a right idiot. Probably some kid showing off."
Yuhon's porridge suddenly seemed to stick in his throat. Impossibly skilled? He'd been holding back! He forced a laugh. "Yeah, what an idiot. Who would do something that dumb?"
Aoqi shook her head, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Oh, I don't know. It's rather quaint, isn't it? Returning stolen money, in a way. A very… direct approach to community service. Misguided, of course. Reckless. But the sentiment is almost… charming."
Zerkon snorted. "Charming? It's a good way to get yourself killed. Messing with gangs, even D-rank ones. No sense."
He pointed his chopsticks at Yuhon. "You see that kind of trouble, you walk the other way, understand? Let the proper Hunter Guilds handle it."
"Yes, Dad," Yuhon said, staring intently into his bowl.
---
School that day was a different experience. The news of the Black Pigeons' humiliation had spread like wildfire, morphing and growing with each retelling. By lunchtime, the "Grinning Fox" was a seven-foot-tall giant who had breathed fire and flown away.
Yuhon sat under his tree, listening to the exaggerated tales with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.
"—and he had a sword made of pure darkness!" a freshman was telling his friends.
"I heard he's a new A-rank hunter, undercover!" another whispered.
Yuhon just smiled to himself. If only they knew.
His solitude was interrupted by a voice. "Hey. New kid, right?"
He looked up. A girl with her hair in a practical ponytail and a skeptical look in her eyes was standing there, arms crossed. She was followed by a shorter, rounder boy who was looking at Yuhon with open curiosity.
"Uh, yeah. Yuhon," he said.
"I'm Mei," the girl said. "This is Jin. We heard you just moved to the area. To the Kalmas farm, right?"
Yuhon nodded. "That's us."
Jin's eyes widened. "Wow. So you're, like, a real country kid. That's so cool. Do you have to milk cows and everything?"
Yuhon laughed. "Just one cow. And yes, sometimes."
Mei cut to the chase. "Listen, we heard about what happened to the Pigeons. Everyone's talking about it. But Jin's uncle is the baker they shook down last week."
Jin nodded vigorously. "He said the guy who came last night was a hero! He didn't say anything about fire or swords, just that he was fast and… and that the mask was kinda creepy."
Mei's gaze was intense, analytical. "A masked vigilante. In our town. It doesn't make sense. Why here? Why now?" She looked directly at Yuhon, and for a heart-stopping second, he thought she knew. "What do you think about it?"
Yuhon leaned back against the tree, adopting what he hoped was a casual, disinterested pose. "I think," he said, echoing his father's words from the morning, "whoever it was is probably an idiot. Messing with gangs is a good way to get hurt."
Mei studied him for a moment longer, then finally shrugged. "Yeah. Probably." She seemed almost disappointed. "Anyway, welcome to Hongxing. Try not to get caught up in the weirdness."
As they walked away, Jin turned and gave Yuhon an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Yuhon watched them go, the smile returning to his face. An idiot, huh? Maybe. But as he sat there, the hidden bag of money waiting to be discreetly returned to its rightful owners, and the white ceramic mask burning a hole in his imagination, he couldn't help but think it was the most fun he'd ever had.
He murmured in a voice only he can hear "I can't wait for today's night walk..."