The sun rose, bringing with it thin clouds drifting above the city of Galleon. Morning arrived, and the markets once again flourished with merchants and residents. The loud voices of the people and the scent of food and spices returned to fill the air.
"Nightmare…"
On the hospital rooftop, Takeshi woke from a sleep filled with nightmares. Being used to them made his reaction identical to that of an employee dragging himself out of bed for work.
After adjusting his posture, the rooftop door opened behind him. Loren stepped out, the signs of sleep still clinging to her face.
"Are you leaving? If you are, hurry and get down before someone notices you up here."
She spoke with a slow, faint voice. Takeshi replied:
"Yes… Loren, I have a request, if you don't mind."
Loren covered her mouth to yawn.
"A request?"
Takeshi walked toward her and said:
"Actually, two requests. First, I need you to lend me some money if you can. As for the second—"
A violent gust of wind swept through the place—no, the entire city—from the lively districts to the abandoned ones.
Underground, inside the headquarters of the Skull King Gang, Rasten, the gang leader, sat on his throne as usual. But Graid was not with him. In front of him stood Yamikaji, bowing deeply while hiding a smile under his wrinkled face.
"I know you're here."
The leader's rough voice shattered the silence. As soon as he spoke, the shadow of the throne wavered, violent waves swirling across it. A hand emerged from within, followed by an entire body—Shido.
He stepped out fully, a faint smile on his face, and the throne's shadow returned to normal.
"My apologies, boss. Your perception ability is truly unbelievable."
Rasten's gaze immediately shifted to Shido's right hand—it was injured and bandaged. He quickly asked about it.
"What happened to your hand?"
Shido lifted his injured hand.
"Someone got in my way, and this is what happened—"
"Anyone capable of doing that to you must be exceptional. In any case, I've gathered you all to discuss the recent killings of our gang members."
Yamikaji lifted his face to meet Rasten's, speaking with a tone dripping with malice:
"It's an honor to be part of this discussion. But the Ice Flower, Graid, is missing. Did something happen to him?"
Yamikaji's mind was filled only with thoughts of Graid, which pushed him to ask out of sheer curiosity.
Rasten replied:
"He's on a special mission. That's why I summoned the three of you—"
"Three?"
As soon as he finished speaking, they felt the ground tremble behind them. The headquarters door opened with an irritating screech, and a sinister aura slithered inside, spreading a crushing pressure and dreadful unease.
A massive man entered, dressed in the gang's white cloak. Each heavy step he took seemed capable of cracking the ground. As he moved forward, his features became clearer: a square face with sharp eyes and a fixed, weighty smile. His spiky black hair didn't move despite his thunderous steps.
He was Garmond, the gang's top-ranked fighter.
"Sorry for being late."
He spoke as he stopped beside Yamikaji.
The leader rose from his throne, raised his hand toward the three of them, and his sharp eyes gleamed beneath his stained mask.
"Alright, let's begin."
'''
The sun settled high behind thin clouds as noon arrived. Despite winter drawing near, the air still carried warmth.
Among the districts deprived of sunlight by the passing shadows, one neighborhood stood out—an area teeming with gangs and criminals. The stench of blood and drugs suffocated the place. Ordinary residents, and even outsiders, feared entering it.
"After I hit him, he started limping! Hahahahaha!"
Laughter echoed through the district. A group of five thieves stood there, led by a man named Zarko. His clothes were worn and torn, his body thin, and his height average. His face looked like that of a man in his forties despite being younger.
"I can make you taste the same pain if you want."
A voice came from behind them. When they turned around, they saw the bold man who dared challenge them directly—Takeshi.
His left fist was clenched tightly, and his sharp eyes were fixed on the thieves.
Zarko stood and pulled a knife from his pocket.
"Really? You think you have what it takes?"
Takeshi raised his tightened fist.
"I won't do anything if you answer my questions. Are you part of a gang called the Skull King, or do you know where their base is?"
Silence fell. But once Zarko realized Takeshi wasn't joking, he burst into laughter.
"Hahahahaha! You're serious? Then come and try touching me!"
He lunged, thrusting the knife directly at Takeshi's neck—but Takeshi caught his wrist with his left hand. The massive difference in physical strength allowed him to stop Zarko effortlessly—he nearly broke his arm.
"Stop!!"
Takeshi ignored the scream and tightened his grip even more. The other thieves circled around him with their weapons.
"This is your last chance, or I'll rip your arm off."
Takeshi spoke without paying the slightest attention to the others.
Before they could attack, a foul gust of wind burst from Zarko's body, swirling into sharp, distorted blades. Takeshi released his wrist and jumped back.
The blades shot forward like sword strikes, carving a deep X-shaped crack into the ground.
Takeshi stared at the mark in surprise. He had always dismissed people like Zarko as nothing more than small-time thugs, ever since his first night in the city.
"I didn't expect someone with an ability to show up in a place like this. Tell me, can all humans gain an ability?"
Zarko was clearly exhausted—the wind blades had drained him heavily. His weak physique revealed his poor stamina. Yet he answered:
"You think this is a school lesson? People like us—the talentless ones dumped in the filth of society—can barely obtain one. As for your first question, we know nothing about that cursed gang."
Takeshi stepped back and raised his left fist again.
"In that case, I have no reason to fight you. But judging from your faces, you won't let me leave peacefully."
Ignoring his exhaustion, Zarko formed another gust. Sweat dripped down his forehead as a shaky wind blade took shape. He flung it at Takeshi.
Takeshi bent his body, avoiding it, but it grazed his cheek and struck the ground, leaving another mark.
The thieves rushed him.
'Two on my right, one on my left, one behind me. The wind user probably can't attack again. In this situation… I'll use the Kritova combat style.'
In an instant, Takeshi shifted his body weight onto his right heel. The moment the thieves attacked—he vanished from their sight.
"Where did he go?!"
Only Zarko, standing far enough away, could see it.
"Down, you idiots!"
Takeshi bent his right knee while extending his left leg, lowering his entire body close to the ground, using their blind spots.
He placed his hand on the ground for balance, then spun, striking the two thieves on his right and left with a sweeping kick, knocking them down.
He readjusted his posture, stood up, and delivered a straight punch to the one behind him—
BOOM
The thief dropped instantly, his nose crushed.
The others began getting back up, the blows they took not strong enough to knock them out for good.
Meanwhile, Zarko, gathering what little strength he had left, thought:
'Damn it! Is his ability based on what he just did? No way someone like him doesn't have an ability… right?'
***
In the orphan district, where poverty and homelessness spread like the corruption that plagued the world, a group of three men wearing the white uniform of the King's Skull gang wandered through the area, letting out vile, mocking laughter. Yamikaji was accompanied by Fard and Joso, all three wearing wide, wicked grins that radiated nothing but malice.
The reason behind their excitement was simple: Yamikaji had been granted permission to use Takeshi's sword—a valuable trophy by all accounts.
Despite the sunlight shining down on them, none of the three noticed the figure watching them from the roof of a crumbling house nearby.
It was Renzako, and his sharp eyes gleamed the moment they locked onto Takeshi's sword.