Hashimoto Yoma, like a lightning bolt tearing through false tranquility, sprinted through Morioh's uniformly colored yet oppressive alleys.
His speed was astonishing, gradually exceeding human limits. The whistling wind in his ears almost drowned out the fading police whistles and shouts behind him; no one could catch him.
Every step he took on the concrete felt unprecedentedly solid, and every contraction and expansion of his muscles brought a nearly ecstatic sense of power. The muscular wings on his back were gradually unfurling.
He looked down at his clenched fists, his knuckles still stained with the police officer's blood.
A cold, pure pleasure flowed through his veins, stemming not only from the exercise but also from the act of killing—the most primal of desires.
This was not fear, but liberation; a complete rebellion against long-held suppression. He had succeeded! Those police officers who suppressed them were not that strong. As long as he dared to act, he could win!
The effortless killing he had just committed echoed in his mind: twisting an arm, shattering a knee, and finally ending the opponent like crushing an empty can.
So simple, so... efficient.
"Power... This is true power..."
He mumbled to himself, the corners of his mouth uncontrollably pulling upwards into a twisted smile.
Rely on manga? Rely on the so-called "order" bestowed by Kishibe Rohan?
Ridiculous! Only these tempered muscles, this body forged from sweat and an unyielding will, were real, were his own! Muscles were truth, exercise was the only right path!
The vaguely appearing golden figure holding a staff seemed to solidify somewhat with his surging emotions, bringing an inexplicable, almost divine confidence.
But he knew it wasn't time to revel yet. He had killed a police officer; this was a direct provocation to the local police force.
Morioh's entire apparatus of violence would soon be fully activated.
He needed to hide, he needed to plan, and he needed... to continue "training." He craved greater power, power enough to tear apart this entire absurd prison.
No, that's not right. True training wasn't just running; he needed to fight!
He knew every corner of this Town, especially after desperately running and secretly covering almost the entire Town these past few days.
With his deep memory of the terrain, he could ambush and eliminate those damned police officers, and then, Kishibe Rohan!
He turned into a dead-end alley piled with discarded printed materials, lifted a hidden manhole cover, and jumped down without hesitation. The entire process was incredibly smooth; his strong muscles made his movements perfectly coordinated.
The underground sewers were Morioh's veins.
Unlike the false glamour above ground, the sewers reeked of the real smells of dampness, rust, and mold, not the ink smell that permeated the entire Town.
Here, there were no uniform manga coatings, only mottled walls, gurgling water, and small wild animals like rats and snakes scurrying about.
Some areas still bore traces of the old Morioh era, with homeless shelters and crimson stains on the ground, which now looked particularly glaring in the dim light.
The homeless had long been taken away, and no one lived here now. This had become Hashimoto Yoma's temporary refuge and his new "gym."
He used a discarded police baton as a lever for weight training; he performed explosive jumps on narrow platforms.
He punched the damp walls until his knuckles bled, only for them to rapidly heal due to that strange power.
Each extreme workout made him feel more connected to the golden figure behind him, and that power steadily grew.
He began to realize, he could feel, that power which wasn't his own. He could make the surrounding time slow down—no, it wasn't time slowing down, but rather that he could make himself extremely fast.
It was a power of extreme purity, without any frills, so fast that even he himself couldn't react.
This wasn't just muscle power; it was a... capability to negate absurdity, stabilize reality, and practice purely physical laws—an ultimate, simple power.
"The hunt, it's time to begin. I also need more equipment for training... I remember my previous things were taken to the police station, right?"
Hashimoto Yoma mumbled to himself. His expression was incredibly cold as he clung to the sewer wall, constantly climbing. The wall was perfectly smooth,
yet he could grip the surface using tiny cracks, allowing him to crawl rapidly and steadily along the vertical wall. Every now and then, he would exert force with his fingertips, directly gouging holes into the wall.
Above ground, terror was escalating.
Upon discovering the patrol officer's body, the local police immediately erupted in fury and began searching everywhere for the killer. After interrogating a few passersby, they learned who the culprit was.
A decadent, unemployed vagrant who only ran around, Hashimoto Yoma, a rebel who disrespected manga.
They reacted swiftly to Hashimoto Yoma's retaliation, first issuing an all-Town manhunt and sealing off all exits from the Town.
The electronic screens and radio in the Town center no longer broadcast simple praises but were filled with severe condemnations and wanted notices for "terrorist," "assaulting officer criminal," and "embodiment of primitive violence" Hashimoto Yoma.
The radio's voice echoed through the Town's loudspeaker system, repeating day and night.
"Attention all citizens! Attention all citizens! Former resident Hashimoto Yoma, due to long-term resistance to the influence of great manga culture, has willingly degenerated.
His mind has become twisted, and he has completely fallen into the embodiment of 'primitive violence.' His cruel assault on a police officer and destruction of public order is a blatant declaration of war against the new order model district established by Prime Minister Kishibe Rohan!
This scoundrel treats life as grass and order as nothing. He is a cancerous tumor and a mortal enemy to the happy lives of all citizens! Residents, if you encounter him, please flee immediately and report to the public security authorities!"
"Anyone who harbors, conceals, or contacts him will be treated as an accomplice and will face the most severe sanctions!
Only by working together to bring this human beast to justice can Morioh's purity and tranquility be maintained!"
His photograph, once a sunny model shot, was maliciously Photoshopped with fangs and blood, plastered all over the streets and alleys, accompanied by the text: "Reward 1 million yen for important information!"
pink dark boy also released a special edition, ghostwritten by a Town cartoonist, depicting how a despicable, shameless, insidious, and cunning "fallen muscle demon" was easily subdued by a manga hero using wisdom and the "light of order."
Ultimately, he tearfully repented, realizing the emptiness of muscles and the greatness of the manga spirit.