He still hadn't found Kanekawa Ryūnosuke.
After knocking out yet another bōsōzoku thug, Dou Tang was startled to hear cheers from the crowd of bystanders who had gathered to watch.
He sighed helplessly, gave them a small wave as if to say "show's over," then quickly climbed back on his bike and sped off.
Seventy-eight.
That was how many he'd taken down so far. Almost all of Onigashima's members had learned their lesson—
but Kanekawa Ryūnosuke was still missing. And for Dou Tang, that man was unforgivable.
Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to track him down.
As he passed a small park, he finally decided to stop. He'd done enough for one night.
Counting the scratch marks carved into the side of his motorcycle, there were eighty-nine of them now.
It was already past three in the morning. The sky was paling with the first hint of dawn, and police sirens wailed across the city—traffic and riot units clearly mobilized in full force.
The remaining bōsōzoku had scattered. Too far to chase now. Best to call it a night. Just as he parked his bike, his phone began to ring.
The caller ID read Lu Zizhen.
He answered.
Her voice came through, cheerful as ever.
"Hey there, my little Hell-boy~ what're you up to?" He blinked. Another nickname?
"What kind of name is that…? I was just heading home. What is it?" Lu Zizhen hummed mischievously.
"Nothing, nothing. Just wanted to tell you to get some rest, okay? You worked hard tonight."
Dou Tang frowned.
"Why do I get the feeling you're hiding something from me? You've been acting strange all night."
"I am hiding something!" she admitted brightly, almost proud of it. "Do you want to know what it is?"
"…Of course I do."
"Really, really want to know? If you do, I'll tell you~!" "…Are you going to tell me or not?"
"Have you heard of Ao Oni?" she asked, laughing softly.
With Dou Tang, she always sounded like a normal, carefree girl.
He thought for a moment.
"That urban legend? It even got a movie and a game, right? Why?" Her tone shifted—suddenly quiet, almost whispering.
"I found it." Dou Tang froze.
"What?! Found what?!"
"Ao Oni. The Blue Demon. I found it. It's in the mountains near Nagano. Wanna go?"
Ao Oni?!
Did she even have to ask?
That legend was famous worldwide! Of course he wanted to check it out.
Just imagining facing off against the Blue Demon as a Candy Bean Warrior made his blood stir.
Naturally, he assumed this was the secret she'd been hiding earlier. Excited, he answered without hesitation,
"Of course I'm going! It's Ao Oni!"
If that legend was real… it might even be another player in the Crown Game. Lu Zizhen's delighted giggle came through the line.
"Perfect! Then take a few days off. Let's head to Nagano the day after tomorrow, alright?"
"Mm… sure," Dou Tang agreed.
While speaking, he glanced toward the park. On the grass were rows of tents and makeshift shelters—clearly a homeless encampment.
But parked at the front were several white motorcycles—the unmistakable signature of Onigashima.
Several men lay sprawled beside them, unconscious.
Dou Tang walked closer and recognized them immediately—Onigashima members. Who had taken them out?
A prickling unease ran up his spine.
"Hold on, something's up here. We'll talk later," he said into the phone. "…Alright."
Lu Zizhen hung up without another word. She trusted him enough not to pry.
Dou Tang knelt to inspect the fallen bikers. They were merely knocked out— whoever struck them had held back, just as he would have.
One blow each. Precise. Controlled.
Whoever did this was clearly trained—a martial artist. Curious, Dou Tang moved toward the tents.
No one inside.
Looking around, he spotted several shabby middle-aged men and women watching nervously from a small grove nearby. Judging by their appearance, they were the park's homeless residents.
So the mysterious fighter was already gone… The thought made Dou Tang tense a little.
Lately, strange things were piling up—
cursed spirits, haunted schools, bōsōzoku who somehow knew his movements— and now, an unknown fighter on top of it all.
Even if this one wasn't his enemy, it was another sign that the city was shifting.
He exhaled, shook his head, and cast one last glance at the distant onlookers. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned away and left.
There was no point lingering where nothing remained to find.
Only after he'd gone did the homeless cautiously emerge from the shadows.
Once they were sure the bikers wouldn't wake anytime soon, an older woman stepped forward, cradling a small cloaked girl as the group guided her back into a tent.
Just moments earlier—before Dou Tang's arrival—the Onigashima gang had stormed into the park, intending to tear down the tents and use them as barricades to block their pursuer.
But a young girl—who had only been living among the homeless for two months, and spoke little Japanese—had suddenly stepped forward.
Wielding two short, rod-like weapons no one recognized,
she had single-handedly knocked every biker unconscious.
Then, pale-faced, she'd collapsed herself—apparently from anemia.
In Japan's warped job market, people like these homeless were nothing unusual— citizens trapped at the very bottom, without housing, safety nets, or even rights.
No one would ever stand up for them.
So they had learned to stand up for one another.
And this girl—though she couldn't even speak their language—had brought a small spark of hope into their bleak, invisible world.
A few middle-aged women pooled their meager coins together, rushing to a nearby convenience store for instant miso soup.
At this hour, there were no discounted vegetables left; the soup would have to do.
When the hot broth touched her lips, the girl—her face pale as paper—shivered slightly, then smiled faintly.
But the next moment, she frowned, sprang upright like a startled catfish, and scanned the area warily.
"咋着有妖邪来过嘞,叔叔阿姨们,你们晓得啥子人来过不?"
Her words—thick with a blend of Sichuan and Hunan dialect—were utterly incomprehensible to those around her.
If Dou Tang had been there,
he would've frozen on the spot.
The girl looked even younger than Huaiyin.
But the homeless, unable to understand her, merely assumed she was still afraid the gang might return. They waved their hands reassuringly, gesturing that the danger had passed.
After carefully checking her surroundings, the girl finally relaxed.
She sat back down with a grin, accepted the steaming cup of miso soup, took a tiny sip—
—and let out a long, contented sigh. "Ah… ba shi…"
(Ba shi — Sichuan dialect for so comfortable, so good.)
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