"Huh? A… karate tournament?"
Ran Mouri blinked in surprise as Ren Kuroda led her through the bustling entrance of a local gymnasium—only to find herself standing before a massive banner that read Tokyo Regional Karate Championship.
For a moment, her mind went blank. Then the realization hit, and she lit up like a firework."Wait—really?! You brought me to watch a karate tournament?!"
Her voice trembled with excitement as she grabbed Ren's sleeve. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get in line!"
Ren chuckled, checking his phone. "Relax. The early matches are just amateurs flailing at each other. Nothing worth watching yet." He slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Let's grab something to eat first. No point watching on an empty stomach."
"Can't we just grab takeout and eat inside? We can watch and eat at the same time!" Ran pleaded, eyes bright with enthusiasm.
Ren gave her a sideways glance. It wasn't like her to push for something—Ran usually kept her opinions quiet, too careful, too polite. That came from her upbringing and a constant need for security.
But right now, she was animated, unguarded.She really wanted this.
And it was such a small request. Ren couldn't help but smile. "Fine. We'll do it your way."
"I know where to go!" Ran said, scanning the area eagerly. "There's a food street nearby!"
Before he could reply, she was already walking ahead, waving for him to hurry. When she realized he was still strolling behind, she turned, grabbed his arm, and pulled."Come on, Ren-kun! At your speed, the finals'll be over before we even sit down!"
Ren snorted softly. "No need to rush. The whole event'll take at least three hours."
"That's exactly why we shouldn't waste time!" Ran huffed, tugging harder.
Ren couldn't help but chuckle at her impatience. So she's a bit of a firecracker after all. Then again… she's what, sixteen?
He let her pull him along, half amused, half nostalgic.What was I doing when I was sixteen…?
After picking up some food and drinks, Ran dragged Ren back into the venue like an excited child.
The atmosphere was electric—crowds cheering, shoes squeaking against the polished floor, and the rhythmic sound of bodies clashing echoing across the hall.
"Ah! That's Mizuno Ryuji! He's known for his powerful kicks!"
"And that one's Harada Akihiro—he fought Maeda Satoshi in last year's semifinals!"
"Look, that's Takeda Joichi! He's the most handsome guy in the entire karate division!"
Ran rattled off the competitors' names like a sports commentator, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
Ren nodded absently, watching a few bouts before commenting with a smirk, "Not bad. They've got some skill."
"'Not bad'?!" Ran nearly turned to argue on instinct—but then she remembered who she was talking to.
Not Shinichi.Ren Kuroda.
The man who'd tossed her around like a ragdoll during training for weeks.
Her protest caught in her throat. She turned back to the match and watched more carefully—and suddenly, she saw it.Their footwork was sloppy. Their reaction times were inconsistent. Even their attack patterns were predictable.
"…Wait," she murmured, frowning. "They don't actually seem that good. Are they… throwing the match or something?"
Ren's lips curved faintly. "No, they're not faking it. You're just getting better."
"Eh? Me?" Ran blinked. "But… I've only been training for a month! There's no way I've improved that much."
Ren gave her a sidelong glance, suppressing a laugh. If only you knew your stats were maxed out by the System, courtesy of plot armor.
Before he could respond, his phone vibrated—a discreet alarm tone.
He glanced at the screen, then stood up smoothly. "Stomach's acting up. I'm gonna hit the restroom."
"Mm-hmm, go ahead!" Ran said without looking away from the match, completely absorbed again.
Ren gave a small wave and slipped out.
Outside the venue.
A short distance away, a sleek black sedan idled by the curb. Behind the wheel sat Akemi Miyano, her face half-hidden behind a surgical mask. Earbuds fed her a quiet stream of radio chatter.
On her phone's screen, a blinking red dot crawled slowly across a digital map—moving farther away by the second. Her brows furrowed with worry.
Then—click.The rear door opened, and someone slid into the back seat.
Akemi's entire body tensed. Her hand instinctively darted to the holster at her waist—until she turned and saw the half-masked figure.
"Jeez, Mr. Azuma!" she exhaled, slumping in relief. "Would it kill you to knock first? You scared me half to death!"
Ren's muffled voice came from behind the crimson mask. "Noted. Next time, I'll knock."
"Good," Akemi muttered, starting the engine.
Ren leaned back. "Follow the signal."
The car pulled away from the curb, sliding into traffic as Akemi focused on the red blip ahead.
"Just to confirm," Ren said evenly, "that vehicle only has Nizan-kai members on board, right?"
"Yes," Akemi replied firmly. "I made sure this time. After last time's mess, I double-checked everything. The driver works for their lieutenant, Yokota Ryuichi, and the two passengers are his top men—names are—"
Ren cut her off. "I don't need names. Dead men don't need introductions. How much cash are they carrying?"
"Fifty million yen," she answered quickly. "They just completed a deal. And… that black Toyota ahead—it's them!"
Ren's eyes gleamed. "Perfect. Stay on them."
As Akemi tailed the car, Ren opened the Outlaw System interface in his mind, scrolling through his arsenal. Let's see what toy fits tonight's work.
"Wait—you're not planning to attack here, are you?" Akemi asked, glancing nervously at the crowds along the street. The sidewalks were still full of pedestrians leaving the venue.
Images of Beika Wharf flashed in her mind—the smoke, the flames, the screams.That night, over a hundred men had died.
She swallowed. "There are too many people around. If you start shooting now, innocent bystanders could—"
Ren's tone was flat. "We're doing it here. I'm not wasting time chasing them across half the city."
Akemi bit her lip, her heart sinking.
But before she could protest further, Ren added, "Don't worry. If you want to avoid civilian casualties, it's simple. Hit them. Hard."
"…Hit them?" she repeated, startled.
"Exactly," Ren said calmly. "Ram them. Force them to stop."
Akemi blinked. "You mean a… car crash?"
Ren's grin was audible through his mask. "Criminals care about two things—money and pride. These guys just finished a deal. If someone slams into their car and they don't stop? Their reputation's finished. They'll stop. Trust me."
Akemi stared at him through the rearview mirror, both baffled and faintly horrified. If it were her, she'd have driven straight home to drop off the cash, not stopped to defend her ego.
But she didn't argue.
"...All right," she muttered, gripping the wheel tighter.
She floored the accelerator. The sedan roared, surging forward through the lanes—closing the distance fast.
BAM!
The car slammed into the back of the black Toyota with a loud, metallic crunch.
Sparks flew. The Toyota skidded sideways, tires screeching before it jolted to a halt.
Ren's crimson eyes glinted behind the mask. "Told you. They'd never let that slide."