The dim light of the single surviving streetlamp in the alley snatched two figures from the darkness.
They stood as if they owned the alley. A tall, slouching blond in a crumpled uniform shirt with a carelessly tied black tie.
His teeth, gleaming in the twilight, were unnaturally sharp, like a shark's, and his gaze read a mixture of boredom and primal, dog-like hunger.
Denji.
Next to him, resting her foot on an overturned trash can, stood a girl.
Long pink hair, crazy eyes with cross-shaped pupils, and two small red horns sticking right out of the top of her head.
She was loudly, with smacking sounds, finishing a bag of some cheap chips. Power. The Blood Fiend in the flesh.
— "Whoa!" — Denji stopped abruptly, extending his arm and poking a dirty finger at me. — "Power, look! It's those two! Aki said our target is a tall white haired guy with a blindfold and some little whiny brat with a sack! A hundred percent match!"
Power noisily inhaled the air through her nose, flaring her nostrils predatorily.
— "I smell prey!" — she barked, crumpling the empty chip bag and launching it with an accurate throw right at Takemichi's head. He didn't even try to dodge. — "There are shiny things in that disgusting sack! I can smell the magic stones! Those are MY shiny things!"
— "Bow down, pathetic human, and pay tribute to the Great Power before I turn you into minced meat!"
Takemichi, whose nervous system had already survived several heart attacks this evening, let out a stifled squeak.
His legs gave way, and he slowly slid down the wet brick wall straight into a puddle, clutching the foul-smelling sack of cockroach cores to his chest.
— "Satoru..." — he whispered, stuttering, looking at Denji with eyes round with horror. — "Those are... Hunters from the Public Safety Bureau! I saw them on TV! They are completely insane! You have zero mana! If that guy with the teeth attacks... he'll saw us in half!"
I sighed heavily, slowly raising my hand and stopping my partner's panic.
The Six Eyes, even operating in economy mode without mana feeding, clearly saw their auras. Chaotic, wild, pulsating with demonic energy.
Fight hand-to-hand against a hybrid and a possessed? I would undoubtedly win, using pure Strength, Agility, and hand-to-hand combat technique.
But that would make me even dirtier, take time, and most importantly — push me further away from a hot shower, a normal dinner, and a soft sofa.
And time is experience. And money. Why waste calories if you can use intellect?
Especially against those who don't have it.
— "Guys, hold on, you've made a mistake," — I spread my hands to the sides, putting on the most relaxed, battered-by-life, and "friendly" look.
My voice sounded tired and slightly ingratiating.
— "You're looking for that cool Hunter who cleared the C-rank in Yoyogi, right? That pretentious dude from the TV?"
— "Well, kinda," — Denji scratched the back of his head, clearly confused by my absolute non-aggressiveness. He lowered his hand. — "Makima-san said to bring him to headquarters. For that she... he-he..." — he rolled his eyes dreamily, and drool almost dripped from his lip. — "Promised to grant me one wish. Any wish! I already figured out what I'll ask to touch!"
— "Exactly! Excellent motivation!" — I nodded actively, taking a step toward him, as if we were old buddies in a bar. — "Now turn on your logic, kid. Look at us. Carefully."
I demonstratively pulled the edge of my exclusive jacket, which was currently a pathetic sight, burned by acid and covered in purple rot.
Then I pointed at Takemichi, sitting in a puddle with the face of a man who had lost all meaning in life.
— "We are scavengers. Dungeon orderlies. Regular grunts who clean up the crap after the cool guilds," — I chuckled bitterly, getting into character. — "Would an Elite Hunter, who drops bosses with a snap of his fingers and bends entire guilds over, walk through dark trash dumps? And carry a smelly sack on his back?"
Denji froze. Literally.
I could almost physically hear the rusted gears of logic creaking as they turned in his head.
— "Actually, that's true..." — the blond dragged out slowly, syllable by syllable, frowning. — "The cool guys from the TV... they drive cool, long cars. And smell like expensive cologne, like Aki. And you stink... like Power when she doesn't wash for a week."
— "HEY! I do wash!" — Power instantly flared up, painfully jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow. — "Once a month! My body is perfect by nature! But the sack!" — she stared at Takemichi again with a wild gaze. — "It's jingling! I want to know what's in there! Open it, slave!"
— "Glassware," — I lied without batting an eye, with an absolute poker face. — "Empty bottles from cheap mana potions. We'll turn them in at the Association's recycling point, buy a bowl of instant ramen each. Want me to show you? But it's just shards in there, you'll cut your hands."
— "Pfe!" — Power grimaced in disgust, instantly losing all interest in the prey. Her nose wrinkled contemptuously. — "Keep your garbage, you nobody. The Great Power only eats prime meat! Glass is for weaklings!"
— "See," — I sympathetically patted Denji on the shoulder. He didn't even flinch away. — "That guy you're looking for, he's probably signing autographs right now. Or already flew off in a private helicopter to drink champagne with models. And we were just passing by. If you hurry to the Gates, maybe you'll still have time to intercept him."
— "DAMMIT!" — Denji kicked the nearest trash can in impotent rage so hard that it flew to the opposite wall with the roar of a cannon shot. — "We missed everything again! That jerk flew off to feel up models! Power, run back to the Gates! If Aki finds out we were late and lost the target, he'll make us clean the dorm toilets again! And I hate toilet brushes!"
— "I will not clean the toilet! That is dirty work for vile humans! I am going to be the prime minister!" — yelled the horned girl, spinning around on her heels.
They looked at each other and, creating more noise than a herd of war elephants in a china shop, bolted from their spots.
Denji and Power dashed toward the alley exit, knocking over a stack of empty crates along the way and scaring a stray cat half to death.
— "Good luck at work, guys!" — I shouted after them, waving my hand. — "Don't forget to flush!"
When the echo of their footsteps finally died away in the distance, merging with the hum of Shibuya, Takemichi let out a long, hoarse exhale.
He sat on the wet asphalt, clutching the sack to his chest, and looked at me with reverent horror.
— "Satoru..." — he whispered, and his voice broke. — "Did you... did you just brainwash them? Those unhinged maniacs from the Bureau? Just like that?"
— "It's not hard, 'Prophet', when your opponents have less brains between the two of them than that slime we finished off," — I smirked, dusting off my hands and returning to my usual, straight posture. — "The art of persuasion. Works more effectively and efficiently than any magic. Remember this while I'm alive."
I walked over to him and held out my hand, helping him to his feet.
— "Get up, 'Scavenger'. The break is over. Roppongi awaits. We have three more dungeons on the schedule, and I intend to squeeze the maximum out of them."
— "Three more..." — Takemichi groaned, struggling to hoist the jingling sack onto his shoulder. Tears of despair rolled down his face again. — "I want to go home... I want to see Hina... I want to be a normal schoolboy and solve math... Why me?"
— "For getting into a fight without preparation. Consider this basic military training," — I turned around and strode toward the alley exit. — "Less talking, more walking. If we're lucky, we'll find you a helmet in the next dungeon. Because that horned girl throws trash a little too accurately."
We emerged from the shadows of the alley, heading toward the brightly lit Roppongi television tower looming over the city.
Somewhere out there, deep underground in the abandoned tunnels of the old subway, the third Gate was waiting for us.
And my intuition, backed by the Six Eyes, told me: it wasn't going to be an easy stroll like with the goblins.
――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――
[ Meanwhile. Japanese Hunter Forum (Closed Section) ]
Topic:The Yoyogi Incident. Who is he?!
[Silver_Knight ("Silver Wolves" Guild)]: This bastard will pay! We've already filed an official complaint with the Association! He used illegal spatial magic and stole C-rank loot! Our Master demands his head!
[Mage_Lvl42]: Dude, you guys just disgraced yourselves in front of the whole country. He didn't even look at your Master. That was the most brutal humiliation I've ever seen. He just said, "See ya, extras," and vanished. I've got goosebumps!
[Healer_Chan]: I feel sorry for that blond guy with the sack... Did you hear the voice message from his girlfriend on the broadcast? I think he's more afraid of her than the monsters!
[Admin_A]: Attention everyone. The Association has raised the threat level. The unknown Hunter has been classified as a potential A-rank anomaly. If you see him — do not engage. Repeat, do not engage!
――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――
Nocturnal Roppongi was drastically different from Shibuya.
If Shibuya was loud, youthful, chaotic, and smelled of cheap fast food, then Roppongi breathed of expensive perfume, elite alcohol, and hidden, heavy power.
The skyscrapers here seemed taller, the glass in the windows thicker, the cars in the parking lots gleamed with polished sides, and the shadows between the buildings were denser and more dangerous.
And right in the middle of this polished splendor, clashing with the surroundings, flashed dozens of red and blue police sirens.
Takemichi and I stood in a dark alley across the street, hidden behind a massive brick wall and a billboard for an elite club.
I carefully peeked around the corner, assessing the scale of the problem.
The Six Eyes, even operating in a passive, "hungry" mode without mana feeding, instantly analyzed the situation.
The square around the closed entrance to the old subway line was cordoned off as if they were expecting an alien landing.
I saw fighters in tactical armor, mages with staffs at the ready, snipers on the roofs.
Judging by the density of their auras, which my vision read without a problem — the Association had pulled strike groups of at least A-rank here.
But the worst part was the black vans. Parabolic antennas rotated on their roofs.
I could physically see them emitting wave pulses, invisible to the naked eye, probing the space. Mana scanners.
The principle of their operation was read by the Six Eyes like an open, albeit primitive, book.
— "Satoru..." — Takemichi whispered. His voice trembled so much it seemed he was about to burst into tears right here in the puddle.
— "There's a whole army of them out there. And those black vans... I saw those on the news! They have military-grade mana scanners!"
— "They'll detect us the second we step out of the shadows! Let's go home!"
— "The scanners look for active mana reserves, Takemichi. Formed cores and dense flows," — I chuckled condescendingly, leaning against the wall next to him and calmly crossing my arms over my chest.
— "That is their main weakness."
— "So what?!" — the blond squeaked, clutching his head in his hands. — "We're Hunters! We emit a signal!"
— "Ordinary Hunters - yes" — I tapped my temple with my finger.
— "But me, after the Budokan and those brazen teleports, I'm as empty as a drum. My mana is at zero."
The potion I drank perfectly patched up my mana channels, removing the overload, but the reserve itself needs time to accumulate again.
I carelessly looked at my hands.
— "Right now, I have less mana in me than a remote control battery."
— "To their fancy radars, tuned to find fat A-rank signatures, I am not a Hunter."
— "I am just a very tall, stylish, and absolutely non-magical pice of meat."
— "And you, with your tiny reserve, emit no more signal than a broken toaster. To them, we are ghosts."
Takemichi blinked, trying to process this information. The logic seemed ironclad to him, but the fear of a crowd of armed enforcers still outweighed it.
— "But the main entrance is still completely blocked!" — he tried to find an excuse. — "There are tanks with shields standing there!"
— "We can't just walk through them!"
— "It's the subway, Prophet. An old line," — I pushed off the wall. — "Which means there are utility drains. We're going around."
— "I spotted a hatch two blocks from here. Pick up your loot and follow me."
We moved in short dashes, like ninjas, avoiding brightly lit streets. After fifteen minutes of wandering through the back alleys of elite restaurants, we stood before a massive rusty grate of a utility descent.
A thick padlock, covered in years of rust, hung on it.
Takemichi exhaled with relief. — "Locked. Well, that's it, plan canceled."
— "We don't have a key, and you can't blow it up with magic..."
I silently walked up to the grate.
I had no magic, but I did have fresh points poured into Strength by the System.
I slipped my fingers into the shackle of the lock, gripped the metal firmly, braced my boot against the grate, and simply pulled toward myself.
A deafening screech echoed. The thick steel shackle snapped with a sound like a rifle firing.
The lock fell to my feet with a pitiful clink.
I kicked the mangled piece of iron aside and easily slid the heavy grate open.
— "Physics, Takemichi. Never forget about physics," — I smirked, looking at his dropped jaw. — "Get in."
We descended a slimy metal ladder into the pitch-black, thick darkness of the sewers.
The air here was stale, smelling of dampness and something metallic, like ozone after a short circuit.
The Six Eyes easily adapted to the zero-visibility conditions, tracing the contours of the tunnel in monochrome tones.
— "It's kind of quiet..." — the blond whispered about ten minutes later, frantically looking around in the darkness.
— "In Yoyogi, the monsters were crawling out of every crack right away."
— "This is a different type of C-rank" — I answered quietly, feeling the space ahead begin to distort.
— "They are waiting."
Beyond the next turn of the tunnel, a faint purple glow appeared. The C-rank Gate had opened right in the wall of the old subway, tearing through the concrete.
I stepped inside first. Takemichi squeezed in after me, squeezing his eyes shut.
A golden system notification instantly flared before my eyes:
[ You have entered a Dungeon (Rank: C) ]
[ Warning: Host's mana volume is IMMEASURABLE (Template: Gojo Satoru). ]
[ Error: Current available reserve: 0.5%. ]
[ Magical techniques are FORCIBLY BLOCKED by the System to avoid overloading the empty Vessel]
[ Zone specifics: "Rusty Depot". ]
[ Feature: Enemies in this zone possess increased armor and immunity to magic]
[System note:Prepare for severe physical trauma]
— "Rusty Depot? And a forced magic block? Splendid" — I carelessly swiped the notification off the screen.
Everything was logical. The System was just playing it safe, preventing me from casting techniques on credit while my reserve was empty.
We stood in a massive, mangled underground station. It was a true techno-nightmare, where cold concrete had fused with rusty metal.
Skeletons of burned-out subway cars lay everywhere, and a thick, black, oily liquid dripped from the breached vault, reeking heavily of sulfur and machine oil.
Screech.
A sharp, ear-piercing sound of metal scraping against metal came from somewhere above, right over our heads, drowning out the hum of the pulsating cables on the walls.
I instantly looked up.
From the concrete ceiling of the tunnel, clinging to the rafters with long, deformed limbs, a creature was rapidly descending.
It vaguely resembled a human — it even wore the dirty rags of an old Tokyo railway worker's uniform.
But its chest cavity was torn open, exposing a pulsating mechanical core glowing with a dim red light, and its right arm below the elbow was missing.
Instead, a massive, spinning rail cutter was crudely welded to the rotting flesh with bloody stitches, its teeth sparking violently with static electricity.
A blood-red light ignited in the monster's empty eye sockets.
[ Target: Mutated Trackwalker (Rank: C) ]
— "What kind of cyberpunk is this..." — Takemichi muttered. His knees immediately buckled; he dropped his heavy, jingling sack of loot and thrust his rusty goblin cleaver forward with trembling hands.
Against the backdrop of the massive rail cutter, that knife looked like a toothpick.
The creature let out a mechanical, screeching squeal, pushed off the ceiling, and plummeted right toward us, raising its saw for a lethal strike.
If I had mana, I wouldn't have even moved.
My passive [Infinity] would have stopped this creature a millimeter from my face, and a flick of [Red] would have atomized it, leaving only ash.
But magic was blocked by the "empty tank." I only had my body.
And, as it turned out, the System points poured into it were more than enough to compensate.
— "Hold onto your helmet, Takemichi," — I said absolutely calmly, even casually, taking an imperceptibly fast step forward.
The points in Agility made my body almost weightless. Time seemed to slow down for my perception.
I sidestepped the line of attack a fraction of a second before the rail cutter ripped into the concrete floor with a terrifying crash right where I had just stood, kicking up a cloud of stone dust and sparks.
The creature's spinning blade got stuck in the concrete for a split second. That was enough for me.
A pivot on the heel. Perfect balance. My right leg flew into the air in a flawless arc and slammed right into the monster's side with a deafening, wet crunch — right into the vulnerable joint between flesh and the metallic exoskeleton.
The strike was of such monstrous force that the Mutated Trackwalker wasn't just knocked back.
It was lifted off the ground and hurled ten meters backward.
The creature smashed through a rusty train car frame, crumpling it like a cheap aluminum can, and collapsed into a pile of mangled metal.
— "Physics, Takemichi," — I lazily brushed the concrete dust off my shoulder, enjoying the primal adrenaline flooding my warmed-up muscles.
No pain from the strain, only perfect control. — "Magic is high art, of course."
— "But a good, solid kick is a universal language of diplomacy understood in absolutely any universe."
The creature screeched, trying to get up and sparking from severed cables, but I had already closed the distance with a dash.
A straight punch. My fist punched right through the remnants of the monster's chest cavity with such ease as if it were wet cardboard.
The fingers of my black glove closed around the hot, pulsating core, and I simply ripped it out, snapping the wires.
The monster twitched one last time, the light in its eye sockets went out, and it crumbled into a pile of rusty scrap metal and foul-smelling ash.
[ Killed: 1 Mutated Trackwalker(Rank: C) ]
[ Received: 10 System Coins (Looter's Ring effect: +5 Coins). ]
[ Loot: 1 Mechanism Core (Minor), 1 Miner's Helmet with Flashlight (Quality: Common, Durability: 45/50) ]
I tossed the item that dropped from the cloud of ash into the air. It turned out to be an old, battered, but surprisingly sturdy yellow helmet with a dead flashlight on the forehead.
— "Catch" — I tossed the helmet to Takemichi without looking.
The blond, still in deep shock from how quickly and brutally I had dismantled a C-rank monster into spare parts with my bare hands, caught it instinctively.
— "I promised you armor. Put it on and keep up," — I smirked, stretching my neck until the vertebrae popped quietly.
— "Today, we're scrapping this station for metal."
Takemichi hesitantly placed the yellow helmet on his head. It was a bit too big for him and comically slid over his eyes, but the blond suddenly sniffled loudly and straightened up, gripping his goblin cleaver tighter.
It seemed the fact that I was killing terrifying creatures even without magical techniques had begun to instill in him fragments of a blind, almost cult-like faith in the "Strongest."
A chorus of metallic scraping sounds echoed from the depths of the dark station tunnel. The sound rapidly grew, filling the entire space with echoes.
Dozens, and then hundreds, of red eyes lit up in the pitch-black darkness, like garlands on a cursed Christmas tree.
They crawled along the walls, the concrete ceiling, emerged from the empty black train cars.
I sharply cracked the knuckles on both hands.
A wide, predatory smile spread across my face all on its own.
— "Finally. A real warm-up. Let's go farm!"
――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――
The Hunter Association's mobile command post was located in an armored van the size of a small bus, parked in an alley adjacent to the Gates.
Inside, it was dimly lit, the darkness broken only by the cold bluish glow of dozens of monitors and holographic radars.
It smelled of expensive coffee, ozone from the running equipment, and tension.
Curator Kuroda, a middle-aged man with perfect posture, slicked-back graying hair, and a piercing gaze, slowly sipped espresso from a paper cup.
He was one of the Association's best tacticians. He was the one tasked with catching the "White-Haired Anomaly" after the humiliation he had inflicted on the guild in Yoyogi.
— "Report the situation," — Kuroda commanded coldly, looking at the main screen, which broadcasted the map of the Roppongi cordon.
— "The perimeter is completely secure, Mr. Curator!" — reported the senior operator without taking his eyes off his terminal. — "Three rings of cordon."
— "Thirty mana scanners operating at maximum sensitivity. We register every passing mouse if it has even a drop of prana."
— "Has the target appeared?"
— "Negative. No spikes of spatial magic. No unregistered signatures of A-rank or higher. The Anomaly has not shown its face in Roppongi."
Kuroda allowed himself a slight, arrogant smirk.
— "Expected. It's one thing to show off for the cameras and scare overconfident guild tanks, and quite another to go up against the regular forces of the Association."
— "He realized we were ready and tucked his tail. Inform the strike groups to begin preparations for the scheduled raid into the 'Rusty Depot'."
— "Yes, sir!" — the operator reached for his radio, but suddenly froze. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. — "Um... Mr. Curator?"
— "What else?" — Kuroda frowned in displeasure.
— "Sir, it's... it's the internal background sensors of the Gates. You need to see this."
Kuroda walked over to the terminal. The screen displayed a thermal and magical map of the C-rank dungeon.
The internal space of the tunnels usually swarmed with red dots — aggressive monsters.
But right now, something inexplicable was happening.
The red dots were disappearing. Not just disappearing — they were being wiped off the map by the dozens.
Beep. Beep. Beep-beep-beep. -Rhythmically, like on an assembly line
— "What's wrong with the sensors? Check the calibration," — Kuroda ordered, feeling an unpleasant chill begin to form inside him.
— "Why isn't the system showing Hunters inside? Which guild breached the cordon?!"
— "None, sir!" — the operator's voice broke into a panicked falsetto. Drops of sweat rolled down his forehead.
— "The scanners aren't detecting a single combat magic signature inside! There are no Hunters in there!"
— "Monsters can't just evaporate on their own!" — the curator barked, slamming his fist on the desk so hard that coffee spilled from his cup.
— "Give me a damage analysis! What are they dying from?! Fire? Acid? Spatial rifts?!"
The second operator, pale as a sheet, quickly typed on his keyboard, bringing up graphs of residual energy on the main screen.
— "Sir... they are dying from kinetic damage."
— "What do you mean kinetic?" — Kuroda narrowed his eyes.
— "They... they are simply being beaten to death, sir. Pure physics. Bludgeoning damage of colossal power. Exoskeletons are being crushed, steel plates are being torn apart."
— "No magic. Someone... or something... is walking through the C-rank dungeon and literally dismantling the monsters into spare parts with their bare hands!"
— "The clearance speed exceeds the standards of S-rank guilds by two hundred percent!"
A dead silence fell inside the command van. You could only hear the hum of the servers and the operators' erratic breathing.
Kuroda slowly sat down in his chair. His analytical mind tried to put the puzzle pieces together. Scanners look for mana.
The unknown Hunter in Yoyogi used incredibly powerful spatial magic. That means he should have lit up on the radars like a Christmas tree.
But the radars were silent. And inside the dungeon, monsters were being annihilated without magic, purely by brute physical force.
The conclusion begged to be drawn, and it made the blood run cold.
— "The White-Haired Demon..." — Kuroda whispered, and for the first time, his voice lost its steely confidence. — "His reserve is empty."
— "He somehow burned or hid all of his mana to pass through our scanners invisibly."
— "And now he is clearing a C-rank using pure physical body stats."
— "But that's impossible, sir!" — the junior analyst squeaked.
— "A human body without mana reinforcement would tear apart from the very first strike of a Mutated Trackwalker!"
— "Then he is not human," — the curator cut him off, standing up abruptly. A fanatical gleam flared in his eyes.
— "This is no longer just an anomaly. This is a challenge to the entire Association system."
He pressed the intercom button, broadcasting his voice to all cordon posts outside.
— "Attention all strike groups! The 'Red Threat' protocol is declared! The target is inside the Gates. Repeat, the White-Haired Anomaly is already inside! Cancel the scheduled raid!"
— "Reconfigure the cordon into a semicircle around the exit. Prepare containment barriers, anti-magic nets, and snipers with tranquilizers."
Kuroda adjusted his tie, watching as the red dots of the monsters in the dungeon continued to extinguish rapidly on the radar screen.
— "When he exits the portal... he will be arrested. If he resists — I authorize the use of force up to and including lethal action."
— "No one dares to make a laughingstock out of the Association."
――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――
[ Somewhere deep in the "Rusty Depot" ]
— "Ninety-seven... Ninety-eight... Ninety-nine... One hundred!" — I wrenched the manipulator off another cyber-creature with a crunch, tore it away, and slammed it right back into its glowing core with full force.
— "Strike!"
The mangled metal clattered to the concrete.
I breathed heavily, but a wide, absolutely insane smile played on my face.
My black jacket was completely ruined by machine oil, and my hair was disheveled, but I hadn't felt this alive in a long time.
My fists hummed from the constant strikes against metal, but the points in Strength and Stamina were doing their job flawlessly.
— "S-Satoru..." — a hoarse voice came from behind me.
I turned around. Takemichi was sitting on a pile of rusty scrap metal, leaning heavily on his cleaver.
His yellow miner's helmet was skewed to the side, and his face was smeared with dirt and soot.
Next to him lay the sack, which was now the size of the blond himself and jingled with cores so loudly that it made my ears pop.
— "Can we... can we stop?" — he pleaded. — "I can't pick out these cores anymore."
— "My fingers are rubbed raw and bleeding. And the sack... it's going to tear right now."
— "Stop?" — I laughed, stepping over the remains of the monsters. — "Prophet, we're just getting warmed up! Do you hear that hum ahead?"
I pointed to the end of the massive tunnel, where a thick, toxic-red glow pulsated behind massive steel doors.
The ground beneath our feet trembled faintly.
— "That's the Boss room. And judging by the size of those doors, what awaits us inside isn't just an over-pumped piece of rusty metal, but the main sponsor of our banquet tonight."
— "I hope it drops something more interesting than hair gel, or I'll die of boredom."
I walked up to the gates and pressed my palms against them. The metal was scorchingly hot.
— "Get your sack ready, Takemichi. Right now, we are going to beat some elite loot out of this tin can."