Chapter 308: Another Round?
The leftover oden in the pot wasn't much, but the residual heat was enough to
satisfy Doyle's hunger.
He used a spoon to scoop a messy assortment of ingredients into his bowl. He
tried to lift the bowl with his left hand, only to find he couldn't exert any
strength. The internal high-tensile wires had been beaten loose by Ren's
previous assault, and his ribs were definitely fractured.
"Tch."
Resigned, he switched to his right hand to hold the bowl.
Gulp... Gulp...
As the warm broth settled in his stomach, Doyle's expression softened slightly.
"My thanks... it was delicious," he whispered.
The stall girl nodded, her expression filled with curiosity. This foreigner was
covered in wounds and clearly suspicious, yet he carried an air fundamentally
different from a common street thug.
"..."
Doyle had no intention of explaining himself, nor did he know how. He just
wanted to finish his meal and move.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the mouth of the alley. It sounded like more
than one person.
Has Ren Shiroki caught up already?
Doyle's narrow eyes sharpened. He set down his bowl and stood up to face the
corner, every nerve in his body on high alert.
Strangely, Doyle felt an indescribable sense of "Tension." It was different from
anything he had ever experienced—it wasn't about "winning by any means
necessary" or "never losing." It was a different kind of stake.
The battle is coming!
Doyle narrowed his eyes, swallowing hard. He twitched his fingers, snapping out
a set of loose, rattling blades.
Come on then. Let's dance!
Several figures rounded the corner. It wasn't Ren Shiroki, but a patrol of the
Kure Clan.
The group marched straight toward Doyle. They had clearly been observing him
from a distance; their objective was fixed, and they didn't seem surprised by
his presence. Even if Doyle hadn't acted against the thugs earlier, this patrol
would have neutralized them.
Doyle was surprised, and his tension spiked.
Do I fight? With my body in this state, can I take on a squad of Kure? Or do I
run?
As he calculated his odds, the lead Kure youth pulled a hand out of his pocket.
Doyle broke into a cold sweat.
A gun? A blade? Or is he coming bare-handed?
Doyle was about to launch a preemptive strike when—Snap!
The lead youth pulled out a handkerchief and tossed it to Doyle. He gestured for
the convict to wipe the blood from his hands so he wouldn't stain the girl's
stall.
Doyle froze, bewildered, but he instinctively complied.
Meanwhile, the other Kure members stepped past him to secure the two unconscious
thugs.
"There's been a lot of 'noise' lately. The situation is getting messy," the lead
youth noted. "Luckily, you didn't cause trouble for the residents. If you had,
we wouldn't let you walk away."
"By the way... I assume you're still in the middle of a 'Combat', right?"
The youth shrugged and grinned. "To think a death row convict would stop to help
a civilian. Unexpected. Anyway... thanks for the assist."
Doyle was speechless. He didn't know how to respond. As he exhaled, a jolt of
agony shot through his chest, making him stumble.
"Oho. You really took a beating, didn't you?"
The lead youth teased him, tilting his head toward the girl at the stall. "Don't
bother the 'Outsiders' anymore. If you need something, tell us."
Doyle thought for a moment, then arched an eyebrow. "I want to rest."
"Sure. No problem."
The lead youth checked his watch and called out to the others. "It's time for
the shift change anyway. Come on! It's my turn to buy the late-night snacks!"
The rest of the Kure patrol cheered, slinging their arms over each other's
shoulders as they turned to leave. Doyle stood there, stunned.
He had meant it as a sarcastic jab, but the Kure hadn't refused.
Seeing his hesitation, the lead youth laughed. "Want us to call Ren and tell him
to slow down? He'd probably agree."
Doyle was utterly floored. He couldn't comprehend the logic of these people. He
felt trapped, pinned to the spot by their sheer lack of hostility.
The youth rubbed his chin. "What's the matter? A man who uses any dirty trick to
win is afraid of a bowl of ramen? If you don't want to go, just stay here."
With the stakes laid out, Doyle gritted his teeth and followed them.
The logic of the Kure Clan was simple. Regardless of the reason, regardless of
whether he was an enemy or a convict, and regardless of whether the fight was
still on—the most important fact was that Doyle had helped a resident of Kure
Village.
The Clan valued internal solidarity and was never stingy with its gratitude.
Buying a convict a meal was a small price to pay, especially since they knew he
couldn't truly escape them anyway.
The group walked through two more alleys before reaching a late-night ramen
shop. They sat at an outdoor table and ordered several rounds of ice-cold beer.
Doyle gripped the glass, the condensation cooling his palms. His expression
finally relaxed an inch.
"Mm. Compared to the whiskey of my homeland, this beer is much better for a
toast." He took a sip of the foam, wetting his dry, cracked lips.
The Kure members paid him no mind.
"Whoo!" The lead youth took a massive swig and grinned. "In this town, the only
way to end a shift is with a cold one!"
Doyle followed suit, draining half his glass. "A fine custom. It feels...
exhilarating."
Fueled by the alcohol, Doyle used his knees to clamp his left arm in place. He
used his right fingers to apply pressure to his left elbow, pulling with a
violent jerk to realign the internal steel wires.
His face turned red, and cold sweat erupted on his brow. The adjustment was
agonizing.
Once the left was done, he moved to the right. After a series of sickening
creak-crunch sounds, Doyle exhaled a cloud of heat. The "Repairs" were complete
enough to function.
He flicked his finger.
SHINK!
A blade snapped out from his wrist. It was slower than before, but it locked
into place.
The Kure members watched with curious interest.
"Ooh! So that's the body modification? Must have cost a fortune. As expected of
a high-level spook. I heard you traded blows with one of our masters earlier—"
"..."
Doyle continued his maintenance, occasionally responding to their questions. In
his former life, he had encountered many legends in the military and the
underworld—men like Colonel Strydum or the mercenary Muteba Gizenga.
He had crossed paths with the Kure before, too.
After a few minutes, Doyle had finished his field repairs.
"Thank you for the meal," Doyle said, his eyes lowering. He looked like he was
wrestling with a thought. Finally, he let out a weary sigh. "To be honest...
this is quite difficult to say."
"Even though Ren Shiroki is your guest... we are enemies. I still intend to use
any means necessary to kill him."
With that, Doyle tensed up, dropping into a defensive posture. If the Kure
intended to move against him for the declaration, he would strike first.
But to his shock, the Kure members simply burst into a collective roar of
laughter. They didn't seem to care about his declaration of war at all.
"Don't sweat it, Mr. Spook. Ren-kun isn't the type to refuse a fight anyway.
That's just who he is."
"Honestly, his personality is a hell of a lot better than Raian's, but when it
comes to his obsession with 'Combat', he might actually be scarier than the
Devil—"
The lead youth waved a hand. "The meal was for the help you gave the girl. It
has nothing to do with your fight."
"Combat..."
Doyle heard the word again.
As he pondered the term, a silhouette suddenly materialized behind his back.
Like a ghost appearing from the shadows, Ren Shiroki cracked his neck with a
series of sharp pops. He asked a casual, everyday question:
"Doyle-aniki... up for another round?"
Doyle's hair stood on end. He snapped his arms up in a high-low guard, tucking
his head.
The next second—ZIP!
[RYU'S HURRICANE KICK]!
Ren drive off the ground and spun. His high-roundhouse sweep caught Doyle flush
on his crossed forearms.
BOOM!
With a heavy thud, Doyle was launched laterally. He took the table and chairs
with him, crashing into a messy heap in the middle of the street.
THUD!
Doyle rolled across the pavement, drenched in ramen broth and spilled beer. He
was a total wreck.
Even as the scalding soup stung his fresh cuts, he didn't dare stop. He
scrambled to his feet and took off at a dead run, putting distance between
himself and Ren.
Behind him, he could hear the conversation between Ren and the Kure patrol.
"Ren-kun! You're too reckless! How is that poor guy supposed to run a business
now?" "Sorry, boys! Tonight's on me!" "That's more like it! How long are you
going to hunt this one?" "At least until he admits defeat. Besides, a stroll
through the village is the perfect warm-up for the final match—" "Good luck on
the final night!" "OH!"
Ren laughed and bid them farewell, resuming the pursuit.
He wasn't in a hurry to close the gap. He followed at a steady, predatory pace—a
tail that Doyle simply couldn't shake. He was going to follow him until the
convict's pride finally broke.
Doyle stumbled through the backstreets, his gait becoming more erratic. A heavy
sense of confusion was beginning to cloud his vision.
Is running away like this... right?
I decided that the only way to taste defeat was to give my all and still have it
taken from me.
But why can't I stop running? How am I supposed to... Battle?
(End of Chapter)
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