Chapter 454: Malice Closing In
[The Caracal] Billy Greco and [The Hundredfold Slaughter] Paklong—the former was
a westerner in his early twenties dressed in a sharp suit; the latter was a
sturdy, whiskered old man.
The moment these two stepped onto the stage, a thick, suffocating wave of malice
bled into the air, a stench far too familiar to the residents of The Inside.
"..."
"..."
The gang members who had heeded Jun Guevara's call, strapped on hard hats, and
begun rebuilding the Tokita Niko District couldn't help muttering bitterly to
themselves:
As expected, it always comes back to this.
The Inside had a deep, ancient history—one that predated even the official
establishment of Tokyo's twenty-three wards.
This lawless zone was saturated with every conceivable human desire, a place
where violence, murder, political conspiracies, and backroom financial deals
festered in plain sight.
Those elements were rooted as deep and malignant as a terminal tumor!
The influx of countless outsiders hadn't managed to root them out; it had only
forced them underground, compressing them into a high-pressure crucible.
In the end, the true monsters of absolute evil had been forced to band together,
huddling for warmth as they painted an entire sector pitch-black.
And the living embodiments of that darkness were these men—and the syndicates
standing behind them!
Humanity's blackest, most grotesque "desires" were stirring in the dark once
more!
Meanwhile, at the far end of the skid marks.
Kiryu had wrapped his arms around Tokita Niko, and though Ren Shiroki's kick had
sent both of them tumbling hard, they had at least dodged the tranquilizer dart.
"Ohma—Ohma—"
Kiryu's chest was still burning from the Niko Style's [Chi-Blocker], an impact
that should have rendered him entirely immobile, yet he was writhing around in
manic excitement.
Ignoring the agony tearing through his body, he clutched onto Ohma like a
lifeline.
"Hey, you bastard, get the hell off me—"
Ohma shoved a heavy hand against Kiryu's face, pushing him away.
Both fighters were completely wrung out, drained to their last reserves,
completely incapable of inflicting further damage on each other. They simply
slumped where they sat on the ground, catching their breath and looking up
toward the fray not far away.
Over there, Ren Shiroki was loosening his shoulders, standing tall against Billy
and Paklong.
"So those are the bastards who spilled the beans about me being in The Inside?"
Ohma's brow furrowed deep as his thoughts drifted back to the death of Tokita
Niko.
Because of the brain damage caused by [The Advance], Ohma had suffered massive
memory lapses, rendering him utterly incapable of piecing together the full,
unvarnished truth behind "Niko's Death."
Though his memories were slowly trickling back, it took time—and the right
catalyst.
Now, witnessing the calculated, predatory methodology of these two assassins,
something finally clicked in Ohma's mind.
"This feeling of letting two rivals fight to the death while the fisherman
sweeps up the spoils..."
Ohma rubbed his temples, quietly piecing the puzzle together. "Back then, Niko
had just finished teaching me the ultimate secrets of the Niko Style. My strikes
had injured his arm, and he hadn't fully recovered."
"Not long after that, another man approached me—a rugged brute with wild white
hair who also claimed to be 'Tokita Niko'."
"...Let's call him Fake Niko."
"Fake Niko forcefully struck my chest, plunging me into an out-of-control [The
Advance] rampage."
"Right after that, Kiryu showed up, demanding that I kill him."
"Just as I was choking the life out of him, Niko rushed back and knocked me out.
But because he held back to avoid hurting me, he took even more damage."
"Then, Fake Niko showed up again, seizing the chance to wage a brutal,
life-or-death battle against the already-wounded Niko."
"According to Kiryu, Fake Niko was killed by Niko."
"...Though that's questionable. Fake Niko might have faked his death."
"And finally, Kiryu's Fox Shadow Style master, Taira Genzan, challenged Niko
while completely blind to the truth."
"Which ultimately resulted in the death of Niko, who had been worn down by
consecutive battles."
The more Ohma turned it over in his mind, the more unnatural the whole sequence
felt.
Everything was entirely too convenient, too neatly orchestrated—as if an
invisible hand behind the scenes had meticulously engineered every single step
to herd Tokita Niko into a dead-end trap.
"Was it that Fake Niko?"
"No... maybe not just him. Maybe it was the entire syndicate behind him... The
Worm?"
Failing to reach a concrete conclusion, Ohma temporarily shoved the thoughts
aside.
Niko's death and the old grudges of that era were his own personal "destinies"
to settle—much like the complex blood-feud between the Hanma father and son.
Those matters could wait. The crucial battle was happening right now!
"Ren Shiroki!"
Ohma shouted in a deep, gravelly voice, issuing a warning: "If IDEAL and The
Worm have joined forces, there's no way there are only two of them here. Watch
your back—don't let them drag this out into a war of attrition!"
"..."
Hearing this, Ren let out an expansive, room-shaking yawn. "No matter what kind
of war they want to fight... we've already kicked it off, haven't we?"
"—Yes!"
Answering Ren's prompt was [The Caracal] Billy Greco.
This high-ranking IDEAL assassin and crony of the leader had repeatedly tested
the Kengan Association's bottom line, and his history with Ren ran deep.
Ren bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, testing his spacing. "Word is, you
guys are being hunted down by [Mr. Unchained] Oliva, so you must be feeling the
heat."
"That's why The Inside is your last play, right? You teamed up with The Worm to
turn this lawless zone into your personal stronghold."
"..."
Billy didn't answer immediately. That familiar, sinister smile remained
plastered across his face as his eyes darted back and forth, as if Ren had hit a
nerve.
"Ren-san, there's been bad blood between you and me for a long time. I think
it's about time we settled our accounts—otherwise, I'll never be able to
complete the Boss's mission."
With a smooth glide, Billy raised his fists into a striking guard. "Let's settle
this by Kengan rules. A single match, winner takes all, and the loser packs up
and leaves The Inside. How about it?"
"Heh—"
Ren grinned, looking as though he was about to accept on the spot.
The next second—
Paklong, lurking directly behind Billy, executed a lethal technique. He pinched
a small steel ball inside the crook of his index finger, pulling back his thumb
before snapping it forward with explosive muscular torque.
[Flicker Shot]!
Whoosh!
The steel ball whistled through the air completely silently, rocketing toward
Ren's eye like an armor-piercing round.
The exact microsecond before impact, Ren dropped his upper body backward,
executing a swift, point-blank backflip that snatched him clear out of the
projectile's trajectory.
Swish-swish!
Tucking his knees tight to his chest, he spun seamlessly through mid-air before
landing dead-center on his toes, light as a feather.
"Nice. That's perfect! I knew you bastards were going to pull that trick!"
Ren pressed his lips into a thin line, about to close the distance, when he felt
the sunlight above him suddenly cut off.
He blinked and squinted upward—
Paklong had launched himself off the ground with terrifying leg drive, soaring
roughly two meters into the air while holding his hands cupped half-open in
front of his mouth.
He had loaded a mouthful of specialized incendiary oil; hidden flint pieces
stitched into his sleeve struck together mid-motion, throwing off a flurry of
bright sparks.
"Ptoo!"
Paklong spat the oil forward. The spray caught the spark, instantly erupting
into a roaring wall of flame that surged toward Ren, swallowing him whole in a
flash of orange light.
Faced with the oncoming inferno, Ren dropped into a low side-stance, pressing
his left hand down while sweeping his left elbow upward in a wide, powerful
circular arc.
[DRIVE PARRY]!
Whoosh-la!
The howling flames, trapped and guided by the shifting air currents generated by
Ren's parry, were violently torn apart and deflected outward in a widening cone,
failing to singe a single hair on Ren's head—
Well, maybe almost none. The very corner of Ren's shirt collar caught a stray
ember, requiring a couple of quick slaps to extinguish entirely.
"..."
Watching the exchange from the dirt, Tokita Niko blinked. "A rotational
redirection block? The Niko Style has something similar..."
"Haha, thought I could parry the whole thing cleanly."
Ren shook his wrist with an apologetic grin, fire dancing in his eyes as he
looked back up at the pair. "Whether it's flying blades, steel ball bearings, or
the Dragon's Roar, bring it on!"
Radiating an overwhelming pressure, the waves of [Satsui no Hado] surged around
him, making even veterans like Billy and Paklong involuntarily swallow hard.
Every single time they crossed paths, this man nicknamed [Soul Combatant] seemed
to grow stronger, his threat level scaling exponentially until it crossed into
the realm of sheer terror!
As the two assassins frantically calculated their next countermeasure, suddenly—
Whoosh!
A dark silhouette came whistling through the air from the blind spot behind Ren,
cutting through space like a heavy throwing dagger.
—?!
Ren sidestepped on instinct, letting the dark shape zip past his shoulder to
bury itself deep into a distant brick wall, leaving only a tiny fraction of its
tail exposed.
Everyone turned their heads to look.
What on earth was that? A... pinwheel?
It was a common handicraft, the sort of paper-folding toy you'd buy at a street
fair, but its slender wooden shaft had driven itself deep enough into solid
brick to hold the little toy steady and level.
—?!
What in the world was going on here?
Everyone present froze, completely baffled by the absurdity of the intrusion.
Right on cue, a strange scraping sound drifted from down the alleyway, as if
something was dragging or rolling across the pavement.
Following the noise, a small, dark bundle came rolling into view. Looking
closer, it wasn't a bundle at all—it was a person, curled up tight into a ball!
Like a bouncing bowling ball, the figure bounced and rolled down the street,
getting closer and closer to the center of the battlefield.
—??
Everyone stared blankly, wondering what kind of cheap parlor trick or theatrical
nonsense this was.
The rolling figure kept going straight through the killing zone until it
collided heavily with the brick wall right beneath the stuck pinwheel, finally
uncoiling with a soft flop and sprawling limently across the concrete.
—?!
As the newcomer propped themselves up on their knees, pushing themselves
unsteadily to their feet—
Perhaps from spinning around a few times too many, they looked thoroughly dizzy,
coughing repeatedly and retching violently.
"Ahem! Cough—! Urgh~! Cough—"
"Ah~~~~ This is awful~!"
Everyone finally got a clear look at the intruder—
Dressed in simple work overalls and wearing a blue bandanna tied around his
head, it was none other than [The Second] Jun Guevara!
"—Hm?"
Guevara glanced sideways, catching sight of the motionless paper pinwheel stuck
in the wall. He instantly puffed out his cheeks in exaggerated grievance.
"Hey! Your master's so dizzy his eyes are spinning out of his skull, and you're
just sitting there refusing to turn?"
He reached out a finger, flicking the stationary paper blades.
"And here I took the trouble to carefully choreograph my grand entrance—"
"Don't pinwheels usually go whir-whir-whir and make a nice sound? There's zero
cinematic flair to this at all now!"
With that, Guevara shielded his eyes from the glare with one hand, looking over
at Billy and Paklong with a bright grin.
"Oh~!"
He flashed a wide, pearly-white smile. "The afternoon sun is gorgeous, and I
happen to bump into some world-famous assassins. Letting all this sunshine go to
waste on a nap would just be a crime!"
☆☆☆
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