Chapter 14: Of Trash Cans, Flying Knees, and Tactical Nut Punches
(Or, "Just Another Day in the Life of a Totally Normal High Schooler... with a Radiant Sovereign in His Soul")
Okay, so here's a rule of thumb I live by:
If ten dudes with spiked brass knuckles corner you in an alley, you do not stick around to ask questions.
Unless you're me, Ren Kisaragi.
...Which, actually, I guess is the opposite of what I did.
I was on my way back from Shinomiya Dojo, tired, sore, and carrying a bag of steamed buns I'd been fantasizing about for three hours. I was already halfway into a dream where the buns were doing a victory dance in my mouth when I heard it.
"It took us a long time, but finally, we have you."
Now, I don't know about you, but that's not the kind of thing you want to hear in a dark alley.
I turned around and blinked.
There were ten of them. Maybe eleven. Honestly, I was too busy counting brass knuckles and questionable fashion choices to focus. One guy had blue hair that looked like he'd lost a bet with a hair-dye demon. Another had hair so curly it looked like he was trying to cosplay broccoli. And the leader had the aura of someone who watched too many gangster movies and thought, Yep. That's me.
"I think you've got the wrong guy," I said carefully, eyes already scanning the alley.
Trash cans?
Check.
Narrow walls?
Check.
Steel staircase?
Double check.
"Shadow Gang!" Blue Hair roared like he was announcing the final battle of an anime. "Punish the bastard for disrespecting us!"
The others shouted.
One guy cracked his neck for dramatic effect.
Great.
I was too tired for this.
So I did the logical thing.
I kicked over the trash cans and ran.
"BASTARD! WHERE'D YOUR BALLS GO?!" somebody shouted behind me.
I laughed.
Loudly.
Because tactical retreat wasn't cowardice.
It was strategy.
Also, Kaito's body was stronger than it had been four days ago, but that didn't magically make it my real Foundation Establishment body. Ten armed idiots were still ten armed idiots, and unlike back home, I had no Ki, no Shadow Grip, no Shadow Clones, and no body capable of treating steel pipes like mild inconveniences.
So yes.
I ran.
But I was also Ren Kisaragi.
And if you chase me long enough...
I will turn around.
I juked left around a corner, heard their footsteps closing in, then suddenly spun and charged back at them.
"Surprise."
The first guy had just enough time to look confused before I slammed both palms into his chest.
THWACK!
He stumbled backward and crashed into the guy behind him.
Two people went down in a pile of limbs and terrible decisions.
"Two for one," I muttered.
The curly-haired one rushed me next.
I stepped inside his swing and snapped a short kick into his thigh.
His leg buckled.
My fist followed into his jaw.
Not enough to launch him through a wall.
Kaito's body couldn't do that.
But good technique didn't need superhuman strength to hurt.
He staggered.
The third guy lunged.
I ducked beneath his punch and drove a flying knee into his chest.
We both crashed down.
Bad idea.
My knees immediately informed me that Kaito Hoshino was not designed for repeated airborne violence.
Before I could get back up, another thug tried to kick me.
I rolled aside.
His foot missed my ribs by inches.
His reward?
The Ancient and Sacred Nut Punch of the Veiled Moon Sect.
Okay.
Technically, the Veiled Moon Sect had no technique called that.
But they should.
He made a sound I had previously only heard from wounded mountain goats and collapsed with both hands between his legs.
I stood.
"See? Martial arts."
Curly came at me again.
I ducked his swing, drove an elbow into his stomach, then slipped behind him and wrapped an arm around his neck.
"Seriously," I grunted, using him as a shield while another guy hesitated. "You people need better hobbies. Knitting. Birdwatching. Collecting stamps. Literally anything that doesn't involve getting punched by strangers in alleys."
Then I shoved Curly into his friend and backed away.
Four down.
Too many still standing.
And now they weren't laughing anymore.
They spread out around me.
That was worse.
"Okay," I muttered, raising my hands. "You guys want the buns?"
Nobody answered.
"Worth asking."
Spoiler alert:
They did not want the buns.
They wanted pain.
Unfortunately for everybody involved, they were about to get some.
You know that feeling when you start winning a fight and suddenly your blood is pumping, your body is moving right, and your brain decides you've become some sort of martial-arts legend?
Yeah.
That's called Victory Drunk.
It's dangerous.
Because once your brain starts telling you you're amazing, reality usually shows up carrying a chair.
One of them stepped forward.
"Screw this," I muttered.
He threw a straight kick.
I caught his ankle.
For approximately half a second, I felt extremely cool.
Then I remembered Kaito's arms were not my arms.
"Whoa—!"
His weight dragged me forward.
I changed direction instead of fighting it, twisted, and sent him stumbling sideways into two of his friends.
They crashed together.
"Strike!"
Okay.
That one deserved the joke.
Another punch came from my left.
I parried it—thank you, Daigo-sensei—and snapped a jab into the guy's jaw.
He staggered.
I followed with a kick to his stomach, then pushed away to avoid somebody coming up behind me.
Smart.
Mostly.
Except the person behind me had something sharp attached to his knuckles.
The spikes scraped across my back.
Pain exploded through me.
"AGH!"
I stumbled forward.
Real pain.
Hot.
Sharp.
Wet.
I felt blood beneath my shirt.
And suddenly the fight stopped being fun.
My breathing changed.
So did everything else.
For one dangerous second, I forgot whose body I was in.
Anger surged through me, and some old part of my mind expected Ki to answer.
Expected shadows to move.
Expected Ballom's cold power to leak through.
Nothing happened.
Because Ballom wasn't here.
My real body wasn't here.
This was Kaito's body.
Human.
Vulnerable.
Mine to protect.
I clenched my teeth.
Control yourself.
The thug rushed me.
I stepped inside his next swing and punched him hard across the cheek.
Not with some imaginary superhuman strength.
Just everything Kaito's body could safely give me.
He spun, lost his footing, and crashed into some wooden crates.
I immediately regretted the punch.
My knuckles screamed.
"Ow."
Right.
Normal human hands.
Still getting used to those.
Another guy kicked toward my chest.
I caught his leg, twisted enough to destroy his balance—not his knee—and shoved him into the wall.
"Freaking idiots," I hissed, breathing hard.
Then I noticed something.
Only Blue Hair was still standing properly.
And he wasn't charging.
He was smiling.
That was never good.
He reached inside his jacket.
Pulled something out.
I froze.
A gun.
"Oh, come on."
He raised it.
POP! POP! POP!
Something slammed into my shoulder.
Then my chest.
Then my arm.
I shouted and stumbled backward.
"OW! WHAT THE HELL?!"
Rubber bullets.
Thank every Immortal listening.
Still hurt like an angry gorilla throwing rocks at me.
"This is cheating!" I yelled.
He fired again.
I ducked behind a trash bin.
POP!
The side rattled.
Okay.
New tactical assessment:
Gun bad.
Distance worse.
Need to close distance.
Preferably without becoming target practice.
I grabbed the trash-bin lid.
Waited.
Another shot.
Then I ran.
Not straight at him.
Zigzag.
Wall.
Bin.
Stair support.
Anything that broke his line of sight.
He fired twice more.
One missed.
One clipped my arm.
Then I was close enough.
I threw the lid.
"WHAT—"
He flinched.
That was all I needed.
I slammed into him.
WHAM!
We hit the ground together.
I immediately wrapped an arm around his neck.
Not enough to crush anything.
Just enough to choke him out.
"Go to sleep," I growled.
He reached into his jacket.
I noticed too late.
ZAP!
Electricity exploded through my side.
Every muscle in my body clenched.
"OH, COME ON!"
My arm came loose.
He rolled.
I kicked blindly.
My knee connected with his face.
BAM!
He dropped the stun gun.
I scrambled for it, knocked it farther away, then planted a boot into his stomach when he tried to rise.
He folded over.
I backed away immediately.
Breathing hard.
Hands shaking.
Back bleeding.
Chest throbbing from rubber rounds.
And suddenly the alley seemed very quiet.
I looked at the bodies scattered around me.
Nobody was dead.
Good.
Most were groaning.
Also good.
Then the thought finally arrived.
These idiots could have killed me.
Not Ren Kisaragi in his real body.
Kaito Hoshino.
One bullet instead of rubber.
One knife in the wrong place.
One hit to the head.
One mistake.
And Kaito could come back to find his life ended because I'd treated Earth like one of my missions.
That thought hit harder than anything else had.
"Idiot," I whispered to myself.
I should have escaped.
Called for help.
Found police.
Anything other than letting pride turn a tactical retreat into a ten-on-one brawl.
I looked toward Blue Hair.
"Next time..."
I paused.
Actually, no.
There wasn't going to be a next time if I could help it.
I turned and ran.
Not limped.
Not walked.
Ran.
Straight toward the nearest busy street.
Cameras.
Crowds.
Police.
Witnesses.
Civilization.
All the things I should've aimed for ten minutes ago.
I didn't feel bad about defending myself.
Not for a second.
But as my back burned and every rubber-bullet bruise announced itself with each step, I learned something important.
Earth might look peaceful.
That didn't make it safe.
And Kaito's body wasn't some disposable replacement for mine.
If I wanted to give it back someday...
I had to make sure there was still a body left to return.
----------------------------------
"You were good."
The voice came right as I limped out of the alley, still running on adrenaline and bad decisions, trying very hard not to think about the blood sticking to the back of my shirt like hot glue. I turned and found Shogo Kitsukawa leaning against the wall nearby. Brown belt. Dojo prodigy. Quiet guy. Always watching. Shogo had the kind of calm expression that made you wonder whether he was looking at your face or mentally calculating seventeen different ways to throw you onto the pavement.
"Thanks," I said, trying to sound like I wasn't half-broken. "You planning to give me a hand, or were you just waiting around to review my performance?"
"Heh. Why not?" Shogo stepped over and pulled my arm across his shoulder. "But next time, we fight. I want to see how good you really are."
"You're on."
I said that confidently despite one leg barely cooperating and my back feeling like somebody had attacked it with an angry gardening tool.
Every step reminded me just how close I'd come to getting carved open by some idiot wearing spikes.
As we slowly made our way toward the main road, Shogo glanced sideways at me. "You're not going to take pictures and call the police?"
I paused.
"Uh…"
Okay.
I hadn't even thought of that.
My first instinct had been the same one I'd developed during years of missions: survive the fight, assess injuries, leave before reinforcements arrive. Apparently document evidence and contact local authorities had not yet installed itself in my brain.
Shogo chuckled. "Probably for the best."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Those guys are part of the street scene. People like him don't fight fair, but even they follow certain rules. Police get involved, families get involved, people outside the fight start getting dragged into things." His expression hardened slightly. "Street conflicts can get ugly fast."
I looked at him.
"You make this sound like some kind of mafia soap opera."
"It basically is."
"That's ridiculous."
"Still true."
I glanced back toward the alley.
Maybe Earth wasn't quite as peaceful as I'd decided.
"Who was that persistent bug with the gun?" I asked. "Blue hair. Terrible personality. Face extremely punchable."
"Hermes," Shogo answered. "Leader of a small gang. Rich family. Lots of money, lots of connections, absolutely no interest in fighting fairly."
"Yeah, I noticed that part."
"He doesn't care about proving he's stronger. He cares about winning."
I frowned.
Honestly?
I could respect the logic.
Not the bullying part.
Not the attacking-people-ten-on-one part.
But using every advantage available?
That was practically Ninja doctrine.
"Didn't I already beat him?"
Shogo raised an eyebrow.
"You hurt him."
"Pretty badly."
"That's different from defeating someone like Hermes. Guys like him care about influence. Territory. Reputation. Who backs down and who doesn't."
He gave a small smile.
"It's a stupid game."
I waited.
"But?"
"But some people spend their whole lives playing it."
I chuckled. "And here I thought Earth was boring."
Shogo looked at me strangely.
Right.
Kaito wasn't supposed to compare Earth to other worlds.
Mental note:
Stop saying suspicious protagonist things out loud.
We reached the busier street, where ordinary people moved between stores completely unaware that ten idiots were probably still trying to remember which direction was up a few alleys away.
I looked around.
Restaurants.
Shops.
Students.
Families.
Normal life.
And underneath it...
gangs.
Martial artists.
Magicians.
Magical Girls.
And apparently an entire supernatural world Kaito hadn't even known existed.
Earth was getting more interesting by the day.
"So who's in charge around here?" I asked.
Shogo glanced at me.
"In charge?"
"The strongest gang. Boss. Leader. Whatever you call him."
"No one, as far as I know."
I stopped.
That answer settled strangely in my stomach.
No one.
Meaning there wasn't some great organization controlling everything.
No established leader.
No dominant power.
Which meant—
There was room.
A grin started creeping across my face.
Then my back screamed at me.
"OW."
Right.
Maybe conquer the criminal underworld after learning how not to get shot with rubber bullets.
"Can you grab me some bandages?" I asked.
Shogo nodded toward a nearby convenience store. "Wait here."
While he went inside, I slipped into a public restroom and carefully pulled up my shirt.
"Ugh."
The scratches weren't as deep as they had felt during the fight, but they were ugly. I cleaned them under cold water, gritting my teeth every time it touched exposed skin.
Being injured without Ki sucked.
Back home, a wound like this would've been annoying.
Here?
It was something I actually had to worry about.
Shogo returned with bandages and disinfectant, and after several minutes of muttered swearing, awkward reaching, and discovering that wrapping your own back should qualify as an advanced martial art, I looked approximately like a half-mummified karate student.
We walked together for another few blocks before reaching a crossroads.
Shogo stopped.
"Next week at the dojo."
I nodded.
"You still want that fight?"
His smile widened.
"Definitely."
I grinned back.
"Then don't complain when you lose."
"We'll see."
He turned and disappeared down another street.
I stood there for a moment, thinking about Hermes.
The Shadow Gang.
The hidden rules.
The strange little world I'd accidentally stepped into simply because I couldn't ignore somebody getting beaten up.
This wasn't over.
If anything...
it felt like I'd just opened another door.
And considering what normally happened whenever Ren Kisaragi opened mysterious doors?
I probably should've been much more worried.