Chapter 23: Gangs, Bikes, and Bad Ideas
From Ren's Point of View — Featuring leather suits, schoolyard turf wars, and the worst-kept secrets ever.
You ever have one of those mornings where you wake up, eat microwaved leftovers, and then go out to meet a rich biker in an alley?
Yeah.
Me neither.
Until now.
Hermes was already waiting for me when I jogged into the alley behind the convenience store—the one with graffiti that looked like a clown had exploded against the wall. He was leaning against a very expensive-looking black sports bike, wearing a custom leather racing suit that probably cost more than everything I owned back home.
He looked like he was posing for a fashion photoshoot.
"You're ten minutes late," he said without even glancing at me.
I raised an eyebrow.
"We never set a time."
He just tossed me a file like he was too cool for logic.
Typical Hermes.
I caught it, opened it, and immediately found photographs—like, high school criminal dossiers. Someone had gone full intelligence-department mode on this.
There were charts.
Territory maps.
Names.
Fighting styles.
Personal information.
It was like collectible cards, except instead of cute monsters, you got teenage gang leaders who might break your nose.
"These are the active gangs in the city," Hermes said, like he was giving me a briefing before a military operation. "The ones operating at the student level. Meaning they're all people around our age. Don't underestimate them."
I flipped the page.
The Amazons — All-girls squad led by Athena. Wield weapons. Look like they walked straight out of an action movie.
Combat Sumo — Bruisers led by Hephaestus. Yes, that Hephaestus. Literal muscle mountains.
Predator — Gang of martial artists led by Nemesis. Deadly, fast, stylish. Probably drinks bubble tea with blood in it.
There were a few other names too.
Small fry.
But what caught my attention was the section marked:
LONE WOLVES
One name stood out immediately.
Berserker.
A one-man army.
No gang.
No backup.
Just raw power and a tendency to wreck faces.
"Who's the strongest?" I asked, still flipping through the pages.
Hermes pulled off his sunglasses dramatically.
Seriously.
Who wears sunglasses in an alley?
"Freya's Valkyries have the best coordination and equipment," he said. "But in raw individual strength?"
He tapped Berserker.
"This guy. Easily."
I looked down.
There it was.
A grainy photograph of Shōgo Kitsukawa.
AKA Berserker.
AKA the guy who already tried to punch my soul out during a spar.
Hermes continued.
"You don't have a proper gang yet, so forget Freya for now. Defeat Berserker. Publicly. It'll give you a statement victory."
I slowly lowered the file.
"…Uh."
Hermes looked at me.
"Hate to ruin your evil master plan, but Shōgo's already part of my gang."
He blinked.
"What?"
"Yeah."
"What?"
"He joined."
Hermes stared.
"It was a whole thing," I explained. "We fought, talked afterward, I invited him, he agreed. Pretty straightforward."
There was a long pause.
Then Hermes closed his eyes and rubbed his temples like I'd somehow personally insulted the concept of planning.
"You're messing up the story structure."
"Sorry," I said with a grin. "Didn't realize we were following a villain-approved narrative arc."
He sighed.
Then looked at me again.
"Fine."
A smirk appeared.
"Then you need to become the statement."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Challenge one of the actual gang leaders."
He counted them off.
"Athena. Nemesis. Or Hephaestus."
I blinked.
"That escalated quickly."
Hermes put his sunglasses back on.
"Greatness doesn't wait for slow plots, Ren."
He climbed onto his bike.
"Think fast. Act faster."
Then the engine roared.
"Wait, you're just leaving?!"
He accelerated down the alley, leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber and expensive cologne.
I stood there with the file still in my hands.
School gangs.
Weapons.
Territories.
One-man war machines.
Apparently my peaceful stay on Earth had officially died before it even got started.
And honestly?
I was kinda excited.
Hermes—also known as Kazuki Saejima to normal people who filled out school paperwork and attended parent-teacher meetings—revved his bike and disappeared into the city's maze of concrete and traffic.
His destination was the hidden headquarters of the Shadow Gang, a rising name among the city's student-run turf wars.
Born into wealth and raised with a silver spoon sharpened into a blade, Kazuki wasn't simply some bored rich kid pretending to be a delinquent.
He was a trained karate black belt with a solid foundation in grappling.
But despite his formal martial training, Hermes preferred fighting dirty.
Weapons.
Knives.
Chains.
Batons.
Stun guns.
Anything that gave him an advantage before his opponent could properly respond.
Honor didn't matter.
Results did.
His real weapon, however, wasn't anything he carried in his hands.
It was information.
Hermes treated intelligence gathering like a hobby bordering on obsession. He dug through rumors, school records, social circles, gang movements, public information, and anything else he could get his hands on.
Then he turned those facts into weapons.
That was how he had risen so quickly.
By knowing his opponents before they knew him.
And that was why he possessed files on every major player in the student gang scene.
Athena and the Amazons.
Hephaestus and Combat Sumo.
Nemesis and Predator.
Even lone monsters like Berserker.
But then came Kaito Hoshino.
Or, as the strange boy currently wearing Kaito Hoshino's face insisted on calling himself—
Ren Kisaragi.
Ren didn't fit any pattern Hermes understood.
He fought like someone who had been doing it his whole life.
Every movement was sharp.
Purposeful.
Instinctive.
There were weaknesses, certainly. His current body wasn't particularly powerful, and several techniques clearly depended more on experience than physical ability.
Yet his fights with Shōgo and the Shadow Gang weren't just random victories.
They were statements.
There was something dangerous behind the cheerful stupidity.
Something disciplined.
Someone accustomed to violence.
Hermes wasn't looking for strength alone, though.
He was watching for something much more important.
Ambition.
And Ren had it.
That hunger behind the eyes.
That desire to rise.
To gather people.
To change the board instead of merely playing on it.
But strength and ambition weren't enough to make someone a leader.
Results did that.
Decisions did that.
Hermes had no interest in following someone who could be conquered.
If Ren showed weakness—if he turned out to be all enthusiasm and no empire—then Hermes would simply walk away.
Or turn on him.
That was how the game worked.
Alliances weren't simply made.
They were measured.
Hermes rode into the underground parking structure beneath one of his family's unused office buildings.
The Shadow Gang headquarters.
He stepped off the bike.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and built more like a runway model with a grudge than a normal delinquent, Kazuki was difficult to miss.
His light blue hair rose sharply at the front before being swept neatly backward.
His dark coat moved around his legs like a villain's cape.
Black gloves completed the effect.
Subtlety had never been his aesthetic preference.
He entered the war room.
Several of his lieutenants were already there.
Screens displayed gang activity, school news, territory maps, and profiles.
"Keep an eye on Ren," Kazuki said casually, removing his gloves.
One of the others raised an eyebrow.
"You think he's dangerous?"
Hermes smiled.
"I hope so."
He turned toward the large map displayed across the wall.
"Otherwise…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…this game is going to get very boring."
If you ever find yourself stuck in another guy's body, living in a world that feels like somebody mashed together a high-school drama, a delinquent anime, and a martial-arts series—
first of all:
I'm sorry.
Second:
Don't be like me and choose your next gang war by throwing a stick into the air like it's a message from the Heavens.
Spoiler:
The Heavens don't care.
And even if they do?
Their aim sucks.
With Hermes gone, zooming away on his overpriced murdercycle like he was auditioning for Fast and Furious: Schoolyard Drift, I was left standing in the alley trying to figure out my next move.
Technically, I was still inside Kaito Hoshino's body.
But after all the running, dojo training, sparring, stretching, and getting repeatedly assaulted by delinquents, the body was starting to feel less foreign.
Not like mine.
Never like mine.
My real body could pick up things that would flatten this one.
But Kaito's body was getting stronger.
More coordinated.
More flexible.
More capable of actually keeping up with what my brain wanted it to do.
Anyway.
Focus.
Three gangs.
Three headaches.
One me.
I jogged toward the park.
It was pretty peaceful if you ignored the pigeons giving me judgmental looks.
I needed a target.
Someone to challenge.
Someone important enough that beating them would actually mean something.
Preferably in sufficiently dramatic fashion that people would start taking my new group seriously.
Athena's Amazons were an all-girls gang with actual weapons.
Not training weapons.
Actual weapons.
Sickles.
Staffs.
Chains.
Probably something hidden in somebody's schoolbag that violated several laws.
Fighting them sounded like trying to speedrun a deadly game with wooden equipment and no armor.
Then there was Hephaestus's Combat Sumo.
Much simpler.
A bunch of guys shaped like angry refrigerators who apparently enjoyed charging at people with the force of collapsing buildings.
But according to Hermes, they respected one-on-one fights.
That was nice.
Terrifying.
But nice.
And finally—
Nemesis.
Her Predator gang consisted mostly of martial artists.
They had fewer members than the others.
That made them seem like the easiest target.
Which immediately made me suspicious.
The Veiled Moon Sect had taught me one important lesson:
If something looked easy, check for poison.
Then check again.
I reached a shady tree in the park and crouched beside the dirt path.
With all the dignity of an ancient strategist—
or possibly a bored raccoon—
I found a stick and wrote three names into the dirt.
Athena
Hephaestus
Nemesis
I stared at them.
Then stood.
Held the stick upright.
And prepared to consult destiny.
"Okay."
I tossed it.
In my head, this was going to be incredible.
The stick would spin majestically through the air.
Land perfectly.
Point toward one name.
Destiny chosen.
Simple.
Instead—
WHOOSH.
The stick spun.
Turned.
Came straight back down.
BONK.
"OW!"
I grabbed my forehead.
"Seriously?!"
A nearby squirrel made a sound suspiciously similar to laughter.
I glared at it.
"Don't start."
Round two.
I threw the stick again.
This time it didn't hit me.
Progress!
It landed directly between two names.
I stared.
"The Heavens are indecisive."
The squirrel continued judging me.
"Okay. Best two out of three."
Five throws later, the results were:
One vote for Athena.
Two votes for Nemesis.
One stick stolen by a passing dog.
And one somehow landed inside somebody's lunch.
I slowly sat down.
Clearly, divine consultation wasn't working.
I flopped onto the grass and stared upward like I was carrying the weight of the entire cultivation world on my shoulders.
I tried imagining each fight.
Athena?
Chaos.
Weapons.
Coordination.
Probably lots of screaming.
Hephaestus?
Sentient mountains attempting to flatten me.
Nemesis?
That one felt…
manageable.
Not easy.
Nothing about my life had been easy lately.
But manageable.
A good first step.
A victory people would notice without immediately requiring me to develop a will.
And besides…
I was curious about her.
According to Hermes, Nemesis was strong, proud, and one of the better martial artists among the local gang leaders.
Exactly the sort of opponent I wanted.
I opened one eye.
Then grinned at the sky.
"Alright, Nemesis."
I sat up.
"Ready or not…"
The squirrel stared down at me from its branch.
"…here comes your new favorite rival."
The squirrel continued staring.
Probably thinking:
This idiot is going to get kicked in the face.
Honestly?
Probably.
But hey.
If you're going to get kicked in the face…
you might as well look cool doing it.