The late morning sun was already high—past 10 a.m. It was break time for the students.
But break time didn't always mean resting.
In a wide alley—broad enough for two cars to pass each other—curtains from the upper floors of nearby houses were slightly drawn aside.
Residents peeked out in silence. Some were recording. Some simply held their breath. Some hurriedly tried to contact the police, hoping they would step in and secure the area.
Down below, two groups faced off.
On the right side of the alley, nearly a hundred male students in standard white-and-gray school uniforms crowded together, filling half the street.
Hands gripped baseball bats, wooden sticks, and—some of them—curved sickles that glinted under the sunlight.
On the left side, a little over twenty youths—also seemingly students—stood in a loose formation.
They wore white jackets, gray trousers, and masks of various designs—wild beasts with bared fangs, horned demons, cute rabbits with eerie smiles, even anime characters with wide eyes that clashed with the suffocating tension in the air.
In their hands: baseball bats, wooden planks, and a few baseballs ready to be thrown.
The air felt thick.
The leader of the hundred stepped forward. His hair was cropped short, his face rough and hardened—nothing like a typical student. He casually spun a bat in his hand.
"Haha… finally. Today, we settle this grudge," he said with a confident grin.
One of the twenty stepped half a pace forward. His mask was a black wolf with red streaks near the eyes.
"Settle a grudge?" His voice was calm. "By bringing a hundred people?"
He glanced back at his team briefly before facing the opposing leader again.
"Tch… even if you brought a thousand. You still wouldn't stand a chance against us."
Rough laughter erupted from the larger group.
Their leader shrugged.
"Hahaha, I think you're the ones who are too confident. The hundred I brought today are more than enough. Unlike before, these guys are the best fighters in our school. So…"
"…prepare to be crushed."
"Tch…" the Wolf scoffed. "That just makes it more embarrassing. But whatever. In our eyes, you're nothing more than snot-nosed brats scared of losing."
"Embarrassed? Scared?" the leader replied lazily. "We're not embarrassed. As long as you're finished today, that's all that matters."
Whispers of panic drifted down from the residents above.
The twenty's gazes shifted toward the sharp weapons gleaming among the enemy ranks.
"They brought sickles…" one of them muttered.
The Wolf heard that and narrowed his eyes. Realizing several of them were holding bladed weapons, he spoke sharply.
"Wait. I just noticed. You brought sharp weapons? Since when do school fights use blades? That's pathetic. Didn't we agree—no sharp weapons?"
The leader of the hundred snorted.
"Rules?" He spat on the ground. "You think we're here to play around like last time? A real street fight doesn't care about rules. Use whatever you want. As long as the enemy drops."
"That's not a school brawl anymore," said one of the rabbit-masked members from the twenty. "That's street warfare."
"Who cares," one uniformed student replied while swinging his sickle through the air. "If you're scared of blood, you shouldn't have come."
Several from the group of twenty exchanged glances. There was a flicker of doubt—not because of the numbers. They didn't mind being outnumbered.
But those flashing blades were different.
Suddenly—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps echoed from the end of the alley.
Every head turned.
A young man walked casually toward the middle of the group of twenty. Taller than average, well-built, but slightly slouched like someone too lazy to stand straight. He wore a bright red jacket and a plain black mask.
He stopped at the front line.
"You guys…" he said lazily to the twenty, "just let them use whatever weapons they want. Even a nuclear bomb is fine."
Then he looked toward the hundred.
"Because no matter what they bring… their fate won't be any better than last time. Heh."
"Tch! Arrogant as always," the leader of the hundred spat. Then he laughed. "Haha. But that's good. It'll be even more satisfying when I use that arrogant face to mop the asphalt here… Masked King."
The man—Masked King—just looked at him lazily and shook his head.
"I didn't know broad daylight could make people dream," he muttered casually.
"Anyway," he continued lightly. His calm voice carried clearly to the back rows. "I usually wear a black jacket. But since you want a bloody fight… red fits better."
He dusted his hands off casually.
"At least when their blood splashes, it won't stain too obviously."
Several students from the hundred gritted their teeth.
"So damn cocky!" someone shouted from the back.
Their leader smirked.
"Hmph… that's just how he is."
His gaze sharpened slightly as he whispered to his front line.
"But be careful. He has the skills to back up that arrogance. I don't know how he'll handle sharp weapons—but stay alert."
Masked King's presence shifted the atmosphere on the twenty's side. Their tense backs straightened. Their heavy breaths steadied.
The Wolf slightly bowed his head, followed by the others.
"Big brother."
Masked King gave a small nod.
"I'm not late this time, right? Hehe."
His team could only nod awkwardly, smiling behind their masks.
Masked King smiled lazily.
"Well then, let's finish this quickly. I still want to relax after this."
His eyes swept across the opposing ranks, stopping at the glint of sickles.
"The ones holding blunt weapons," he said without looking back, "you handle them."
His tone was casual. Like assigning cleaning duty.
"I'll take care of the risky ones" He slowly stretched his neck; bones cracked softly. "You're still too young for high-risk fights."
Several of the twenty smiled behind their masks.
The leader of the hundred raised his bat high.
"CHARGE!"
The shout exploded through the alley.
Footsteps pounded against asphalt.
The sound of wood clashing, bodies colliding, and furious screams echoed through the narrow space.
The twenty moved fast—without retreating a single step. They formed a half-circle, splitting the overwhelming wave of opponents.
Masked King walked straight toward the students swinging sickles.
Sharp steel sliced through the air.
And just like that—
The school war truly began.
Three sickles slashed down at the same time.
Masked King didn't step back.
He stepped forward.
CLANG!
His left hand shot out, catching one attacker's wrist mid-swing. He twisted hard—crack. The sound of bone snapping echoed faintly. The sickle slipped from the student's hand.
"Oh? I thought you said this team was stronger than the last one, so I used a bit more force," he commented dryly. "Turns out you're just as fragile. Sorry. My bad."
In the same fluid motion, his knee drove into the second attacker's stomach. Air burst out of the student's mouth like a punctured balloon.
The third tried to slash from the side.
Too slow.
Masked King spun low, sweeping the sickle-holder's legs out from under him. The boy lifted off the ground before slamming onto the asphalt. Before he could recover, a shoe came down hard on his wrist.
The sickle flew away, skidding across the pavement.
In less than ten seconds, three sharp weapons were no longer in their owners' hands.
Every move was precise—pure combat skill, no magic involved.
To him, this was just kids playing around.
On the other side, the twenty masked fighters moved like a single organism.
They weren't blinded by anger. They didn't scream wildly. Every swing of their bats had a target—knees, wrists, shoulders.
They split the larger crowd into smaller clusters, striking and shifting, never allowing themselves to be surrounded.
"Formation Three!" the Wolf shouted.
Three figures crossed paths instantly, trapping five uniformed students between them. Two dropped first. One collapsed clutching his knee.
The group of a hundred began to fall apart.
The numbers they had been so proud of became a liability. They bumped into each other. Some even swung their weapons into their own teammates.
Meanwhile, the Masked King stood calmly in an empty circle forming around him.
Four remaining students stared at him hesitantly.
"Come on," he said softly. "You were the loudest earlier."
One charged recklessly.
One step.
One swing.
One straight punch to the face.
The student's body lifted half a foot off the ground before dropping unconscious.
Another tried attacking from behind.
An elbow smashed into his jaw. A sweeping kick knocked down two at once. The last one didn't even manage to raise his bat—his wrist was already twisted until he screamed in pain.
From a second-floor balcony, someone whispered shakily, "Wow… that masked group is terrifying. This isn't a school fight… it's a massacre. I wonder where they're from—especially that one in red."
"Yeah," another replied. "Rumor says they're from HIHS."
"HIHS? That elite school? So they're rich kids? Wow… I never thought elite students would stoop this low. But I guess some of them are wilder than anyone."
Ten minutes later.
Just ten minutes.
The alley's asphalt was littered with groaning uniformed students, some unconscious. Bats and wooden planks were scattered everywhere. The sickles lay abandoned.
Out of nearly a hundred—
Not a single one remained standing.
The twenty masked fighters stood among them, breathing steady. A few had minor scrapes. One or two bruised shoulders.
The Wolf approached the fallen leader of the hundred, who lay clutching his ribs.
"Told you. With Masked King on our side, even a thousand wouldn't matter—let alone a hundred."
The rabbit-masked member chimed in.
"You even brought sickles and still lost. Pathetic." He kicked the leader's ribs irritably.
The boy could only cough up a painful wheeze, unable to respond. Breathing itself felt like torture. Regret filled his eyes.
Masked King stood beside him.
"Pathetic," he commented lazily. "But good. This ended quickly."
He gave a small hand signal.
"Collect the bet. And don't forget… plunder all their valuables."
Without hesitation, the twenty moved.
School bags were opened. Wallets, cash, watches, jackets—even decent shoes were taken off. Sickles and bats were gathered into a single pile.
They left only school uniforms, IDs, and phones—those weren't worth the trouble.
Some uniformed students weakly protested.
"Give it back… we already paid the bet… why strip us too…?"
A cold stare from behind a mask silenced them instantly.
"Remember," one of the masked students said with a mocking chuckle, "like you said—real street fights don't care about rules. So we're not following any either. That's fine, right? Hehe."
Hearing that, they could only lower their heads in silence.
They had no comeback.
In the end, they were forced to swallow their own words.
Within minutes, the losing side had nothing left but wrinkled uniforms and bruises.
Masked King glanced around the alley.
House lights turned off one by one. Curtains shut quickly.
He smiled faintly.
"I'll head out first. Don't follow me. And get ready—class starts soon."
He paused slightly.
"We have to be on time."
"After all…"
"…we're good students."
And he walked away.
No cheers. No celebration.
The other twenty left the alley casually, as if they had just finished a regular practice session. The pile of spoils was carried over shoulders and in hands.
Behind them, nearly a hundred uniformed students lay helpless on the ground.
And the alley slowly fell silent again—leaving behind an echo of defeat they would never forget.
---
Not far from there, in the narrow gap between two buildings, two figures stood concealed within the shadows, watching everything that had just unfolded.
"The normal human world is quite interesting," one of them said lightly. "I didn't expect a group of students to use actual combat strategies for a street brawl. Fascinating."
"Hmph." The other sounded unimpressed. "Satisfied with the show? Let's move. We still have plenty to do."
"Yeah, yeah…" the first replied in resignation.
The next second, both figures melted back into the shadows.
At the same time, the distant wail of police sirens finally reached the alley.
But by the time they arrived, all they could do was secure the scene and deal with the aftermath—nearly a hundred students lying on the ground, victims of nothing but their own stupidity.