The city was on edge.
Whispers swirled through alleyways, cafés, even the sterile halls of the Hero Association headquarters:
"Garou struck again.""They say he fought Tanktop Master this time.""No, it was a whole squad of heroes he took them all.""I heard he barely walked away…"
The stories grew more twisted with each telling, like dry leaves caught in the wind. But they all carried the same undertone fear.
When I returned from the mountains, leaner and harder than when I left, the city felt… smaller. Fragile. My eyes scanned crowds automatically, instincts sharpened by solitude. Every sound echoed louder, every motion sharper. And beneath it all was the buzz of a name I could not ignore.
Garou.
I first heard the details from a battered C-Class hero drinking alone outside a convenience store. His uniform was torn, his cheek swollen, and his arm wrapped in a crude sling.
"You were there?" I asked quietly.
He glanced at me, eyes wide, almost afraid to even speak. "Y-Yeah… I saw him. He's not human. He moves like water, hits like steel. We went at him with six of us. Six. Tanktop Master was leading. He… he took the brunt of it, but" The man's voice cracked. "Garou broke his ribs. Left him in the dirt. Only reason any of us are still breathing is 'cause… 'cause he let us crawl away."
I felt my chest tighten. He let them live. Always, Garou drew that line. He crippled, humiliated, dismantled but he didn't kill. Not yet.
The hero downed the rest of his drink with shaking hands. "If you're smart, kid, you'll stay away. Heroes can't touch him. And monsters? They fear him too."
Later that evening, I walked through the districts scarred by his path. Broken walls, cracked asphalt, signs of battle etched into the city itself. Citizens whispered as they passed. Some cursed his name. Others shockingly spoke of him with awe.
"The Hero Hunter fights corruption," a man muttered to his friend."He's exposing the Association's weakness," another whispered."He's… a monster, but maybe the kind this world deserves."
I stopped in my tracks. It was more than fear. Some saw Garou as a symbol.
And symbols were far more dangerous than fists.
That night, Bang summoned me privately. His dojo was nearly empty now, most disciples scattered, unwilling to stand under the shadow of Garou's betrayal.
He stood by the window, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"You've heard the reports," he said without turning.
"Yes, master. They say Garou nearly killed Tanktop Master."
Bang's silence was heavy, like a stone pressing down on my chest. Then he turned, his eyes sharp, a storm brewing behind them.
"Garou is no longer merely a stray disciple. He is a force of chaos. Heroes are not enough to stop him. And yet… he remains my burden."
"Then let me help," I said, stepping forward. The words left me before I could weigh them.
Bang's gaze settled on me. "Help? Or fight? Which path do you seek, Kaizen?"
I faltered. The truth was tangled. A part of me wanted to confront Garou, to prove the trial of the mountains had forged me into something greater. Another part wanted to reach him, to drag him back from the edge he seemed intent on falling from.
"I don't know," I admitted.
Bang's face softened, though only slightly. "Then find your answer before you meet him. Because Garou will not wait."
Two nights later, fate brought me closer.
I was returning from a supply run in Z-City when I heard the commotion. The clash of steel against bone, the shouts of civilians, the panicked cries for heroes.
I followed the noise.
In the middle of a ruined intersection, Garou stood bloodied, panting, but still upright. His white hair clung to his forehead, his clothes torn and stained crimson. Around him lay the wreckage of a battle: two heroes unconscious, one crawling away, another clutching a shattered weapon.
Garou swayed, exhaustion visible, but his grin burned with feral light.
"You think you're strong?!" he roared, his voice hoarse but defiant. "Then prove it! Heroes… monsters… all of you are the same! Frauds!"
For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Civilians hid behind rubble, whispering his name with terror. The heroes who still stood hesitated, fear rooting them in place.
And me? My heart pounded.
I had imagined this reunion countless times. Facing Garou as rival, as brother, as enemy. But now, watching him bleeding and unbroken in the streetlight, I felt something deeper.
Pity.
He was killing himself with every battle. His body was near collapse, yet he refused to stop.
He looked around, his gaze sweeping the street and then, for the briefest instant, our eyes met.
Recognition flickered. His grin faltered. His fists clenched.
"…Kaizen," he rasped.
The world seemed to vanish. It was just us, two disciples bound by the same master, two martial artists chasing different truths.
Before I could speak, heroes regrouped. A B-Class charged, sword raised.
Garou moved like lightning. Even wounded, he dismantled the attack with cruel precision, slamming the hero into the pavement. Blood splattered. The onlookers screamed.
And then, before the Association reinforcements could arrive, Garou staggered back, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on mine.
"Find me," he hissed, voice low enough that only I could hear. "If you're really stronger now prove it. Otherwise… stay out of my way."
With that, he vanished into the alleys, leaving chaos in his wake.
The aftermath was worse than the battle.
Heroes shouted, angry and humiliated. Civilians demanded protection. And whispers began again this time with my name added to them. Some had seen me standing there, unmoving as Garou fought. A stranger in martial robes, watching in silence.
The Association would notice. Questions would follow.
But my thoughts weren't on them.
They were on Garou.
The near-death haze in his eyes. The tremor in his voice. The challenge he left behind.
Bang was right. I needed an answer. Would I confront Garou as enemy? Or reach him as a brother?
The path was uncertain. But one truth burned inside me:
I would not run.