The moment the target rose to flee, someone kicked open the café's back door. Over a dozen hooded figures armed with machetes and steel pipes streamed inside.
The leader, with dyed blond hair and a toothpick in his mouth, barked orders:
"Catch him! Before the Officer gets here!"
"Where is he? He's gone!"
"Search every table, don't miss a thing!"
The yellow-haired man shouted, and his followers quickly fanned out, combing the café.
Suddenly, a glint of light caught his eye. He turned instinctively—only to see an office worker at the next table trembling so hard he could barely hold his phone, misdialing the emergency number again and again.
"Hey, you!"
The blond thug lunged forward, snatching the phone and smashing it on the ground right in front of the terrified man.
Still not satisfied, he stomped down hard, grinding until the Ether battery bent out of shape.
Only then did he twist back, face contorted, yanking the man up by the collar and glaring at him with eyes like a beast ready to devour its prey.
"Please! Spare me!"
The man's nose was already running with snot, his voice shaking with desperation.
But the thug only clenched his fists tighter, bones audibly cracking as he prepared to strike.
"Boss! That old man's running for the front door!"
The cry from one of his lackeys was like a lifeline. The thug released his grip with a snarl.
"Hmph, lucky break for you!"
He threw the worker aside and rushed toward the front door, yelling as he ran:
"Move it! Our employer didn't just hire us. If another gang takes the prize, I'll make you pay for it!"
At that, panic flashed across the lackeys' faces. They scrambled over each other, bolting toward the entrance.
The target glanced back, his anxiety mounting. His frail body protested, but he forced himself into a desperate run.
Closer... almost there!
His breath came ragged, but his eyes shone with hope.
The café doors stood wide open, beckoning him to safety.
If he could just get outside, he could reach his car and escape this nightmare!
But just as his hand reached for the door, the man sitting closest rose to his feet.
In a neat suit and bowler hat, moving with gentlemanly poise—
He calmly swung the café door shut.
Click.
With a crisp snap, Phaga even locked it.
The target froze, despair flooding his chest. His body shook violently, his knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed.
But he didn't. Phaga caught him, steadying him and guiding him to a nearby seat.
"Outside isn't any safer. For details, you should see the surveillance yourself."
The soft, composed voice pulled the man back from the edge of panic.
He turned to the laptop on the table. The surveillance feed confirmed it: the streets outside were crawling with danger. Countless gang members lurked in the shadows, all of them watching the café.
Out there was even worse than in here.
After a moment's hesitation, he looked back. The gentleman who had closed the door earlier tightened his gloves, picked up the parasol beside him, and started forward.
Sensing his gaze, Phaga inclined his head in a brief nod before walking straight toward the intruders.
Now the target understood—this gentleman, just like the young maid earlier, had come to protect him.
"Hey, kid! Closing the door was smart, but step aside now. Wouldn't want you getting hurt!"
One of the thugs at the front tried to shove past. Phaga brushed him off with a slight shoulder movement, and the man stumbled back several steps.
Snarling, the thug jabbed a finger at him.
Phaga adjusted his monocle. In its reflection, the man caught a glimpse of his narrowed eyes—glinting with a predator's hunger.
His heart skipped a beat. Instinct screamed at him to retreat. But still he shouted, "You… you're gonna—AHHH!"
Phaga's hand shot out. With a sickening snap, the thug's finger broke.
The man's scream was cut short as Phaga yanked him forward and drove a knee into his gut. His body went limp, and Phaga flung him aside.
The rest of the thugs faltered, fear flickering in their eyes.
But failure meant losing their gang's funding.
One clenched his teeth, roared, and threw a punch.
The others snapped out of it and charged in with him.
Phaga didn't retreat. He stepped forward, tilting his head to let the punch whistle past, then slammed his elbow down on the attacker's back.
A swift sweep of his leg dropped the man flat.
Without looking, Phaga sensed another rush. He ducked low under a hook, then drove his fist into the thug's chest, sending him flying backward into his own men.
The café patrons sat frozen, stunned by the sight. No one dared move.
At last, one brave soul pulled out a phone and dialed the police, taking advantage of Phaga's stand against the thugs.
"Die, you bastard!!!"
A steel pipe came crashing down toward him.
Phaga didn't even look. With a sweep of his parasol, he pinned the pipe against the table.
The thug looked up in horror just as Phaga's kick slammed into his side, launching him across the floor in a bloody heap.
Phaga pressed on. He broke one thug's arm with a palm strike, spun the parasol to bat their blades aside, and kicked another straight off his feet.
None could withstand him.
Within minutes, Blond Hair's men were sprawled across the floor.. Most were unconscious; the rest lay groaning, their limbs broken.
"You… you… you just wait!"
Blond Hair finally panicked. He'd never imagined Phaga could fight like this—his entire crew crushed in minutes.
No, he had to run. Forget the money—his life came first!
Sweat dripping down his forehead, he spat a curse and bolted for the back door.
That was how he'd come in. No one was there. He'd be safe—
But when he reached it, he froze.
A food cart blocked the way.
Beside it stood a girl in a maid outfit, casually flipping her hair. At her side leaned a pair of garden shears taller than she was.
The moment she sensed him, she reached for the shears.
"Oh, you're here. Thought you and your boys might last a little longer against Phaga."
Hefting the shears onto her shoulder, lollipop in her mouth, Ellen strolled forward.
"No wonder you're the only gang that made it in. Guess no one else believed you could get the job done."
"N-no, don't come closer!"
Blond Hair shrieked, stumbling backward as Ellen advanced.
Step by step, she pressed forward. Step by step, he retreated.
Until his foot slipped. He crashed to the floor, staring up at her looming figure, her presence pressing down like a predator's aura. His legs trembled uncontrollably.
He felt like prey caught in a shark's gaze, unable to escape.
"No… no… AHHHH!"
Not long after, Ellen rejoined Phaga, tossing the fainted thug onto the ground.
Arms crossed, she said, "It's done. Just in case, I broke his knees."
"That settles things here. The Officers can handle the rest."
Phaga shook his head, sat across from their target, and pulled the laptop toward him. Pointing at the surveillance feed, he said:
"But there are still countless gangs outside. This commission is only just beginning."
Leaning on the back of his chair, Ellen glanced at the screen. "Tsk. What a pain."
Phaga propped his chin on one hand, tapping the table with his finger. "I just checked with Rina. The payment for this job is eight million dennies."
"Oh."
Ellen let out a soft "oh," and suddenly felt her energy return.
"Um… excuse me..."
Phaga and Ellen turned. The old man—their protection target—had raised his hand.
"I want to know what's going on right now, and who hired you to protect me."