Baki stood inside the elevator with the fake Wang Wei slung over his shoulder. Bullets had grazed him slightly—nothing too serious. But the fake Wang Wei was convinced he was on his way to meet Lucifer in hell. His face was slick with tears and snot. "I-I'm going to die, aren't I? Oh my God! I'm going to fucking die! I couldn't even enjoy my life fully! I'm so young!"
Baki sighed and dropped the stack of fat from his shoulder onto the ground. The fake Wang Wei cried out, "Oh my goodness! Critical damage! Why would you do that?!"
Baki smiled down at him. "If you open your fat mouth once more, whether you're really about to die or not, you'll surely be on your way to hell by the time we reach the ground floor."
The fake Wang Wei immediately shut his mouth. Just then, the elevator stopped. A woman stood before the doors—Hana Yuri. Her eyes widened in shock. Just as she was about to scream, Baki clamped his hand over her mouth and pulled her inside.
Baki sighed as he released her. Before she could say anything, he fabricated a story. "Look, I'm from the Ministry of State Security. I'm currently on an undercover mission. This guy here is a victim."
Baki glared at the fake Wang Wei, who nodded fearfully. "Y-Yeah. H-He's right."
Hana Yuri nodded. "My goodness. I thought you were a worker."
Baki shook his head. "That was my cover identity."
Hana Yuri looked shocked. "So that's why your nationality was different on the ID." Then she glanced at the fake Wang Wei. "Is there any way I can help you?"
Baki was about to shake his head when the elevator reached the ground floor. A cluster of police cars sat outside. He quickly nodded. "Yeah, of course. You can absolutely help me."
Hana seemed excited to assist. "What do I have to do?"
Baki dragged the fake Wang Wei out of the elevator, then pointed at the police officers questioning the guards. "Just take this poor guy to the police and make a scene. I have to chase after the enemies. Make sure not to mention me, okay? They don't know about me."
Hana nodded eagerly and did as Baki instructed.
Soon, the police gathered around her. Seeing his opportunity, Baki slipped past them and exited through the entrance. The junior guard who had seen Baki earlier tried to stop him. "Hey, you can't leave. There's a criminal inside. This place is on lockdown."
Baki kept running as he waved his hand dismissively. "It's time for my evening exercise. Can't let myself get lazy now, can I?"
The junior guard stared at Baki's retreating figure in confusion. A police officer called out to him, "What are you doing?"
The junior guard turned back. "O-One of the employees just left."
The officer looked shocked. "What? Why didn't you stop him? Damn it!" He started communicating with others through his walkie-talkie.
The junior guard murmured, "Are you the police or am I? Isn't that supposed to be your job?"
Baki reached his bike, which was parked a short distance away. Just then, he heard police officers shouting at him. He quickly mounted the bike and started it.
The officers behind him rushed to their cars.
Baki twisted the throttle. The bike shot forward like a bullet. Wind slapped his face as he sped down the empty street.
Behind him, police sirens wailed. Red and blue lights flashed in his mirrors. Three cars were in pursuit.
"Stop! Pull over!" a voice shouted through a megaphone.
Baki smiled. "Not a chance."
He turned sharply into a narrow alley, his bike tilting dangerously. Trash cans flew as he knocked them over. The police cars squeezed through behind him, scraping against the brick walls.
Baki burst onto the main road. Cars honked angrily as he weaved between them. A taxi nearly hit him. The driver cursed and shook his fist.
The police cars followed, slower now—traffic was impeding them.
Baki saw his chance. He jumped the bike onto the sidewalk. People screamed and scattered as he zoomed past a fruit stand. Apples rolled everywhere.
"Sorry!" he yelled back.
More police cars joined the chase—now there were six. Their sirens created a deafening cacophony.
Baki turned into a busy shopping district ablaze with neon signs. He drove straight through the crowd, people diving out of his way.
A police car tried to cut him off from the side. Baki pulled up the front wheel, the bike jumping onto a bench before landing again. The police car crashed into a lamp post.
Five cars left.
Baki raced down a hill, his speed increasing. The bike felt airborne. The police struggled to keep up on the steep slope.
At the bottom, Baki merged onto a highway filled with trucks and buses. He weaved between them expertly.
A police car pulled up on his right, another on his left—they were trying to box him in.
Baki slowed suddenly. Both cars shot past him. Then he drove between them. The two vehicles crashed into each other with a thunderous bang.
Three cars left.
Baki exited the highway and drove through a park. Children playing soccer scattered. A dog barked and chased after him.
The remaining police cars followed, closing in. One bumped his back tire.
Baki wobbled but maintained control. He accelerated.
He burst through the park exit onto another main road lined with towering office buildings. It was evening rush hour—cars everywhere.
Baki squeezed through impossibly tight gaps, his mirrors nearly touching other vehicles. The police cars had to slow down, too large to follow his path.
Baki was pulling ahead. Just a little more and he would lose them completely.
He turned onto a bridge. The river sparkled below, the setting sun painting the sky orange and red.
The road ahead was clear. Baki accelerated.
Then, from a side street at the far end of the bridge, a massive truck appeared.
It was loaded with steel pipes. But something was wrong—the truck wasn't slowing down. It was speeding up, turning sharply and driving straight onto the bridge, directly into Baki's path.
Behind the wheel sat a man with long hair flowing past his shoulders. He wore dark sunglasses despite the fading light, a leather jacket draped over his broad shoulders.
Zhang Jian. He was grinning widely, as if about to accomplish something deeply satisfying. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The truck roared forward like a charging bull.
Baki's eyes widened. "What the—"
The truck was coming straight at him. Baki yanked the handlebars, trying to swerve right.
Zhang Jian turned right too.
Baki switched left.
Zhang Jian mirrored him perfectly.
There was no escape.
The distance shrank rapidly. Baki could see Zhang Jian's face now—grinning madly while waving his middle finger.
Baki pulled the brakes hard. The bike's tires screamed, smoke pouring from the wheels.
But he was going too fast. The bridge was too short.
Zhang Jian didn't brake at all. He accelerated further.
CRASH!
The truck slammed into Baki's bike with explosive force. Metal twisted. Steel pipes flew through the air like spears. Glass shattered.
Baki's body was thrown upward, spinning through the air, limbs flailing.
The bike crumpled like paper, folding in half and crushed under the truck's massive wheels.
Baki crashed into the bridge's railing, his back hitting the metal bars with a sickening crack.
Then he fell.
Down toward the dark river below.
The police cars screeched to a stop. Officers jumped out, staring in shock.
Zhang Jian's truck rolled to a slow stop, steam hissing from the destroyed engine.
Zhang Jian calmly opened the door and stepped down. His long hair swayed in the evening breeze. He adjusted his sunglasses, his grin never fading.
Without a word, he walked away from the wreckage, his jacket fluttering behind him.
The police officers shouted, "Hey! Stop! Don't move!"
But Zhang Jian didn't stop. He walked to the edge of the bridge and looked down at the river.
The water was dark and still.
There was no sign of Baki.