"What the hell?!" the remaining thug shouted, eyes wide with panic. "He… he killed Ronan!"
John tilted his head lazily, his gaze sharp and unflinching. "What's the problem with that?" he said, his voice calm but deadly.
With a swift motion, he ripped off his mask, letting his hair fall freely. The timid, cowering man from moments ago was gone. Standing before them was Asaragi Ren—appearing in his twenties, every movement precise, controlled, and radiating lethal intent.
One desperate thug lunged at him with a broken bottle.
Ren's hand shot out in a blur. He grabbed the thug, twisted his body sharply, and in the same fluid motion drove his knife into the side of the thug's neck.
The blade sank deep, blood spraying from the wound. The thug's body crumpled to the ground, twitching as Ren released him effortlessly.
Ren stood motionless for a moment, knife spinning once in his hand, his expression calm, almost bored. The alley was silent except for the faint drip of blood, and the other thug could only stare in terror.
[100 points]
"Huh… one thug costs 100 points, huh?" Ren thought to himself, twirling the knife lazily. "Better than taking a normal job and getting only fifty to eighty per mission."
The last thug, desperate and panicked, lunged at him while Ren's attention was slightly elsewhere.
"Nice try," Ren said casually, his voice cold and calm. "That won't work on me."
Before the thug could react, Ren shot his knee forward, striking the man squarely in the jaw. The thug's head snapped back, and he was lifted off his feet.
Ren's hands moved with lightning precision. He grabbed the thug's head, twisted his own body, and slammed him into the ground with a sickening thud. The alley echoed with the impact, and dust and debris scattered across the wet stones.
The thug groaned weakly, blood trickling from his mouth, completely incapacitated. Ren straightened, knife still spinning in his hand, expression calm and almost bored, as if nothing had happened.
Ren threw the knife straight up into the air, letting it spin lazily against the dim light of the alley. He knelt in front of the thug, eyes sharp and cold, locking onto him like a predator.
"W-what are you—" the thug stammered, panic rising in his voice.
Ren cut him off, his tone icy and controlled. "I'll be the one asking the questions. Who sent you?"
"I-I don't know what you mean—" the thug began, but Ren's gaze stayed unflinching.
"Wrong answer."
Without even glancing at the knife as it fell, Ren grabbed it mid-air. In one smooth motion, he drove it straight into the thug's leg, pinning him to the ground.
The thug screamed, clutching his leg, eyes wide with terror. Ren leaned closer, his voice low and deadly.
"You will answer," he said softly, "or the next question will cost you more than just your leg."
The thug trembled in fear and nodded without hesitation.
Thirty minutes earlier...
At the heart of the city, near a grand fountain, the girl slept peacefully with her head resting on Ren's lap. Passersby—mostly women—cast lingering glances at him, yet Ren paid them no mind. His gaze was fixed upon the vast sky above, eyes distant and contemplative.
"I truly got summoned to another world," he murmured softly, his voice low and reflective. "To make matters worse, there's no path to return home. I suppose I'll have to accept this reality… whether I like it or not."
He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair in quiet frustration.
"Damn it," he muttered, tone edged with resignation.
The girl's eyes slowly fluttered open.
"You're awake now?" Ren asked calmly, glancing down at her.
She blinked a few times before nodding. "T-thank you, mister… or, um… who are you exactly?"
"Call me Ren," he replied simply.
"R–Ren?" she repeated, her tone curious. "That's… kind of a strange name."
Ren gave a small, faint smile. "Yeah, I've heard that before. And you, young lady—what's your name?"
"Ah… I'm Jeanne," she said shyly. "With a double 'n' and an 'e' at the end. I'm sorry for taking your time… I should get going now."
Ren stood and reached into his pouch, pulling out three gold coins. "Wait," he said, offering them to her. "Take this. Buy medicine for your sister—and maybe some soup to help her rest. Get yourself something to eat, too, before you head home."
Jeanne hesitated, eyes wide. "I… I can't accept this—"
"Just take it," Ren interrupted gently. "Consider it payment for not crying earlier."
"If… you don't have anywhere to stay, do you want to come with us?" the girl asked softly.
Ren shook his head. "No, it's fine. There's an inn nearby—I'll stay there for the night."
"The one by the fountain?" she asked, tilting her head. "Ah, don't bother with that place. The owner's a total cheapskate, the food's awful, and all they sell is cheap alcohol."
Ren paused for a moment, then smirked slightly. "...Does that offer still stand?"
"Offer?" Jeanne blinked, confused.
Ren scratched the back of his neck. "I mean—what you said earlier. About… staying at your place."
The two strolled through the bustling market, the scent of grilled meat filling the air. Ren handed the girl a skewer of barbecue as they walked, her eyes lighting up as she took it shyly.
After a short walk, they arrived at a small clinic. Jeanne hesitated at the counter, unsure what to ask for, nervously explaining her sister's condition to the apothecary.
Ren stepped forward, his tone calm yet precise.
"Prepare a three-day course of medicine to alleviate symptoms of a common cold," he said evenly. "And include a cooling salve — something effective for reducing a sustained fever. Apply it directly to the forehead twice daily."
The pharmacist blinked in surprise at the clarity of his request before nodding briskly and hurrying to prepare the items. Jeanne looked up at him, astonished.
"Are you a doctor too, mister?" Jeanne asked, watching as Ren checked the medicines carefully.
Ren gave a faint smile. "No," he replied. "I just studied it."
As the girl looked away, Ren's gaze lingered on the bottles in thought.
In truth, he mused silently, understanding how to heal and how to kill are two sides of the same blade. Knowing which part of the body to strike... or to save... it's all just anatomy in motion.
"Instead of buying soup, why don't we just get the ingredients ourselves?" Ren suggested as they walked down the busy street, passing stalls filled with jewelry and glimmering weapons. "If we buy it cooked, it'll be cold by the time we arrive. Better to make it fresh at your home."
Jeanne glanced up at him, hesitant. "But... I'm not really a good cook, mister."
Ren smirked slightly, his eyes scanning the market. "Then I'll cook," he said simply, his tone calm and assured.
"How about some cooking utensils? Do you have those?" Ren asked as they walked.
Jeanne blinked. "U… what? U-tensilks?" she repeated awkwardly, trying to sound it out.
Ren sighed lightly. "It's something you use for cooking—like knives, pots, spoons, a chopping board… things like that."
Jeanne tilted her head, thinking hard. "Um… I only have… a big spoon? And a small bowl?" she said nervously, as if unsure whether that counted.
Ren let out a quiet chuckle and muttered, "I see." Then he said, "Alright, let's go buy some cooking utensils first. Know any stall that sells good-quality knives and pots?"
Jeanne's expression brightened. "Oh! I know one! It's this way—follow me!" she said, grabbing Ren's hand and pulling him down another street filled with bustling market stalls.