Jin walked alone down the cracked pavent, leaving behind the chaos of school. His bag felt heavier than usual—not because of books, but the weight of the day itself.
"Today was sothing else," he muttered under his breath, hands buried deep in his pockets. "I've gone from invisible to the school's hot topic… all because of that bitch Fubuki."
He smirked, recalling the way her expression twisted when he threw the word at her, like slapping a mask off her face .
"Worth it."
Still smiling to himself, Jin approached the front gate of his apartnt complex—only for the grin to vanish like smoke in wind.
A black van stood idling outside. Sa make. Sa dull gray paint. Almost identical to the one used by the gang he'd taken down a week ago. A gut feeling crawled up his spine.
His posture shifted, muscles tensing like a bowstring. Eyes narrowing.
"Are they from that gang?"
Jin's mind raced. "Should I run? No. If they're here, they already know who I am. Police? Waste of ti. I'll have to deal with it myself."
He slipped his backpack off and tucked it behind a bush near the entryway. It had his ID, his bank card, and the old picture of Jin mother. Essentials. If he needed to run, he could double back and grab it. "Six to eight guys, tops. If I stay calm, I can take them. Let's see what they want."
Jin climbed the stairwell, the concrete echoing under his boots. He reached his floor—and stopped dead.
People were tossing his belongings into the corridor. A cracked mug. A torn duffle bag. A scattering of books. He recognized them all. Personal. His.
Two n flanked his apartnt door like guards. One was smoking a cigarette. The other, silent and stiff, Jin recognized imdiately. Kenjiro Muto's subordinate. Na still unknown.
"Who's that next to him?" Jin thought.
His gaze dropped to a picture fra skidding across the floor. It hit the opposite wall, shattering. A photo of him and his mother—back from when he was still small, back when he still smiled like a child.
The fra cracked. The glass spider-webbed.
Ti slowed.
Sothing tightened in his chest. He didn't know why. He thought he was past this—past caring, past attachnts. But the sight of that photo—shattered like it didn't matter—lit sothing inside him.
A sharp pain. A mory. A rage.
His breath hitched. And then—
"STOP!"
The n froze mid-motion, startled by the sudden outburst. All eyes turned toward Jin, who stood motionless in the hall .
The subordinate glanced over, then nodded. "That's him."
The smoker exhaled lazily, eyes scanning Jin. "Him? He's just a kid. You sure he's not supernatural?"
"No," the subordinate replied. "Just trained."
The smoker flicked his cigarette onto the floor. "Then go get him."
Four n surged forward. One had a baseball bat. Another gripped a switchblade. The others wielded steel pipes and a rusted crowbar. Their movents were confident—experienced street fighters.
The first thug with the crowbar lunged, swinging wide from the left. Jin ducked low, grabbing the man's wrist and yanking him forward with his montum—driving a knee into his stomach. A sickening thud. The thug dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
Jin twisted and pivoted just in ti to catch the second thug's bat mid-swing. He stepped in, collapsing the distance, and slamd an elbow into the man's throat. A choking gasp. Jin followed up with a spinning backfist that shattered the thug's nose. Blood sprayed. Two down.
The one with the knife tried a cheap shot from behind. Jin heard the footfall—side-stepped, caught the wrist mid-stab, and twisted hard until he heard the crunch of dislocation. The knife clattered to the floor. Jin headbutted the man, then shoved him headfirst into the wall. The plaster cracked.
The last thug hesitated—pipe raised above his head, eyes wide.
Too slow.
Jin lunged forward, closing the gap with terrifying speed. A feint to the left. The thug flinched. Jin used the opening to deliver a crushing kick to the knee. The man buckled. Jin spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to the temple. Out cold.
All four n lay groaning or unconscious within thirty seconds.
The corridor fell silent.
The subordinate blinked, lips parting slightly. The smoker raised his eyebrows, impressed.
"Okay," the smoker said, voice casual. "Not supernatural. Just dangerous."
Jin's breathing was steady. Not even winded. His knuckles bled from one punch—just a scratch.
He stared them down. "You have thirty seconds to tell why you're here before I do the sa to you."
Four bodies lie crumpled on the floor, groaning or unconscious, forming a loose ring around a lone figure.
Jin.
Chest rising. Fists clenched. Jin stands still — calm in the eye of the storm. His breathing is steady — not tired, just alert. Controlled. Focused.
His school tie hangs loose from his collar, swaying faintly with each breath like the last remnant of order in a room littered with chaos.
Boots echo across the blood-slick floor.
A man steps forward. Broad shoulders. Lean, coiled muscle under a black tactical shirt. His movents are effortless — confident. Dangerous.
He pauses by the body of one of his n, glances down with mild interest… then looks up, eyes locking with Jin's.
Toji (chuckling to his subordinate):
"You weren't bullshitting. This guy's tough."
He rolls his neck once. Tendons flex. His stare is steady — not taunting, but hungry, like a predator sizing up his next al.
Then he turns fully to Jin, eyes scanning him from head to toe with that sa feral grin.
Toji (grinning at Jin) "I'm not gonna answer . Try to beat it out of ."
Jin doesn't flinch. He doesn't blink.
Just stares back — still, unreadable. Chest rising in slow, asured rhythm.
Toji look the na on Jin's ID tag in his hand .
Amused now. Almost giddy.
Toji (reading aloud) "Jin, huh?"
He tosses the ID aside like it's nothing.
Toji (smirking)"I'm Toji. Let's fight. I've been itching to break soone like you."
Toji charges with the montum of a truck, launching a brutal right hook. Jin ducks low, his feet pivoting on instinct, and slams a sharp elbow into Toji's ribs. The hit lands solid. Toji grunts but doesn't slow — he spins with the force, his torso twisting like a spring, and drives a vicious knee toward Jin's stomach.
Blocked.
Jin deflects the knee with his forearm, catches Toji's wrist, and yanks, twisting sharply into a shoulder throw — but Toji plants his weight, brute strength anchoring him in place. The lock fails.
With a growl, Toji breaks the hold and swings an uppercut that hisses past Jin's jaw by inches.
CRACK.
Toji's next punch misses but splinters the doorfra behind Jin, sending wood splinters flying across the room.
Jin backflips away, skidding low across the floor as his boots squeak against polished tile. Blood trickles down his brow from a fresh scrape. He rises slowly.
Toji doesn't wait. He charges again — a truck in human form.
Jin doesn't et him head-on. He sidesteps, weaving, pivoting, letting Toji's montum pass through. The mont an opening flashes — Jin strikes: a snap jab to the temple, a hook to the ribs, and a sweeping leg aid for Toji's knee.
Toji absorbs it all like a tank. He counters with a savage elbow that nearly breaks Jin's guard.
Jin slips under another hook and drives his fist into Toji's sternum. Toji's body jerks with the force — then a sharp rising knee to his chin follows, clean and fast—
—but Toji catches Jin mid-air, snarling, and with a burst of rage-fueled strength, slams him back-first into the wall.
THUD.
Plaster cracks. Dust falls.
For a heartbeat, everything stills.
Both are drenched in sweat.
Their chests rise and fall, each breath dragging like fire.
Then—movent.
Jin twists, slipping out of Toji's grapple, rotating around him in a tight spiral. Using Toji's own balance against him, he plants his foot squarely in Toji's chest with a brutal Spartan kick that launches the larger man back.
Toji crashes into a stack of plastic crates, rolling over them as they scatter. He flips mid-roll and lands in a crouch.
Without missing a beat, he draws a pistol from beneath his shirt, tucked into the back of his waistband.
Jin's eyes narrow — the second he sees the gun clear leather, he dives sideways, vanishing through the door of his flat.
BANG. BANG.
Two shots echo in the hallway. One punches a hole in the doorfra. The second splinters the edge of the cabinet Jin dove past.
BANG. BANG.
Toji tracks the movent, firing two more. Three shots miss. One grazes Jin's forearm, a line of red flaring up across his skin.
Toji grins, lips curling back like a predator.
"You slippery bastard."
Gun lowered, he steps into the flat cautiously. His boots crunch against the glass of a shattered fra. It's dark. Quiet. Too quiet.
Then — a rustle.
Toji's eyes flick to the living room. A cushion shifts.
BANG.
He fires at the sofa without hesitation — fabric bursts open in a puff of feathers.
But sothing moves from the kitchen.
A knife whistles through the air — sleek, precise.
Toji spins, gun still up — BANG — the shot fires just in ti.
The blade misses him a hair, embedding in the wall with a sharp tallic THWAK.
Toji exhales. That was close. Too close.
Without a word, he drops the gun and slides a second knife from his boot.
"I heard you don't kill " Toji says casually, stepping further into the room.
From the kitchen doorway, Jin steps into view — blood running down his arm, shirt half-torn, eyes like burning coal.
"That doesn't an I won't hurt you badly."
Toji chuckles, rotating the blade in his hand.
"Touché."
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