The cool night air hit Hunza’s face the moment he pushed through the rusted alley door at the base of the tenement building. Shadowed by garbage dumpsters and cracked concrete, he paused for a second, letting his eyes adapt to the dim yellow light of the single flickering streetlamp overhead.
The two men were still crowding the messenger kid. The taller one holding the iron pipe slapped the kid across the face with his open palm, sending the boy’s cap flying into a puddle.
"Check the inner lining!" Pipe-guy ordered his partner. "He's hiding the cash drop."
Hunza didn't charge in. He didn't yell a heroic warning. At five-foot-three and ninety kilograms, he knew he wasn't built for sprinting attacks or flashy flying kicks. Instead, he walked with a heavy, unhurried, almost lazy stride, his sneakers scuffing loudly against the gravel to make sure they heard him coming.
"Hey, brothers," Hunza called out, his voice light, cheerful, and completely out of place. He put on his wide, empty smile, rubbing his big belly as if he’d just stepped out after a heavy meal. "Isn't it a bit too late to be auditing courier mail?"
The two men spun around instantly. Pipe-guy raised the iron bar, his eyes narrowing at the stocky, oversized teenager ambling toward them in a loose hoodie.
"Beat it, kid," the second guy growled, dropping the satchel and reaching into his waistband. "Unless you want to pay his debt for him."
"Ah, man, I'd love to," Hunza laughed, taking two more calm steps forward, closing the distance to just six feet. "Problem is, my wallet has seventy pesos and a single coin in it. But hey, if you're taking IOUs, I'm great at promises."
Pipe-guy sneered. "A smartass fatty. Get out of here before I break your knees."
He didn't wait for Hunza to answer. Pipe-guy stepped forward and swung the iron pipe in a violent, horizontal arc aimed straight for Hunza’s ribs. It was a fast, brutal swing meant to drop a man instantly.
Hunza didn't try to dodge out of the way. He knew his body was too heavy and slow for a clean dodge. Instead, he took a half-step into the strike, leaning his heavy shoulder directly toward the attacker to cut off the pipe's momentum before it hit full speed.
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THWACK.
The iron pipe slammed hard into the thick flesh of Hunza’s left upper arm and shoulder. The pain was immediate and blinding—a deep, crushing ache that sent white light flashing behind his eyes. But Hunza’s center of gravity was so low, and his ninety-kilogram mass so anchored, that he barely staggered a foot to the side.
His facial expression didn't even change. His wide smile stayed plastered on his face, though his eyes went pitch black with adrenaline.
"That's a heavy pipe," Hunza muttered softly.
Before the man could pull the pipe back for a second swing, Hunza clamped his left arm tightly down against his own torso, trapping the iron bar firmly between his bicep and ribs.
Pipe-guy pulled back frantically, but the bar wouldn't budge—Hunza’s body weight was pinning it like a vise.
"What the—"
"My turn," Hunza said quietly.
He didn't throw a complex martial arts strike. Hunza simply stepped his right foot deep between Pipe-guy’s legs, drove his massive frame forward with all ninety kilograms of inertia, and slammed his right open palm directly into the man’s throat and jawline.
It wasn't a clean punch—it was a heavy, suffocating shove packed with his entire body mass.
Pipe-guy’s head snapped back with a horrific crack. The force carried his feet completely off the damp concrete, throwing his body backward into a pile of wooden pallets. The iron pipe clattered harmlessly to the ground as the man slumped against the wall, wheezing uncontrollably and clutching his throat, entirely out of the fight.
Hunza stood there, breathing heavily, his left arm hanging slightly limp from the crushing bruise already forming under his hoodie.
The second guy froze, his hand still resting on his waistband, looking at his partner groaning on the floor, then looking back at Hunza.
Hunza turned his head slowly toward the second guy. He didn't raise his fists. He didn't strike a pose. He just wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead with his good hand, let out a short, breathy laugh, and took one heavy, deliberate step forward.
"You still want to check his satchel?" Hunza asked softly, his smile wider than ever. "Or can we all just go home?"
The second guy took one look at Hunza’s calm, unblinking eyes, grabbed his wheezing partner by the jacket collar, and dragged him backward down the dark alley, retreating as fast as their feet could carry them into the night.
Hunza didn't chase them. The moment they turned the corner, his knees buckled slightly, and he slid his back down against the brick wall, sitting heavily in the alley dirt. He clutched his left shoulder, grimacing in intense pain, taking deep, ragged breaths.
The messenger kid was staring at him in utter shock, his jaw hanging open.
"Who... who are you?" the kid stammered, scrambling to gather his scattered envelopes.
Hunza leaned his head back against the cold bricks, looking up at the small patch of night sky above the tenement building. He let out a quiet, tired laugh.
"Just a guy waiting for a paycheck," Hunza whispered. He turned his eyes toward the kid’s delivery bag. "Now... tell me who pays for delivering those envelopes."