The alley was too quiet for a place that was about to become a battlefield.
Dim yellow lamps hung above like dying stars, casting long crooked shadows over the trash bins and broken crates that lined the walls.
A cold wind cut through the silence, and with it came the faint shuffle of footsteps—many footsteps.
One by one, they emerged.
The Phantoms.
Not ghosts, but men who might as well have been.
Black coats, dark masks, gloved hands gripping weapons—chains, bats, knives.
Their eyes, barely visible beneath the shadows, glimmered with violence.
They did not rush.
They came slowly, deliberately, filling the narrow alley until it was thick with menace.
Touya stood at the center, shoulders squared, his breath steady.
In his hands rested two metal bats—ordinary at first glance, but in his grip they looked like instruments of destiny.
His hair stirred in the wind, his expression calm yet unyielding.
And then, the last one entered.
Kyle.
The leader of the Phantoms strode forward, cutting through his men as if they were nothing more than an escort.
His trench coat flared with each step, and in his hand gleamed a weapon unlike the rest—a hybrid gun, its barrel engraved with cruel precision.
Part pistol, part shotgun, part rifle.
A weapon of chaos.
He stopped just short of Touya, his presence alone silencing the murmurs of his men.
His lips curved into a cruel smirk.
“Are you sure those little toys are enough to beat us?” Kyle’s voice was low, mocking, filled with the arrogance of someone who had crushed countless challengers.
Touya lifted one bat, tapping it against his shoulder with deliberate calm.
His eyes narrowed, not at Kyle, but at the hundred men surrounding him.
“Yeah,” Touya said, his tone firm, unshaken.
“All I have to do… is hit the right places.”
The Phantoms chuckled darkly at his words, but none dared move yet.
They waited for Kyle’s order.
Above them, unseen by most, a shadow leaned against the rooftop railing.
Tom, his coat brushing against the night wind, observed the gathering below.
His sharp eyes followed Touya, reading every twitch of his muscles, every subtle shift in his stance.
He folded his arms, expression unreadable.
“If this kid can’t win this,” Tom thought grimly, “I’ll step in.
I won’t let my cadet die in a meaningless alley brawl.
But… if he does win… then maybe he’s more than I expected.”
Below, Kyle extended his arm slightly, and the entire alley seemed to hold its breath.
“Break him.”
The command was given.
And the Hundred surged forward like a wave.
The alley exploded with noise.
Boots pounding against concrete.
Chains snapping through the air.
The sharp hiss of knives being unsheathed.
The metallic chorus of bats clashing together.
It was a storm of violence, a tidal wave of bodies collapsing toward a single target.
Touya moved.
The first Phantom swung a chain down toward his head.
Touya ducked, twisting his body with instinctual precision, and his bat snapped upward.
The chain wrapped harmlessly around the bat, and with a sharp jerk, Touya pulled the Phantom forward, slamming his elbow into the man’s throat.
The thug collapsed, choking, before his body hit the ground.
Another came from the side, knife flashing.
Touya sidestepped, his left bat whipping across the man’s wrist.
The knife clattered away, and Touya’s follow-up swing cracked against the Phantom’s ribs, sending him sprawling.
The Hundred did not hesitate.
For every one that fell, five more surged forward.
Touya’s body became a storm of motion. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Every swing of his bats carried purpose, every step carried calculation.
He struck kneecaps, elbows, jaws—never wasting energy, always disabling with brutal efficiency.
The clang of metal against bone echoed in the alley like war drums.
So this is the kid’s rhythm… Tom thought from above, his eyes narrowing.
Sharp.
Calculated.
He’s not swinging blindly; he’s reading the flow of the fight.
Impressive… but let’s see how long that lasts.
For the first few minutes, Touya dominated.
Every Phantom that approached him found themselves struck down—bats cracking against skulls, smashing into joints.
His breathing was steady, his eyes sharp, his movements relentless.
He fought like a man who had already rehearsed this battle a thousand times in his head.
But numbers were cruel.
The Hundred pressed tighter, their formation suffocating.
From every angle, weapons slashed toward him, forcing him to block with both bats.
His arms began to ache, each parry sending shocks through his bones.
A chain wrapped around his ankle, yanking him off balance.
A fist smashed into his jaw, and stars burst in his vision.
Touya staggered, his breathing ragged.
His strikes slowed.
The bats grew heavy.
And then the beating began.
A kick slammed into his stomach, forcing him back.
A bat cracked against his shoulder.
Another Phantom drove a knee into his side.
The Hundred swarmed him like vultures tearing into prey.
Touya raised his arms to block, but every blow chipped away at his resolve, every strike dragging him closer to the ground.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his vision blurring.
Tom exhaled heavily from the rooftop.
His fingers tapped against the railing.
“That’s enough.
I can’t let this continue.
He’s going to die at this rate.”
He crouched, preparing to leap down.
But then he froze.
Touya’s voice cut through the chaos, raw and hoarse, yet filled with fire.
“Never… again!”
The alley fell silent.
Even the Phantoms hesitated mid-swing, like some force was protecting him, their bodies telling them if they moved they might die.
Tom’s eyes widened, his muscles tensing in disbelief.
And then he grinned
Touya pushed himself up, his bloodied body trembling, his eyes blazing with fury.
Memories flashed—of that night long ago, when five men had beaten him to the ground while he tried and failed to protect someone.
The humiliation.
The helplessness.
The vow he had made with his friends: never again.
His grip on the bats tightened.
And then, he moved.
Faster than before.
Faster than anyone could follow.
The bats spun in his hands, no longer clumsy weapons but extensions of his very body, like something was making him more flexible, muscles stronger.
Every strike landed clean, bones snapping, weapons flying from enemy hands.
He thought to himself “An adrenaline rush maybe?, well who cares.
A Phantom lunged with a knife—Touya’s bat shattered his wrist.
Another swung a chain—Touya’s bat coiled around it, ripping it free before smashing into the man’s chest.
Every motion was fluid, every strike decisive.
Tom’s lips curled into a grin.
“He’s awakened?, no not awakened but fighting like someone who is.”
By the time the frenzy ended, the Hundred lay broken across the alley.
Groaning, bloodied, some unconscious, others too battered to rise.
Touya stood in the center, chest heaving, body covered in bruises and cuts.
But his grip on the bats was firm, and his eyes were unbroken.
Kyle stepped forward, clapping slowly.
“You’re tougher than I thought.
But let’s see how you handle me.”
He raised his gun, the barrel glinting under the lamplight.
The shot rang out.
Touya’s bat swung.
The bullet ricocheted harmlessly into the wall.
Kyle’s grin widened.
“Now this… this will be fun.”
The fight between Touya and Kyle erupted with a violence that dwarfed the earlier brawl.
Kyle’s gun roared, each shot a mix of pistol speed, shotgun spread, and rifle power.
Touya deflected them with his bats, sparks flying, metal screaming.
He closed the distance, but Kyle’s foot lashed out, sending him stumbling.
Touya snarled, swinging his bat at Kyle’s ribs.
Kyle twisted, firing a point-blank shot.
The impact blasted Touya back, his body slamming into the wall.
Pain ripped through him, but he pushed forward again.
The two collided like titans.
Bat against gun, until the bats became useless, until the gun ran out of ammo, then fist against fist.
Their strikes left dents in the walls, cracks in the ground.
The alley became a war zone.
“You think you’re a king?” Kyle spat, blocking a swing with the butt of his gun.
“You’re just another punk with delusions of grandeur!”
Touya’s eyes burned with fury.
“I know I’m not the king,” he growled, forcing Kyle back with a flurry of strikes.
“But, i will be!”
Then with speed picked up his bats lying on the floor full of bullet holes, at the same time Kyle picked up his gun and a round of bullets from his fallen subordinate.
Their clash reached its peak.
Touya swung both bats simultaneously, knocking the gun from Kyle’s hands.
The weapon clattered across the ground, but didn’t have enough strength to hold the bats so as he hit the gun the bats flew from his hands.
Kyle snarled, lunging forward with his fists.
The two brawled hand to hand, trading brutal blows.
Blood spattered across the alley.
Every punch Touya threw carried the weight of his vow, every strike synchronized with the rhythm of his earlier bat swings.
Ten punches, rapid, relentless, each one breaking Kyle down piece by piece.
By the end, Kyle lay on the ground, bloody and broken, unable to rise.
Touya stood over him, battered but unbroken, his chest heaving.
Kyle coughed, blood staining his lips.
He looked up at Touya, a broken smile forming on his face.
“…You win… My King.”
The alley fell silent once more.
Above, Tom’s eyes narrowed, a spark of respect gleaming within them.
And for the first time, Touya felt the weight of the title he had just earned.
The King.