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430 What a Wicked, Cruel Man!
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 15:00:16 +0000 UTCAs Shintarou charged over, boiling with rage, Kyousuke casually waved his hand like he was swatting a fly and said impatiently:
"Could the middle-aged guy who lost his wife and came to the mountains to mess around please go play somewhere else? Don’t interrupt me while I’m talking with my new friends."
"Yeah, Shintarou-san, shouldn’t you be out looking for your wife or something?" race queen Furuzawa Sae added mockingly.
"Eriko told me she was going back to her parents’ place today—she doesn’t need me to look for her!" Shintarou instinctively snapped back.
"Oh really? That's... kinda sad."
Kyousuke sighed, and the two women beside him immediately put on expressions of deep sympathy.
Only Celty seemed confused, tilting her head curiously—why was that sad?
"Listen, Celty," Kyousuke explained, "when a woman says she’s going back to her parents’ house, it usually means one of three things. First—"
"YOU IDIOT! Is this really the time for that!?" Shintarou exploded in fury.
"You shameless trickster! Even now you’re looking at me like I’m some poor sucker. Have you no shame!?"
"Trickster? Excuse me, I always act fair and square. Watch your mouth. I’ve been recognized by the Goddess of Justice herself, thank you very much."
As Kyousuke patted the gas tank of his beloved Rocket 33, his tone grew annoyed.
"Oh, still trying to talk big? We had a deal to race. So why did you just sit there and not move at all?"
"A race? Was it officially registered with the authorities? Underground street racing is illegal, you know. I’m a law-abiding citizen, I'd never do something that puts lives at risk."
Kyousuke’s voice was full of righteous conviction.
"Then why the hell did you agree in the first place!?" Suda yelled from the side.
"Oops, sorry. I didn’t think of that at first, hehe."
What the hell are you giggling for!?
Shintarou had figured it out.
From the start, this guy had been messing with him. He never even took him seriously.
"Say whatever you want, I’m not letting you off the hook now! And that leather-clad hottie—unless you wanna get hurt too, stay outta this!"
He grabbed a wooden baseball bat from one of his buddies and pointed it directly at Kyousuke, seething with rage.
"You’ve really got a mouth on you."
"I’d advise you not to do that," Kyousuke and Celty said in perfect sync, their voices calm yet chilling.
One was the infamous “Handless Demon” feared by Tokyo's delinquent underworld, and the other, the mysterious “Dullahan”, who rode like a ghost through Tokyo’s midnight streets.
For anyone to challenge such a combo... either they were brave beyond belief or stupid beyond saving.
Any Tokyo native who overheard would probably bow in awe.
"Hey Celty, in situations like this, don’t call him 'sir'—you should call him a 'bastard.'"
Completely ignoring the fuming Shintarou, Kyousuke turned to Celty and offered the tip quite seriously.
This girl was just too polite—she wouldn’t fight back even when chased across the city by traffic cops.
Even when attacked, she’d cutely plead, “Please stop, if you don’t mind!” Her manners were genuinely touching.
"Oh... like that..." Celty seemed unsure.
It was clearly awkward for her.
Even after mumbling and stammering for a while, she couldn’t bring herself to say the word “bastard.” Dark smoke kept puffing out from her neck in embarrassment.
"Well, whatever. Asking a lady to say something like that... maybe I’m the real bastard here." Kyousuke gave a carefree smile.
"You bastard! Stop ignoring me!!"
Shintarou roared and swung the bat down at Kyousuke.
But for Kyousuke, dodging an attack like that was easier than scaring off a bird that tried to peck at his popsicle.
As Furuzawa and Hoshizuki screamed, he casually raised a hand and caught the bat mid-swing, not even flinching.
With his other hand, he gently reached out to calm Celty, who looked ready to release more of her black mist.
"Mmm, yep. It really does hit different when a ‘bastard’ calls someone else a ‘bastard.’ Feels like they’re just describing themselves, right?"
He smiled warmly at Celty.
Seeing that charming, magical smile, Celty couldn’t help but feel her non-existent cheeks flush.
Even without a face, her heart still fluttered like a lovestruck girl.
“B-b-bastard!” She clenched her right fist near her chest and shouted the word with all her might.
"Yes! Celty, you did it!" Kyousuke cheered proudly.
He felt a strange mix of guilt and satisfaction—like a parent successfully teaching their kid to curse.
“Mhm!”
Encouraged by his praise, Celty beamed and seemed eager to shout “bastard” a few more times.
Watching the two of them flirt so shamelessly, Shintarou felt like he’d been struck by lightning.
He yanked hard, trying to pull the bat back—but Kyousuke wasn’t even gripping it tightly.
The force made Shintarou stumble backward, nearly falling, and he shouted in humiliated rage:
"Idiot! So you’re tougher than you look. No wonder you’re so cocky. But if you think that gives you the right to run wild in Gunma, think again! You don’t even know who I am—"
"You’re the one who doesn’t know who I am."
Kyousuke turned, his smile vanishing in an instant.
His voice dropped cold and sharp, far more threatening than Shintarou’s had ever been.
"From now on, any guy named Shintarou is banned from racing on Mt. Haruna!"
His tone wasn’t loud, but his pitch-black eyes, calm like a silent night, sent a chill down every spine.
A jet-black bike.
A devilishly handsome face. And those eyes—just one look could scare someone into wetting their pants…
Suda remembered his younger brother trembling while describing the terrifying second-generation leader of the “Rampaging Angels.” Without thinking, he slipped toward the back of the crowd.
"You—who do you think you are, talking like that!?" one guy with a rooster haircut finally cracked under the pressure, yelling to break the silence.
"Yeah! This is Gunma! Not some Tokyo punk’s playground!"
Suddenly, Kisaki Tetta stepped forward, having taken off his jacket.
He stood beside Kyousuke, bowed slightly, and then looked up with cold, snake-like eyes.
His voice was low and icy:
"Understood, Boss. I’ll make sure Gunma’s added to our patrol routes."
Despite spending his nights gaming and watching TV with cute girls, Kyousuke still led the Rampaging Angels, Tokyo’s notorious biker gang.
They’d expanded their territory outward after Kyousuke banned causing trouble in the city.
And Tokyo to Gunma? Barely 100 kilometers.
The perfect distance for a joyride.
Now that the Boss had spoken, no one could guess how much chaos his crew would bring down on Gunma.
"Boss...?" Shintarou blinked, then burst out laughing.
"Seriously? You kids really like calling yourselves dumb stuff like that."
‘Creeeak—'
Kisaki’s teeth audibly ground together as his eyes grew even sharper.
He’d come up with that title after a lot of thought—and this guy dared to mock it?
"If you dare raise your hand against our Boss… you must have no attachment to life. You’ve got one second. I want to see you crawling on the ground."
Just as he said that, Kisaki suddenly lashed out with a front kick, slamming his foot into Shintarou’s stomach without any warning.
The impact sent Shintarou stumbling back three steps before crashing to the ground.
He spouted some misleading nonsense and then launched a cheap shot—classic Kisaki Tetta.
If there’s an opportunity to ambush someone, he’ll never fight fair.
“Get him!!”
The moment Shintarou went down, his friends shouted and charged forward.
Not to be outdone, Gorou and Kuroda rushed in as well.
Gorou’s voice alone drowned out the entire opposing group.
Damn punks—don’t think all our kendo training was for show!
When it comes to sheer presence, we’re number one in the world!
“Celty, could I trouble you to look after these two ladies? I feel like stretching my legs a bit,” Kyousuke said, gently nudging the worried-looking race queen who was clinging tightly to his arm toward Celty.
“No problem—but Hojou, be careful,” Celty replied with concern.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” Kyousuke smiled.
He knew she wasn’t worried about his safety, but rather afraid he might go overboard.
It was an unspoken understanding between two urban legends.
“No, Hojou, don’t! It’s too dangerous! Let your friends take the hit—we should run now! If we can just get into the city, I can call my dad to protect us!” the girl in the hot pants, Hoshizuki, was still clinging to Kyousuke’s arm.
She didn’t even know his name yet and was just calling him “Hojou” like that annoying biker chick beside her.
…
Actually, I was planning to introduce you to Kisaki and the others.
You’re totally not my type.
Even Kyousuke couldn’t help but feel a little guilty under the weight of such passionate “devotion.”
Sorry, Kisaki. Sorry, Mitsuhashi.
Looks like I won’t be introducing her to you after all. And no—I won’t be making a move either.
I’ll leave that to fate.
“Don’t worry. Fighting’s easier for me than a walk after dinner—though, admittedly, far less fun.” Kyousuke smiled as he gently removed her hand from his arm.
“Be quick then. The night won’t last forever,” Celty reminded him.
“Yeah, I’ll end this in an instant,” Kyousuke nodded.
After flashing a polite smile to the two new girls, he strode over to join Gorou and the others.
“So cool~!” Furuzawa Sae squealed, holding her face with both hands, looking utterly smitten.
“Right?! He’s going to fight, but he looks like a gentleman on his way to a banquet,” Hoshizuki’s deep brown eyes sparkled as she immediately pulled out her phone to call her father.
That gorgeous face—there’s no way she was going to let that idiot Shintarou mess it up!
Celty twitched like she’d just been electrocuted.
Wait—didn’t someone say earlier that this girl’s dad was a traffic cop?
“Dame!” she yelped, snatching the phone out of Hoshizuki’s hands before she could make the call.
“No calling the police!” she said with a serious tone, like a rookie adventurer getting ready to challenge a level 100 dungeon boss.
“But…”
“Dame!”
“What if—”
“Dame! Police are absolutely forbidden! Those terrifying creatures—I never want to see them again!” Celty’s voice trembled with fear.
“O-okay… I get it. But what about Hojou? Shintarou’s gang has like thirty people, and they’re all armed,” Hoshizuki said nervously, reluctantly lowering her phone.
“It’s fine. You just don’t know who he is,” Celty sighed in relief, then offered some kind reassurance.
Of course we don’t know! I was just about to ask his name when you showed up and monopolized the conversation!
Hoshizuki pouted in frustration, then asked sincerely, “So who is he?”
“He’s Hojou Kyousuke,” Celty said with pride. “Forget thirty people—even if there were three hundred, he’d still end the fight in an instant.”
Her voice was full of confidence.
As someone who wasn’t human herself, she could easily recognize another monster.
Even that so-called "monster of Ikebukuro," Heiwajima Shizuo, couldn’t compare.
Shizuo might injure himself from using strength beyond his limits—but Hojou?
His body was so absurdly strong that even Celty found it unbelievable.
“Hojou Kyousuke!?” Hoshizuki and Furuzawa Sae shouted in unison.
There it was—that overwhelming, terrifying aura.
No doubt about it. It had to be him.
The guy who, despite having the power to take down enemies in a single blow, chooses to slice off their arms first just so he can toy with them. A true demon.
Among the crowd of rowdy fighters charging forward, one person stood out: Suda, who was quietly and steadily retreating.
You couldn’t blame him for being afraid.
Back in the day, Suda had been a well-known street racer in Gunma—fast cars, quick fists, the whole package.
But the key phrase was back in the day. That alone said enough.
He was smart enough to survive in this chaotic world. A fool doesn’t last long out here.
And a smart man knows when to kneel and apologize before someone stronger.
“Hey, Suda! You heading to the car to grab weapons? Grab one for me too!” One of the empty-handed fighters shouted at him as he ran past.
Suda muttered a vague reply and kept backing away until he reached the roadside—then suddenly dropped to his knees with a loud thud.
Both palms pressed flat to the asphalt, his forehead slammed to the ground without hesitation.
He made up his mind.
Until that demon left, he was not moving an inch from this position.
This was his resolve! He wouldn’t let these outsiders think Gunma had no pride!
Not everyone here was an idiot like Shintarou. There were brilliant men like him, too!
Screams of pain echoed in his ears.
The thuds of bodies hitting the ground, the desperate cries for help… not once did Suda raise his head to look.
Why?
Not because he’d reached some zen-like state through his posture.
No, it was because he was hyper-focused—listening with every ounce of his being.
Every single scream, every single body getting flung, every groan for help…
They were all his beloved friends.
The same guys he used to cruise the streets with, chug beers and raise hell with—now they were being mercilessly pummeled. And by those damn outsiders, no less!
‘Gulp.’
Suda swallowed hard, his jaw clenched so tight it felt like his teeth would shatter.
Every muscle in his body tensed.
‘Damn it!!! How long do you bastards plan on rampaging in Gunma!?’
He pressed his forehead even harder into the asphalt, like he was trying to bury his skull in it.
The cold pavement did nothing to extinguish the burning rage in his heart.
‘Enough already! Get the hell out of Gunma so I can take my buddies to the hospital!’
Suda screamed internally.
He wasn’t kneeling like this because he feared death—no, it was because he needed to survive. Someone had to stay standing.
Someone had to clean up the mess... or at least collect the bodies.
Gunma’s spirit couldn't be allowed to die out here!
“Agh—my arm! It’s broken!”
He recognized the voice.
That was definitely Shintarou. And with his sharp hearing, he could even tell what happened—the unmistakable snap of a wooden bat.
Yup. Shintarou’s prized bat, supposedly the same model used by Ohtani Shohei, had shattered—and so had his arm.
Sigh...
His little brother had been right.
That demon loved snapping people’s arms. Just for fun.
The "Handless Demon."
What kind of monster does that!?
“Aaaaaah! Shintarou’s being lifted!!”
“The Blue Hurricane just got smashed!”
“He’s a monster! A real monster!”
From those panicked cries, Suda pieced the scene together in his head.
No doubt about it.
That demon had knocked Shintarou out, lifted him up, and slammed him straight onto his beloved blue Toyota.
So cruel. It had to be personal.
Just because Shintarou once made fun of his driving skills—he destroyed the Blue Hurricane.
Poor Shintarou… both body and soul shattered in one night.
That car had been with him longer than any girlfriend.
He’d probably spent more time with that steering wheel than he ever had holding hands with a girl.
Who knew how he’d go on after this?
Suda wept silently in his heart. His forehead pressed even harder against the cold asphalt.
But no matter how cold the road got, it couldn’t match the chill in his soul.
He made a decision: tomorrow, he’d tell his little brother, who was studying in Tokyo, to come back to Gunma.
Living in the same city as a monster like that was far too dangerous.
