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428 Let’s Settle This — Loser Leaves Their Tire Behind!
🕑 Added 2025-08-05 15:00:15 +0000 UTCKyousuke was, at his core, a refined man, free from vulgar tastes.
While he was deeply devoted to beautiful girls, he was equally intolerant of anyone who dared interrupt his time with them.
You could say he was the embodiment of true gender equality—both in admiration and in disdain.
This trait wasn’t just part of his personality.
It had been instilled in him by his mother, Hojou Mikiko, a woman who also despised ugly people and adored sweet, soft girls from the bottom of her heart.
No one knew this better than the neighborhood kids who grew up near the Hojou and Yamauchi families in Suimon City.
When little Sakura was first bullied and left out at the local playground, it was Kyousuke who noticed her mood and asked what had happened.
Once she told him, he didn’t hesitate—he took her straight back to the playground.
Armed with a stick he picked up on the way (and had previously tested on the neighbor’s dog two houses down)
Kyousuke "fairly" went one-versus-many against the boys and beat them so hard they were bawling like babies.
Then he laid down the law: the boys could only play at the square at designated times and within clearly marked boundaries.
As for the girls involved, since they were still young and lacked a clear sense of right and wrong, Kyousuke spared them any “physical education.”
Instead, he recruited them into Sakura’s new entourage—tasked with playing house and keeping her company in his place.
Not to brag, but with his adult-level IQ, dealing with a bunch of kids was child’s play for Kyousuke.
Sure, comparing wits with snot-nosed little brats who still picked their noses was a bit embarrassing—but the principle of the matter never changed:
His patience with clueless guys hit zero real fast.
So... have you ever seen the sun at midnight?
Kyousuke looked at the man across from him—whose biceps were as thick as his own thighs.
Was this guy a truck driver?
How does he not collapse from exhaustion every day?
If he finally has a day off, shouldn’t he go home and spend time with his wife?
Or… did he not find her at home?
Still, why come all the way up the mountain?
It’s way too cold to camp out here.
“Perfect. I don’t like bullying the weak, so how about all of you come at me together?”
Shintarou cracked a sinister smile as he twisted his neck from side to side, producing a rusty creaking sound.
Truck driver confirmed.
“Huh? Wait, how did things escalate to this?!”
Celty finally seemed to notice the growing tension and quickly stepped between Hojou and the would-be brawlers.
“Um, excuse me… mister—uh, I don't know your name—but you’ve got the wrong idea!
Hojou and I have known each other for a long time; we’re just good friends.
And besides, I don’t even know you people! It’s not like Hojou ‘stole’ me from your group.”
She was being as sincere as possible.
‘Of course I know you’re “just friends”! ‘
‘I’ve heard you two have the same conversation how many times now?!’
‘How could I not know?!’
‘And it’s Shintarou, damn it! I told you that already—multiple times!’
‘You definitely didn’t save my number, did you?!’
Shintarou’s jealousy surged straight to his head, burning away what little common sense he had left.
“Enough talk! You don’t look like much of a fighter, but now’s the time to show your manliness!”
He glared at the unnamed high schooler standing across from him.
Not that he wanted to beat up a teenager—it’d be humiliating if word got out—but these were special circumstances.
Any man would lose his cool with a woman this hot nearby.
Even God would get down from his lotus throne for this.
“Don’t fight! Violence is bad!” Celty shouted in a panic.
She may be strong enough to decapitate an entire crowd in a blink, but she gave up the high-paying career of bank robbery to work as a humble courier in Ikebukuro.
In that chaotic city, she—an inhuman being might actually be the most human of them all.
If Yukinoshita was the goddess of justice, Celty was surely the goddess of peace.
“Celty, you know me. I’ve always been firmly against violence,” Kyousuke said gently, taking her hand and flashing a warm, sincere smile.
Kisaki Tetta and Hata Gorou, standing nearby, nearly choked.
Did they just hear what they think they heard?
The same man who ruled Tokyo’s 23 wards with brute force.
The infamous “Handless Demon” who could disassemble a gang single-handedly was claiming he hated violence?
Who’s buying that?!
The delinquents who got beaten so badly they couldn’t lift chopsticks for three days would be the first to cry foul!
“I know! I know that, Hojou! You’re just like me—you hate violence too!”
Celty nodded seriously.
She had known that about him from the start.
Even when he showed up at her place with a katana, he had zero intention of using it on her—even though she wasn’t human.
Instead, he listened to her patiently, smiling with a magic that seemed to speak to the soul.
“Can you not smile at me like that in front of all these people? I’ll turn into a complete idiot!” Celty pouted, clearly flustered.
That enchanting smile, like it could hypnotize people—how unfair!
“Hahaha, looks like my magic still works after all this time.”
Kyousuke laughed warmly, remembering how she used to go all dazed and goofy every time he smiled like that.
Even if she didn’t have a head, she still managed to look like a lovesick fool.
“Of course it works! Otherwise, it wouldn’t be called magic! But enough! This is not the time to flirt!” Celty turned away, clearly embarrassed.
‘We KNOW it’s not the time for flirting!!’
Shintarou and his crew were all clenching their teeth—though so were Kisaki and the others.
Not because they planned to switch sides, but because, as fellow singles, they needed to vent their rage at this nauseating display of affection.
And they agreed—Celty was probably right.
Their boss’s smile had to be some kind of mind-control spell.
Nothing else could explain how people believed such obvious lies.
“I get it. It’s fight time now.” Kyousuke chuckled as he took off his jacket and tossed it to Kisaki, who caught it carefully and draped it over his arm like a proper Victorian butler.
If only his glasses had a monocle, the image would’ve been perfect.
“Finally acting like a real man,” Shintarou growled, grinding his teeth.
“No! No fighting!”
Celty turned around, grabbing Kyousuke’s hands with both of hers. “If you hurt them, it’ll cause trouble for you, Hojou!”
“…You serious right now?”
Shintarou looked stunned, cleaning his ear with his pinky as if he’d misheard.
Celty ignored him, still holding onto Hojou and pleading with a sincerity for him to put his jacket back on.
Sure, she was an unlicensed, wall-climbing, flying motorcycle rider—but deep down, she was a law-abiding, police-fearing, sweet-hearted not-quite-human.
“Haha, don’t worry. I’ll be careful.” Kyousuke gently reassured the worried girl in front of him.
She really was just a girl in that moment—so adorably concerned it made his heart melt.
“You have to hold back, Hojou! But if—if you really can’t…” Celty lowered her head, voice small and shy.
“Then… we can find a quiet place and I’ll fight you there!”
“Celty…”
Kyousuke gave a helpless laugh.
It was ironic, really—despite being a literal harbinger of death, Celty was the one most afraid of violence and killing.
If she weren’t, she wouldn’t have spent all these years in Tokyo quietly living as the urban legend of the Dullahan.
If it were him, he would’ve gone on a rampage the moment someone stole his head.
He’d storm all over Tokyo, barge into the Prime Minister’s office with a ten-meter-long scythe to his throat, and demand the entire country be mobilized to find his head.
Until it was back on his shoulders, someone else's head would roll every single day.
Celty might not be strong enough to take on an entire nation head-on, but as an assassin?
She was practically unstoppable.
And yet, here she was this god of death from Ireland—playing the role of justice and order in a country crawling with perverts and psychos.
For her to even say she’d “help him fight”… that was a massive step for her.
Kyousuke could understand her words—others couldn’t. And certainly not the guy standing across from him: Shintarou.
That pair of lovebirds across the way… Sure, she was ridiculously hot, but it was clear he had no shot with her.
Which automatically made them “those damn lovebirds” in his mind.
He wasn’t stupid.
Seriously though—those two were out here in front of him, openly talking about finding a quiet spot for some motorbike-riding kink play.
Holding her waist tight, tying themselves together with rope… Outrageous.
Absolutely unforgivable. Even Buddha himself would grab a frying pan and start swinging.
So of course, Kyousuke had to do something.
He imagined punching that smug pretty-boy’s face—only for the couple to totally ignore him and immediately start another type of “play” instead.
The girl would gently caress his bruised cheek with concern, dabbing at the blood with a white handkerchief, and the guy would mutter something cool and aloof.
Then they’d go home together to “recover” from the incident.
And him? The winner of the fight? He’d be the clown.
“Bastards! You’re just using me to spice things up between you, aren’t you?!”
Shintarou’s face flushed red with fury.
These two were completely disregarding him.
“Uh…”
Kyousuke blinked, caught off guard by the accusation. His eyes widened slowly.
Wait… that angle hadn’t even occurred to him.
But now that Shintarou said it—why was he getting a little excited?
‘Wait, no. That doesn’t mean I’m a pervert… right?’
No, definitely not!
“Fighting isn’t the answer,” Kyousuke declared, regaining composure. “Since we’re on Mount Haruna, how about we settle this with a race?”
He figured he should give Celty some peace of mind—especially after the compromise she just made.
“A race!?”
The words exploded across the mountain road like a firecracker.
Birds, already restless from the earlier shouting, scattered into the night sky.
‘Boss… can we just fight instead?’
Kisaki stared in disbelief, still remembering the first time Kyousuke rode the Rocket 33 and ended up blocking traffic for half the day.
Sure, three years had passed and his skills had improved, but now he was way more afraid of dying.
“Hey, Strategist,” Gorou whispered. “When he says race… does he mean using the motorcycle as a blunt weapon?”
“…It’s the only explanation,” Kisaki said grimly.
If that was really the plan, nobody was leaving the mountain tonight.
Time to prep for a cover-up.
“Kyousuke, you…”
Celty tilted her head—if she had one and her whole being practically filled with question marks.
“Yes,” Kyousuke nodded with confidence. “Didn’t you mock my riding skills earlier? If I beat you fair and square, then you’ve got nothing to say. Or are you saying the honor of Mount Haruna is defended only with fists?”
He gave Celty a reassuring look and a magical smile.
She instantly relaxed, black mist fluttering around her like she was drunk.
“A race? Bold of you to suggest that!” Shintarou scoffed.
“I know you're scared of getting beat up. But fine, I’ll crush you with pure skill. Let your woman see just how pathetic you really are!”
Damn it… “your woman”?
No—they’re a couple of lovebirds, that’s what they are!
Still, Shintarou couldn’t help but stare at that tight black leather suit and the body inside it, and curse himself for being so easily swayed.
He clenched his fists, eyes burning with determination.
Time to give it everything he had.
“Car or bike?” he asked mockingly, looking at the high schooler like he was already defeated.
“Oh, I don’t have a license, so I’ll take the bike. But you can use your car. I don’t mind.”
Kyousuke turned casually toward his motorcycle.
“You bastard!”
Shintarou nearly coughed up blood.
The arrogance! Did this guy really think he could beat him with his pathetic uphill speeds?
But instead of arguing, Shintarou silently climbed into his car and slammed the door.
It was a blue Toyota, clearly modded illegally.
The rear spoiler alone looked like it could cause a lawsuit.
Probably only brought out at night.
Some cryptic English letters were slapped on the side—probably the name of their racing team.
The woman in the red jacket who’d tried to break up the fight earlier now stood in the center of the road, raising a pale pink scarf in her hand.
Kyousuke gave his engine a few symbolic revs.
His bike might have just two wheels, but it still had power.
The two vehicles lined up at the starting line.
This was going to be a downhill race.
“Don’t think you can just ride off after this,” Shintarou called, lowering his window. “The loser takes off their wheels and apologizes on their knees!”
Kyousuke didn’t respond.
He just casually popped off his bike’s windshield.
“…Strategist,” Gorou whispered nervously, “I don’t think the boss is planning to hit him with the bike…”
“Yeah, with the Rocket 33’s weight, he could flatten that idiot, car and all!” Kuroda said excitedly.
Kisaki furrowed his brows. Even he didn’t know what Kyousuke was planning.
“Hey, Kisaki,” Celty asked, “do you think Kyousuke’s finally overcome his fear of dying?”
That’s not a flaw—that’s a fantastic survival trait!
Kisaki shouted internally, but out loud he said, “No… if anything, he’s been riding less since he started high school.”
Motorcycles only hold one person, after all—not ideal for a guy like Kyousuke who needs a ride to school every day.
“So what’s he planning then? Should I sabotage the blue Toyota’s engine just in case?” Celty offered.
“Yeah! Let’s just knock them all out now!” Gorou chimed in.
Kisaki said nothing, staring at the black bike and the blue car lined up on the dark road.
“…I think I’m starting to get what the boss is up to,” he murmured.
“Go get him, Shintarou! Lose this and don’t even think about racing in Gunma again!”
“Don’t bring shame to Team Seibun-Kochi!”
Shintarou’s teammates shouted encouragements, full of fire and bluster—while Kyousuke’s group stayed eerily quiet.
It wasn’t that they’d switched sides.
They just knew—when Kyousuke got that gleam in his eye, something messed up was about to happen.
Whether it was kendo, business, or just mind games, their boss was a tactical genius. He never bet on a game he couldn’t win.
So if it looked like he was cornered?
That just meant he was up to something.
