"Yeah…Yeah, he's down." The man said to his phone. "He told me he doesn't know where Wu Sha is. Thinks that maybe the head knows at least. Yeah."
There's this one room in Shirogane High that people only seem to get in whenever they want to give someone a beating, or interrogate that person. This room was hollow, only save for cracked, crusty skins of these dry walls, that made the entirety of Shirogane High look like a luxurious building. Even though the mess outside would equate to whatever this room is.
'The interrogation room', the students would call it. And inside, the one getting the interrogation wasn't the interrogator himself. Junji Iwan. No. It was the 'victim' in that side of things.
The door busted open— startling even the one standing, along with the bruised and bleeding lying on the floor with fatigue.
"Oh, so YOU'RE the one who made this mess, HUH?!" said Kasuga Nikaido. Teeth clenched to a point like the toughness of his fists. A bare face with a grin of both anger and thrill. "Yakuza punk…!"
"…I'll call you later." The man shut his phone without second thought. Putting it into his pocket like he was ready for business. A quiet professionalism within his mannerism and outfit. A standard black suit, hair shortly trimmed, wrinkles beneath his eyes— and despite all that…He seemed to carry a youngster's kind of energy.
And like Nikaido mentioned, he was yakuza.
"Who're you?" the yakuza simply asked. Nikaido replied, "First you tell me who you are, punk."
"Gitae Wang,"
"Kasuga Nikaido,"
"Oh wait, you're that P.E teacher running the crews, aren't you?"
"So what if I am?"
From an extra pocket just simply around his thighs, he brought out something dangerous. Something needle-like. Something made out of pure, stainless, steel.
And they were still wet with all the crimson that came from the man behind. "Your life." he threatened.
Even though he was clearly ready to charge in— The first one to make a move, a really bold one at that was Kasuga. But he didn't charge at him unprepared. He whipped out a two knives from his pockets as he moved— slashing the air as he aimed to cut the man without hesitation. The yakuza dodged the combination carefully and with precision.
Kasuga followed through with low kicks and swings of punches— even if the gravity of the risks here are that he could get his arms stabbed by those sharp needles. Gitae weaved through, clawing out the first slash right onto Kasuga's torso, leaving three decent scars. But he didn't feel a thing.
Not a surprise there anyway, he's already done his research on this guy.
Nikaido jabbed a few fingers deeper into one of those wounds. A gross display of capabilities, a questionable way to provoke his opponent. "You should probably change your tactics," he said, three fingers painted red with his own blood. Gitae remained looking unfazed. He charged forward again—
He didn't waste any time. He initiated a penetrating attack with the left hand claws. Too slow, however. Kasuga kicked his arm away— the speed looked purposefully slow, and it was. He spun 360 degrees and threw a sharp KICK— which somehow landed straight into Gitae's chest. It caused him to fall back, dropping all his weapons as a consequence, all of them rolling around in directions. Kasuga rushed in to knock him out quick while he's down. He wasn't willing to just stand around and wait for him to get up.
The blades were still intact in his hands. Gitae rolled to the side of left before Kasuga could catch him. He got up quick in the meantime, though he didn't stand up. Kasuga initiated a powerful front kick— Gitae rolled away. His heart was pumping. The stoic demeanour he once had quickly faded away— Kasuga is no joke. To be expected from a fourth-in-command.
Gitae took a stance. It wasn't anything out of the common grounds. Only that his stance involved protecting his face, like you would see in ordinary boxing. Kasuga threw one knife at him— missed by inches. It could've slashed his right ear had it been close enough. Then, he hung with his second knife. This one was for close quarters. "You got a lot of nerve to be walkin' around here and doin' your thing." Kasuga said. But his guard never dropped.
"Seems like I do. Any problems?" Gitae replied gentlemanly.
"What, you're just gonna keep asking questions at the end-?!" Kasuga was interrupted by a sudden high speed dash Gitae initiated.
Kasuga had no time to hesitate— he needed to chase him. Gitae slammed the door behind him to buy time— Kasuga rushed it open, the yakuza was running at a decently fast pace across the hallways. He felt like he could slip at any moment, his shoes just weren't the right fit for the floor beneath him. He ledged onto a wall with both hands to support his balance, and then turned around to the next hallway. Kasuga followed. The chased threw down brooms and sticks— whatever he could find to slow down he predator, but the predator as strong willed as he was, was not willing to back down despite that.
Gitae drifted the next hallway. Just a couple meters down the staircase. He jumped a couple steps down with his lighter body— Kasuga skipped fewer as he ran.
But unfortunately for Gitae, he was cornered with the mocking, and sharp gazes of the crowd in front.
There was way too many to easily run past. Is this really a school he wondered? Kasuga stopped slowly behind him. His breathes ragged: "Stop." He said. "You got nowhere left to run, old man." The prey has been trapped? Not yet so. Gitae Wang began darting past him. Nikaido almost had it— ALMOST had him. He was almost about to grab him by his suit, but his hand missed. The hallways rumbled into a scream that scared the birds out of the windows, like a scream you'd hear during an emergency fire exit. It was real chaos— fit into one scenario where a man is being chased by many. Gunshots repeated out from across the hallway. Shots that cracked a window just a couple meters away before the next left turn. Gitae knew what was going on, so he stopped running. Slowing down. Third-in-command, Hiroshi appeared out of Classroom 5-B. His hands venomously gripped against the handle of his handgun. A small, lazy smirk across his lips that challenged him to make a bad move. Gitae had no other choice but to raise his hands up in surrender. Looking behind himself, the crowd stopped behind him just afar, then when he turned back around, Hiroshi was still there.
Meanwhile, back inside the gym,
"Come on, Walker— you can do it!"
"That's right Imura! Throw 'em down with an overhand!"
Two sides cheering on each. Slow yet intense at first, but now it was starting to feel close to a street fight sort of combat. And even though Imura limited himself to just boxing, he was somehow able to hold his ground as much as he could.
Until he began to switch tactics and forget about boxing in general. His leg swung to the side like a well-controlled whip, kicking Walker right to the side clean. Some people praised him for it, 'NICE MOVE!', "Yeah, that's how you do it!" some said. For a while, Imura thought he wouldn't get away with using strictly boxing moves at a fighter like Walker.
But people seemed to understand his struggle and let it be. Walker wasn't one for words anymore. This was serious. His arms shifted up, protecting more of his torso now. Two blows to break the shield that was Imura's arms, the third one aimed lower— around the stomach. The fourth to the side of his ribs. They all hurt, but he couldn't back down now…
Imura threw a fist, rocketing so close toward Walker's eyes. It stopped mid-way.
Then, he threw a sweep below, like a trapdoor opening underneath his feet. When Walker was about to fall— he immediately went to grab him somewhere in order to weaken the fall— but he ended up fastening it instead. Walker hit the mat hard. "OOF!" he exhaled. And that was the match, then and there.
"WAIT— I'M SORRY, I—!"
"No, no, it's alright— It's alright!" Walker said to him reassuringly, laughing along the way to convince him that it's fine. But guilt still crawled upto Imura's mind, even if just less. Harold and his friend Kenji walked upto their defeated buddy, crouched beside him, and then Harold said: "Walker, you okay?"
Walker nodded, getting up from his back slowly, "Kid knows how to throw a good strat and a punch…I couldn't underestimate him one bit." He looked at the young man with eyes of surprise.
"Y'hear that, mate?" Harold said to Imura, "Man admires your strength. He really couldn't underestimate you!"
Imura gave an awkward smile, "…Thanks."
"You were terrible, Imura. Terribly good." Kazuki said, clapping his hands lazily. Imura chuckled a bit at that.
"Sorry about insulting you earlier, by the way." Walker said, he was talking about the fact that he called Imura a 'pretty face' mockingly. Imura as always brushed it off. "That's fine. It happens."
Walker seemed amused. Amused to Imura's polite response, no one in the room was really sure. He got up and slouched an arm over Imura's shoulder, hugging him with camaredice. "Thanks man. We're cool, huh?"
"We're cool," Imura replied.
The next few moments were filled with hugs and kindness then. A testament to that despite the differences in ethnicity, foreigners or not, they were still people. They've always been. And then the next few moments after that, the gym gave those three— especially Kenji a little tour around. It's culture, schedules, its fighters, most of their capabilities…and so on. It was an intense environment really. The closest friends these three seemed to make were Himuro, Kazuki, and Imura combined. They've been the closest to them at least.
Since they were here, they didn't mind training around for a bit and sharing techniques with a couple people. Everyone later found out that they did MMA, and that was pretty cool to them. There was something that Imura had learnt from Harold himself, and it was the most interesting kind of move:
"You can't find any clothing to grab— sure. Try and grab the skin, like this…" his fingers bit into Imura's bicep. A surprising grip on his arm, despite how ineffective it really looks.
And then, once the gym was finally coming to a close, they left. All of them. That includes Imura as well. And like always he walked home alone. Passing by those white glowing street lights once again, as cars and bikes zoomed by.
The loudest sound he could ever hear right now, was of his mind.
After all of that, he felt off and down. No longer up like he should feel when climbing the mountain in success.
Oftentimes at nights these streets would feel as empty as any village within the country sides. That made cops roaming around easier and spotting criminals that shouldn't be doing what they're doing.
…Especially when the crime rates have gone up drastically.
Anyone, that includes Imura under any suspicion. But most likely; robbery, murder, and even violence. The answer to that lies unsettlingly—
There's a killer on the loose.
No one knows who it is around here. Not even around Tokyo, not even Hiroshima, nowhere. The only piece of lead anyone could capture was that the killings only take place at night.
He wouldn't be surprised if that killer happened to be 'Wu Sha'.
As he was walking home from around the tighter spaces, he felt like something was biting underneath his shoe…he thought they were just stones at first, but—
teeth?
They looked like canines that belonged to an adult. And that triggered something creeping into him; a sense of unease— he looked a bit closer into it, he was sure those were human teeth. Then when he was sure of it, he looked all around himself— around the shadows and even above. He couldn't help but think someone was watching him. No one he saw other than one person walk by, and those yellow-golden lights just glowing around on the streets. Shadows casting over each corner and closed shops.
Just when he began to walk away slowly— someone dashed toward him from behind. TAP, TAP, TAP, their footsteps were getting closer and closer— their presence were getting stronger and harder to ignore…..
Imura looked behind and saw a man in blue uniform block his view of the shadowy glimpse he thought he saw—
"GR- AHHH!!" THAT MAN ROARED. AGONIZING TERROR COMING FROM THE KNIFE STABBING INTO HIS FLESH AND WHICHEVER ORGAN INSIDE, BLEEDING PROFUSELY.
Helpless and terrified like a prey too weak— Imura couldn't process the situation properly. At first, it felt like a dream. His eyes wide with shock, heart thumping at the case of survival. What is he WITNESSING RIGHT NOW?
The officer, the man— the victim didn't turn around when he screamed through the agonizing pain: 'GOO!!!!'
Imura dashed away without a second thought.
WHAT WAS THAT?
WHO WAS HE?
WHAT JUST HAPPENED?
WHAT DID I SEE?
WHAT AM I SEEING?
IS HE OKAY?
IS HE OKAY?
IS HE GONNA BE FINE?
WHAT DID HE DO?
A mask that had no design, no features aside from two small dots to see. A remorseless, killeristic, psychopathic view from just the all black outfit alone. A predator who didn't raise his voice far from just breathes. Every discomforting reaction the victim made barely seemed to faze him— the knife went deep into his side, where his liver is located, pentrating even what else was inside— the steel wet with all the blood that spilled out profusely.
He slid the knife out and slashed the throat.
—Was there a taxi nearby? No.
A cycle? No.
A motor vehicle? No.
A police car? No.
Any vehicles at all? All of them were parked shutdown.
There was no person to ask, no person to beg, no person to beg for help. He ran as fast as he ever could— his mind unraveling, dissociating with the reality he's facing. The unbelievable terror, all in one night gnawed at him with a threat too dangerous to ignore.
'AH—' he tripped and fell, a knee scraped against the rough pavement— he looked behind himself, no one was there but just an eerie quiet of the killer's night. Het got up— helpless as a child— ran as fast as he could.
He reached home only to find himself locking all entrance doors shut, every windows banged shut, every curtains fastened close…
He went to his room— lights turned on, door shut, onto his bed with knees close upto his chest. He checked one knee which he thought felt odd, pulling the trowser up to check. The condition of the skin wasn't good news. Rough and injured.
He breathed. And breathed and breathed. He was terrified…
He was scared, he was horrified, he was confused. He felt helplessly alone— he wanted someone to calm him down. He wanted someone near him.
He wanted someone in his house right now. Someone that could comfort him.
The groans, the begging scream, that silhouette he couldn't even make an identity out of, those teeth, the horrors…
Imura has never felt this scared in his life ever since after 'that' incident.
The cries he gave that a joker-like personality would laugh to before he left. The corpses of his own mother, and his father, all their throats slit apart. His father's left cheek slashed with a wound deep from a knife. Both tied to chairs inside of a hollow room.
The day when the urge came to end this agonizing nightmare on the same day for himself.