"Hss..."
A groan of pain rose from the wreckage of the driver's seat.
When the hoodie-wearing man finally lifted his face from the deflated folds of the airbag, the bridge of his nose was already swollen a dark, bruised purple. Blood trailed from his nostrils to his upper lip, smeared across his face by the exploding airbag until it formed a crusty, dark red mask.
The old van was surprisingly sturdy. It had held up well enough in the crash that the man hadn't sustained any truly catastrophic injuries.
But for an ordinary person, this level of trauma still felt absolutely life-threatening.
Most people truly have no concept of what a "critical injury" is. They assume two broken ribs and a couple of deep gashes mean they are knocking on death's door.
When the man tried to unbuckle his seatbelt, his trembling fingers fumbled the latch three times before finally pressing the button.
The door was warped from the impact. He had to slam his shoulder against it several times before it finally gave way, sending him tumbling out of the cabin in a limp heap.
His knees slammed against the coarse asphalt. The sharp pain ripped a curse from his lips, finally shocking enough sense back into his mind for him to realize what had happened.
He leaned against the mangled door and pulled himself up. His thoughts were still fragmented and sluggish.
How did the car flip?
Did something fly in through the window and knock me out?
Panting heavily, he instinctively touched his bloody face.
He wasn't Superman. How the hell was he supposed to clearly see what had knocked him unconscious while he was driving at top speed?!
All he knew was that something had gone horribly wrong, and he needed to get out of there immediately.
His panicked gaze darted around the wreckage until his eyes finally locked onto a specific target.
The black canvas bag.
It had slipped out of the shattered window and was lying on the road three or four meters behind the van.
He remembered!
That cat was a highly expensive purebred. A wealthy buyer was waiting on the other side of the reservoir, willing to pay a massive sum for it. As long as this deal went through, he'd be set for life!
At the thought of the money, his greed and his desperation for a better future overpowered the confusion in his brain. He rushed over and snatched the heavy bag off the ground.
But the moment he lifted the bag, he looked up and froze.
A bloodied, battered figure, leaning heavily on a twisted metal rod, was staggering toward him. When he picked up the bag, the figure's chaotic footsteps abruptly stopped.
Huh?
Who the hell is this guy?
The hoodie-wearing man stared at the figure dripping blood onto the road. His concussed brain completely failed to connect this person to the heavy object that had smashed into his roof, or the sudden attack that had caused the crash.
Terror had completely overridden his logical reasoning. At this moment, he was no different from a wild beast operating purely on instinct.
And ironically, the man standing across from him—who looked far more like a rabid beast—was the one who retained his true human intellect.
It hurts...
His hands hurt. His body hurt. Everywhere hurt.
The gashes on Shu's fingers were deep enough to expose bone. The edge of the sheared metal, moving at high speeds, had been unimaginably sharp, yet the jagged burrs made the wound agonizingly ragged.
Fortunately, the tendons weren't severed. He could still force his hand to perform a rudimentary grip. He could even exert enough force to use the very piece of metal that had flayed his fingers open as a walking stick to hold himself upright.
When he had managed to drag himself out of the haze of agony and near-unconsciousness, his very first instinct was to locate the black canvas bag.
The massive trauma hadn't shaken his objective. He knew exactly what he needed to do. He would never forget.
But his body was in absolute ruins. It refused to obey his commands. Shu could only stumble forward, inch by agonizing inch, toward the bag.
Just as he was only a few steps away, the other man appeared and snatched the bag right out from under his nose.
Shu's footsteps stopped dead. His dark, deadened eyes slowly lifted, locking onto the thief.
The last shreds of the hoodie-wearing man's survival instinct screamed at him. The man in front of him was wrong. He was incredibly dangerous.
But the thief chose to bluff. Those with nothing to lose love to project an aura of absolute invincibility.
"You—"
CRACK—!!
Why waste time talking?
The exact second the thief opened his mouth, Shu—who looked like he was about to drop dead any second—swung the metal rod with every ounce of strength left in his shattered body, aiming directly for the man's temple.
The twisted rod in his hand was the sheared-off luggage rack. The broken end was sharp, jagged, and brutal. If Shu's swing had landed exactly where he intended, it would have killed the man instantly.
Unfortunately, he missed.
The blunt "blade" smashed into the thief's ear, dropping the man before he could even finish his arrogant posturing. The jagged edge of the metal ripped a deep, gruesome gash from the man's ear all the way down to his jawline.
The force of the swing threw Shu entirely off balance, and he nearly collapsed.
The adrenaline rush had completely faded. Helping him catch the roof rack mid-fall and forcing the van to crash had pushed his body far past its absolute limits.
Right now, sheer, unadulterated willpower was the only thing keeping Shu upright.
And the disfigured thief's willpower had just shattered into pieces.
I'm going to die!!
Physically, he was in vastly better condition than Shu. They weren't even on the same playing field. His body was healthier, and his injuries were superficial compared to Shu's.
But that single, silent, warning-less strike had obliterated his entire will to fight.
I'm going to die—!
I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die...
Trembling violently, the man tried to clutch the bleeding gash on his face, but the agonizing pain forced his hands away.
He watched in sheer horror as the silent, blood-soaked lunatic somehow "steadied" himself again and began dragging the twisted metal rod toward him, step by step.
"Ugh... AHHH!!!"
The thief broke.
In the face of life and death, the collapse of a human persona is incredibly simple and swift.
The persona of a normal human being is as fragile as a soap bubble in the sun.
Aside from looking pretty and stroking one's ego, it is utterly useless.
It cannot withstand any true test from the outside world.
Operating purely on panic, the thief blindly grabbed the canvas bag, his limbs flailing wildly as he scrambled backward on his hands and knees. He scrambled toward the shoulder of the road, toward the open expanse of the reservoir.
Perhaps the wide-open space of the water gave him a false sense of security.
The moment the man moved, Shu's sluggish body finally reacted. He lunged forward, throwing his weight into a reckless, desperate sprint.
Every step was slower than he anticipated. Every step was weaker than he planned.
Nothing was going according to his calculations.
But the outcome was within his grasp. And that was enough.
Shu slammed headfirst into the fleeing man's back, utterly destroying the thief's final shred of balance. Relentless, Shu continued to drive forward, using his own momentum to ram the man violently into the guardrail by the edge of the reservoir.
And then, carried by their combined momentum, the two of them tumbled uncontrollably over the railing.
The second fall!
"AHHH—!!!" The thief let out a blood-curdling scream of pure, visceral terror.
This time, he crossed the threshold of life and death right alongside Shu, both of them plummeting into the sunlit, shimmering waters of the reservoir at the exact same moment.