Chapter 6- Hierarchy.
The road was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that meant peace — the kind that meant something was waiting to explode, the kind that pressed against the skin like static before a storm.
Kuroshi's crew circled up, forming a loose ring around him and Damon, their shadows stretching long under the fractured glow of the street lamps. Evening light spilled between the buildings, dust turning gold in the air, drifting like sparks caught between night and fire.
Daiki stepped forward first, his sneakers scraping against the cracked pavement. Damon raised his hand without even looking, stopping him in his tracks with a gesture sharp enough to silence the moment.
"Damon, you sure about this?" Daiki asked, his voice low, wary.
That look in Damon's eyes — Daiki had seen it before. It was the look Damon carried before every challenge, a calm that always ended with him standing on top.
"Take Natsuki and leave," Damon said quietly, his tone steady, almost detached.
Daiki frowned. "She doesn't wanna go."
"I'll be staying," Natsuki cut in, her voice trembling but stubborn, her fists clenched at her sides.
Daiki groaned, dragging her away with muttered curses while Natsuki hit him in protest, their quarrel fading into the background noise of the street.
Damon turned back to the man who seemed like the leader. He was tall — lean but built, the kind of body carved by too many street fights and too many nights surviving them. His purple‑tinted hair shimmered under the dying sun, catching the last threads of light like a warning.
"Am I supposed to know who you are?" Damon asked, his voice calm, almost bored.
"I'm Kuroshi — the boss of the guys you killed," the man said, smoke curling from his cigar.
"How did you know where to find me?"
"There's no magic to it, kid. Just attention — and I pay well, very well."
The gang began closing in, boots scraping, chains rattling faintly in the dusk.
"Wait— I know you must really want to kill me. Why don't I make you a deal?" Damon said, his tone cutting through the noise.
"Hear that? He wants to make a deal, boys!" one of them jeered.
A goon laughed. "Whaddya think this is, the Deal or No Deal show?"
Kuroshi raised a hand, ordering silence with a single gesture. His grin lingered. "Go on."
"Let's settle this," Damon said. "If I win — we forget this. If you win — you can bury me."
Kuroshi's smirk sharpened. "We don't want bury, kid. We're here to torture you."
"Well, you're not getting that… unless you're stupid."
The big guy at the back snapped, "Hey, who you calling stupid?"
"My dad's a cop," Damon said evenly. "I'm sure Kuroshi here understands."
Clang! A bin lid crashed in the alley, a cat darting away with a sharp meow.
"So what if your dad's a cop?" Daigo asked.
"That means if we kill him or leave marks, the feds'll be all over us, Daigo," Kuroshi muttered, taking another puff.
The gang froze. If that was true, fighting him was a risk. If the cops came sniffing around — they were finished.
"You don't look like a cop's son, brat," Kuroshi said.
"You've got no idea," Damon replied.
Kuroshi sighed, then grinned, lifting his fists lazily, smoke curling around his face like a mask. "Fine. You win, you lead. You lose… you're dead."
"Yes," Damon said calmly. "So you can do anything to me — as long as it doesn't implicate you in the process."
Kuroshi cracked his neck, his grin widening. "You've got guts, kid. You know what happens when you challenge me?"
"Yeah," Damon said, his voice steady. "If I win, I'm the new leader. If I lose… you can do whatever you want to me tonight… and tomorrow."
Kuroshi squinted. "And why tomorrow too?"
Damon's mouth twitched. "Because I have to be home the day after. As I said — my father's a cop." he raised his voice "Or perhaps I should just tell them about the bounty on my head?"
Kuroshi flicked his cigar aside, standing tall like a lion before its prey. Damon's fists tightened, his feet steady. For a moment, the two looked like statues — still, unblinking, locked in a silent promise.
And then—
Kuroshi moved first. A flash of muscle, a kick aimed at Damon's head. Damon slipped it — barely.
"He's fast," Damon thought. "He's quick," Kuroshi thought.
The crowd shouted, circling tighter, voices rising like a chant.
"C'mon, boss! Teach him his place!"
Kuroshi threw another punch — heavier, faster. Damon ducked, pivoted, caught his arm mid‑swing. One twist — boom! — Kuroshi hit the ground hard.
Silence.
"You rely too much on height," Damon said coldly, stepping forward. "Doesn't mean anything if you can't hit me."
Blood dripped from Kuroshi's forehead, his smirk returning. "Heh. You're fast. I'll give you that."
He lunged again — a punch this time. Damon blocked with his forearm.
"Sike," Kuroshi smirked — his other hand coming low.
A sudden grab — Damon's feet left the ground. His world flipped, weightless for a heartbeat — boom! His back slammed against the concrete.
"I underestimated this guy—fuck…" Damon thought, blood streaking his temple.
He rose slower this time, muscles twitching, breath sharp. They launched again — fists, knees, dodges. A blur of motion and grit. Damon dropped low — swoop kick! Then jab, punch, both aimed at Kuroshi's head.
Kuroshi fell. Damon stood over him, fist raised — ready but silent. No one spoke. The air itself felt paused.
Damon exhaled slowly, straightening his jacket. "Guess that makes me boss."
"You liar…" Kuroshi spat. "There was no bounty."
Damon tilted his head, calm as ever.
"Tell that to your crew. Let's see who they believe."
A pause. Then — laughter.
Kuroshi pushed himself up, smirking again.
The gang murmured.
"How dare you touch Mr. Kuroshi like that!" one yelled.
Damon's gaze was sharp, unbothered.
"I'm your new boss. From now on — if you want to get paid — you'll follow my orders. Any objections?"
Silence.
Even the wind stopped.
"I don't know why you people do things the way you do," Damon said.
"But from now on — there'll be changes."
Kuroshi dusted off his jacket.
"Changes, huh? I guess I'm the assistant now."
Damon didn't respond, but in his mind — I need an assistant.
A half-drunk raised his hand. "Wait—if he's boss, does that mean I don't gotta—?"
"You'll all be punished," Damon cut in. "For last month's thefts."
"Thefts?!" the drunk yelled.
"We haven't had a gig in seven months! We've been livin' off old ladies!"
Everyone turned.
Kuroshi sighed. "That's Rukito. Smartest when he's sober."
Damon blinked. "He's drunk."
"Exactly," Kuroshi replied.
"You attacked grannies?" Damon muttered.
"Alright. First punishment — cleaning the city for three hours every night.
My assistant," he nodded at Kuroshi, "will make sure it's done."
The gang groaned.
Daigo snapped, "Boss, you're not gonna let the new kid talk to you like that, are ya?"
Others chimed in — "Since when does a high-school kid run us?"
"Yeah! What's next — he's gonna tell us bedtime stories?"
Kuroshi's eyes sharpened. "You know better than to question the code, Daigo."
He turned to his men.
"Remember when I promised to protect you all? I meant that — even if we were drunk."
Rukito hiccuped. "That doesn't explain why you didn't tell us about the bounty."
Kuroshi grinned. "I planned to."
Damon stepped forward.
"Then I'll take over that promise. I'm your leader now."
Daigo laughed. "You may know how to fight, kid — but running the streets? That's a whole different game."
"Yeah!" another said. "You don't even know our connections!"
Rukito sighed. "You all just dragged Daigo into another mess."
Damon smirked.
"Daigo. You're a big guy — use your 'big brain.' Compile every operation in the past ten months — and your top five contacts."
Daigo blinked. "Huh?"
Kuroshi chuckled, lighting a cigar.
"He means: write everything down, get the files, and tell him about Takeshi and Drexel."
Daigo muttered, "Does the boy want me to talk about them or their gangs? 'Cause I got opinions—"
Damon's voice cut through the air.
"You do know I'm standing right here, right?
And my name's… just call me Cipher."
Later, after a couple minutes of chapter and minor planning.
Damon brushed off his jacket.
"I don't want to keep my friends worried," he said. "I'll leave the rest to you."
He turned.
"Kuroshi — walk with me."
Kuroshi lit a cigarette. Damon's boot swung — kick! — the cigarette flew, sparking off the wall.
"Show-off," Kuroshi muttered.
"What's your real name?" Damon asked.
"How'd you know that wasn't my real name?"
"When Daigo called you 'Kuroshi,' he hesitated — like he had to remember the lie first."
Kuroshi grinned. "You're observant."
As Damon disappeared into the night, Kuroshi called out —
"How'd you know about the gang codes?"
Damon's faint smile lingered in the dark.
"Visit the library sometime."
His words carried the weight of a secret code, impossible to forget. It sounded less like advice, more like a warning thrown into the silence, echoing long after he vanished into the dark.