Lucifer stood amidst the shattered iron, his knuckles steaming with the heat of the Healing Factor's rapid work.
His Fundamental Insight hadn't just been tracking the molecular density of the iron; it had been tracking the five heat signatures lurking near the dojo's perimeter.
Ragnarok scouts. They were low-level street thugs compared to the monsters inside this courtyard, but to the rest of the world, they were the vanguard of a criminal empire.
He felt the eyes of the Masters on his back.
Akisame wasn't just looking at his bone structure anymore; he was looking at Lucifer's intent.
They sensed it—the flickering, jagged "Chaotic Energy" that hummed beneath his skin.
It was the residue of a childhood spent in the shadow of the Joker's laughter and Harley's manic whims.
To them, Lucifer was a volatile mixture of high-tier discipline and deep-seated madness.
"They are watching,"
Raven whispered. She didn't move from her spot, but her presence was different now.
The "reset" had worked. Her aura was no longer a storm of jealousy; it was a deep, tranquil lake of Devotion.
"They are assessing your value as a target. Logically, they should be removed before they report our location to their superiors."
Lucifer didn't respond with words.
He simply looked at Akisame.
The philosopher-master gave a nearly imperceptible nod, his eyes narrowed. Show us who you are, boy. Are you the master of your chaos, or its slave?
He didn't use the suit's boosters. He used the explosive leg drive he'd been drilling with Apachai. In a blur of movement that made Kenichi yelp in surprise, Lucifer cleared the dojo wall in a single, fluid leap.
The five Ragnarok scouts were huddled in the alleyway, one of them holding a digital camera.
"Whoa, did you see that kid? He just smashed a whole block of—"
The scout never finished his sentence.
Lucifer landed in the center of their circle. The "Chaotic Energy" flared, making his movements look slightly twitchy, almost unpredictable—a ghost of the Joker's frantic combat style.
But as he lunged, he forced the discipline of Hakai No Ken to override the impulse to kill.
The first scout swung a lead pipe.
Lucifer didn't use his Force Field.
He stepped into the strike, his hand moving like a snake. He used the Void-Layered Strike, but instead of shattering the man's chest, he applied the "Void" as a localized suction.
The air vanished around the scout's lungs for a microsecond.
The man gasped, his knees buckling from the sudden pressure drop.
Lucifer followed up with a pulled punch to the solar plexus—enough to shut down the nervous system, but not enough to break a rib.
One down.
The other four scrambled. One pulled a switchblade. Lucifer's eyes flashed.
He pivoted, his leg sweeping out in a Muay Thai low kick. He didn't use the full "Destruction" power; he used the movement he'd been observing, flowing around the blade.
He struck the back of the scout's neck with a precise, open-palm strike.
Two down.
The third and fourth scouts tried to run.
Lucifer reached out, his Void Severance manifesting not as a cutting edge, but as a spatial tether.
He "grasped" the space around their ankles and pulled.
The two men tripped over thin air, slamming face-first into the pavement.
Before they could scramble up, Lucifer was over them.
He stood with his fists clenched, the "Chaotic Energy" visible in the way his shadows seemed to dance independently of the light.
For a second, his face looked terrifyingly like his brother's—a cold, predatory mask.
But he stopped.
He took a deep breath, the Gamer's Mind providing that familiar layer of calm.
He didn't break their bones.
He didn't crush their skulls. He simply looked down at the last scout, who was trembling and holding the camera.
"Tell your boss,"
Lucifer said, his voice a low, teenage rasp,
"Ryōzanpaku isn't a playground. If you come back, I won't be testing my 'control' next time."
He grabbed the camera, crushed it into a small metallic ball with a single hand, and tossed it onto the scout's chest.
"Move."
The thugs didn't need a second invitation. They scrambled away, dragging their unconscious friends, leaving the alleyway silent.
Lucifer vaulted back over the wall, landing softly in the courtyard.
He was breathing steadily, his Healing Factor already cooling his overworked muscles.
Kenichi was hiding behind a training dummy, looking at Lucifer like he was a monster.
"That... that was so fast. You didn't even hurt them that bad, but they were terrified."
Miu walked over, her expression thoughtful.
"Your movements... They're strange. Part of it is very disciplined, like Akisame-san's teaching. But the other part... it feels like you're fighting a ghost inside yourself."
Lucifer ignored the teenagers and looked at the Masters.
Akisame stepped forward, a small, approving smile on his face.
"You possessed the opportunity to maim or kill. The energy within you screamed for it. Yet, you chose the path of the martial artist—the path of minimal necessary force. You are not a 'killer' by nature, Lucifer. You are a man building a cage for his own demons."
Apachai gave a massive thumbs up.
"GOOD! SMASH BUT NO BROKE! That is very hard! You have a good heart, Lucifer!"
Shigure, the weapon master, nodded once from the shadows.
She had seen the way he used the "Void" to trip them—a tactical application of a god-like power for a mundane task. It showed wisdom.
[System Progress Update: $50,000 gained through 'Live Combat Application']
[Funds: $8,700,000]
[Hakai No Ken Mastery: 55%]
[Relationship Update: Raven - Status: Devoted]
Raven walked to his side. She didn't look at the masters or the scouts.
She looked only at Lucifer. She reached out and smoothed a stray hair from his forehead, her touch light and lingering.
"The tactical objective was achieved,"
She said softly.
"And your internal stability remained within acceptable parameters. I am... pleased."
Lucifer felt a bit of a blush creep up his neck. The "devoted" Raven was almost more distracting than the "jealous" one.
That night, as the dojo settled into a rare moment of peace, Lucifer sat on the roof, looking up at the Japanese stars.
He felt stronger. His body was finally catching up to his powers.
But his Fundamental Insight picked up something on the wind—a scent of expensive cologne and the sound of a heavy, rhythmic breathing that didn't belong to any of the masters.
Someone was watching the dojo. Someone much stronger than the Ragnarok scouts.
A voice drifted up from the darkness of the trees outside the walls.
"So... This broken down place has found not one but two disciples."
A man stepped into the moonlight on a nearby branch.
He was tall, dressed in a long coat, his eyes glowing with a predatory, martial light.
It was Hermit, one of the Eight Fists of Ragnarok.
"I am Hermit,"
The man said, his hands in his pockets.
"I came to see the weakling Kenichi, but it seems there's a much more interesting person."