The Goon swung his fist.
Kaizen didn't block. He didn't dodge. He simply thrust his hand forward.
It was a movement born of pure, unadulterated financial rage.
The greasy wooden skewer—a thin, flimsy stick meant to hold processed meat—pierced the air with a whistling sound.
Thwack.
It didn't break against the Goon's thigh. It didn't snap.
It went through.
Like a hot knife through butter, the greasy stick punched through the expensive uniform, through the muscle, and impacted the femur.
CRACK.
The sound was sickeningly loud.
"GAAAAH!"
The Goon's eyes bugged out. He crumpled instantly, clutching his leg, screaming like a banshee.
"MY LEG! HE BROKE MY LEG WITH A STICK! IT'S INSIDE THE BONE!"
Kaizen stood there, breathing heavy, clutching the other half of the broken skewer.
'I did it. I won. That's for my corn dog.'
He felt a surge of triumph. He was the main character of his own story for now! He was—
POW.
A fist coated in muddy mana connected with Kaizen's cheek.
The world spun.
Kaizen didn't just stumble; he launched. He flew three feet to the side and slammed into a pile of garbage bags.
$$HP: -8$$$$HP Remaining: 7 / 15$$$$Status: Concussed. Bleeding.$$
'Ow.'
The triumph evaporated instantly.
Kaizen tried to get up, but his vision was swimming. He spat out blood.
'Right. I forgot. My Defense is literally 1.'
The other two Goons weren't waiting for a turn-based battle. They were rushing him.
"You dirtbag!" Goon #2 roared, kicking Kaizen in the ribs. "Using dirty tricks?! What kind of monster breaks a leg with a greasy skewer?!"
"Die!" Goon #3 shouted, stomping on Kaizen's arm.
Kaizen curled into a ball. He tried to protect his head.
'This sucks. This sucks so much. I hate this world. I hate fantasy academies.'
The kicks kept coming. They were E-Rankers. Even their basic kicks felt like being hit with hammers.
"You think you're tough?!"
"You made Lord Lance's subordinate cry!"
"We're going to break every finger!"
Behind them, the first Goon was still shrieking. "MOMMY! CALL THE HEALER!"
Kaizen felt his consciousness fading. The pain was numbing out. The world was turning gray.
'So this is it. I die in an alley over a sausage. Fitting, honestly.'
Through the haze of his swelling eyelids, he saw a figure approach.
The Goons didn't notice him. They were too busy monologue-ing about how awesome Lord Lance was.
The figure stopped.
He had stark white hair that defied gravity in a cool, messy way. He wore the uniform, but he wore it with the collar popped. His hands were in his pockets.
Cedric Alexander.
The Fourth Heavenly King. The "True Rival." The Spear Prodigy.
He stood there, watching the beatdown with eyes the color of ice.
"Hey," Cedric said.
It wasn't a shout. It was a bored, monotone drawl.
The Goons froze. They turned around.
"Who do you think you a—" Goon #2 started, then choked. "C-Cedric?! Cedric Alexander?!"
"You're loud," Cedric said, looking at a spot of dirt on his shoe. "And you're blocking the path."
"W-we are teaching this trash a lesson!" Goon #3 stammered, trying to look tough. "We represent Lord Lance Wind! This is official business! Back off if you know what's good for y—"
Cedric sighed. It was a long, disappointed sigh.
He took one hand out of his pocket.
Zip.
Kaizen didn't even see him move.
There was just a blur of white hair and the sound of air displacing.
Chop. Chop.
Two sharp, precise impacts.
Goon #2 and Goon #3 went rigid. Their eyes rolled back into their heads. They collapsed simultaneously, hitting the ground like sacks of potatoes.
Cedric stood over them, sliding his hand back into his pocket.
"Lance Wind," Cedric muttered to the unconscious bodies. "Tell that pyromaniac to keep his dogs on a leash. They're barking too much."
The first Goon—the one with the skewer in his leg—stopped screaming. He stared at Cedric in pure terror.
Cedric glared at him.
"Scram."
The Goon didn't need to be told twice. Ignoring his broken femur, he dragged himself away, crawling on his elbows, sobbing quietly.
Silence returned to the alley.
Kaizen lay amidst the garbage, wheezing. He looked up at his savior.
'He saved me. He's a jerk in the game, but he saved me.'
Kaizen tried to lift his head. "Th... thanks..."
Cedric turned his gaze downward.
His blue eyes locked onto Kaizen's battered face. There was no pity. No concern. No "heroic smile" like Leo.
There was only disgust.
Cedric scowled.
"Pathetic," he spat.
He stepped forward. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't check for injuries.
He stepped over Kaizen.
"If you're that weak," Cedric said, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen, "don't leave your room. You're an eyesore."
He walked away, hands in his pockets, disappearing into the evening gloom without looking back.
Kaizen let his head drop back onto the garbage bag.
'...Right. I forgot. He's the 'Cool Rival.' He hates weakness more than he hates demons.'
Kaizen laughed, but it came out as a cough.
"At least... now I know I can at least fight myself."
And then, everything went dark…