Whispers in the Winter Wind

They glanced around, noting the absence of most earlier faces, as if a shadowy force had swept them away or they had quietly slipped out, deterred by the sudden influx of dubious characters converging at this singular juncture. The precise cause remained elusive, yet it bore little consequence to Yasushi and Jingliu.

"My life's script has taken on the tempo of an action-packed manhwa ever since you stepped into the scene, Jingliu. Is it a fluke or a fateful twist of fate? I can't say for certain, but it's certainly less mundane," Yasushi remarked, his bag finding its place on the ground, his tie slackened, knuckles giving a satisfying crack.

Jingliu briefly shut her eyes, encircled by a throng of thirty to forty men. With a calm demeanor, she reopened her eyes and spoke, "Trouble didn't come looking for us, nor did we seek it. It found us of its own accord."

"Isn't that just semantics?" Yasushi inquired, earning a firm nudge from Jingliu, which elicited a snicker from him. "Well, regardless, let's get on with it," he said, their backs pressing against each other.

"We—" one of the men attempted to interject, only to be silenced by Jingliu, who hurled her nearly drained bubble tea at them.

"We're uninterested in your motives for being here. Just shut up and fight," she declared, her gaze icy as she stared them down.

The men, initially taken aback by her audacity, quickly turned incensed at the perceived disrespect and ran forward.

"Twenty each if there are forty," Yasushi remarked calmly, a plan forming as Jingliu nodded in agreement before they launched into action, charging towards the oncoming horde.

Jingliu vanished into the fray, appearing in front of an unsuspecting man. Swiftly, she delivered a precise kick between his legs, sending him crumpling to the ground, followed by a strike to his head. For individuals of this ilk, Jingliu harbored no illusions of a "fair" fight; in the stark reality, as Yasushi had pointed out earlier, there were no rules in true combat.

Victory, at its core, was what mattered. The means to achieve it were secondary. Whether employing "unconventional" tactics or otherwise, a win remained a win, and that was the sole objective.

Her adversaries, caught off guard, lunged to seize her, but Jingliu effortlessly parried their advances, redirecting their momentum toward their companions, sending them crashing into one another in a chaotic collision.

The rhythmic exchange continued until a sharp-eyed man noticed a peculiar detail. "A-are her eyes shut?" he exclaimed, a mix of surprise and dread coloring his tone.

They all turned to see Jingliu's closed eyes, deftly evading every strike and attempt to grasp her. When they realized this, a wave of fear, confusion, and heightened anger swept over them.

Before they could voice their astonishment, Jingliu's fist connected solidly with a man's face, rendering him unconscious. She swiftly crouched, sweeping another off balance before landing rapid kicks, rendering three more foes senseless.

As one of them brandished a small blade, thrusting it towards Jingliu, a wooden sword intercepted, striking the assailant's head and sending him sprawling. Jingliu's gaze shifted to the newcomer who had intervened — Yinhaie had appeared in the fray.

"Milady," Yinhaie addressed, offering Jingliu the wooden sword, to which she returned a smile.

"Thank you, this will expedite matters," Jingliu responded, wielding her wooden sword without delay. She vanished from her position, leaving her opponents bewildered.

Within moments, however, they began to crumble like a scattering of leaves. Some lay unconscious, while others writhed on the ground, clutching various body parts in agony. With a sword in hand, especially one as swift as hers, Jingliu dispatched her opponents with ease.

In a matter of seconds, the once formidable group of twenty men lay defeated, their cries of pain and grunts of frustration filling the air. Jingliu stood triumphant, her victory swiftly secured upon acquiring her weapon.

"Quick as ever, Milady," Yinhaie applauded, clapping for Jingliu's swift victory. Jingliu glanced at her defeated opponents, nodding in agreement.

"Hmm. They were all amateurs, thinking a group could outmatch me. That was their fatal mistake," Jingliu remarked, her gaze assessing the fallen men.

Both women then turned their attention to where Yasushi should have been, only to find him sitting atop a stack of three bodies. He was watching them, an amused grin on his face. Upon noticing their gaze, he raised his hand in acknowledgment.

"Good job," Yasushi praised them before leaping off the bodies and strolling over. It was then apparent that all the men who had engaged Yasushi had sustained relatively serious injuries — broken arms, legs, and in some cases, both. His prowess in the fight was evident.

Both Yinhaie and Jingliu gazed at him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and astonishment, rendering them momentarily speechless. Jingliu had known that Yasushi possessed fighting skills, but the extent of his skill surpassed her expectations. In the brief moments when their attention had strayed, Yasushi had managed to defeat their adversaries in less time than Jingliu.

The realization was difficult to fathom. It was as if Yasushi possessed abilities akin to those of an anime protagonist, a notion that Jingliu found both intriguing and bewildering. "Y-yeah..." she murmured, still grappling with the sheer spectacle before her.

Their moment of stunned silence was interrupted by the arrival of a man, almost like a cliché character, strolling towards them with an applauding gesture.

"I have to admit, I'm pretty impressed," he remarked, his voice carrying a tone of begrudging admiration. The man sported short, dyed blonde hair, a tattoo of an angel adorning his neck. His attire consisted of a white shirt layered with a t-shirt, paired with black pants and shoes.

"I didn't expect a pair of nobodies like you to handle yourselves so well. Even your departed friend put up a decent fight with that silly little staff of theirs. But now—" His sentence was abruptly cut short as Yasushi swiftly struck him in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground with a bleeding nose.

The man lay there for a moment, gazing skyward, before rising with an unmistakable fury. His towering frame, standing at six feet five inches with a broad build, accentuated his imposing presence. Veins bulged in annoyance as he advanced menacingly towards Yasushi. "You think you can just—"

Yasushi pretended to launch another fist at the man's face, and the man, anticipating the blow, raised his guard. However, Yasushi's move was a feint, and he swiftly changed tactics, delivering a sharp kick between the man's legs.

"Fuck!" the man screamed, doubling over in pain and clutching his groin. Despite the agony, his rage overshadowed the physical discomfort as he struggled to stand, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at Yasushi. "How is that fair!?"

"Fair? Why should I fight fair?" Yasushi's tone remained calm and composed, adding fuel to the man's anger.

This enraged the man further, causing him to stand back up momentarily before drawing a gun from his waistband, pointing it menacingly at Yasushi. A sinister grin twisted his lips as his finger tightened on the trigger. The sudden escalation left everyone in the vicinity frozen in shock, unprepared for this drastic turn of events.

"You're right, you insolent brat," growled the man through gritted teeth. "Fairness is a luxury for the naive. Adults play dirty, stealing and deceiving their way to the top."

"Remember my name," he continued, his voice thick with venom. "Haruto Ryu Suzuki, destined to carve my name into this city's history as its first kingpin—"

Yasushi's fist cleaved through the air, slamming into Haruto's face with merciless force. Haruto was propelled backward, his body hurtling through space until the unforgiving ground met his descent, jarring loose his grip on the gun. The impact was like a thunderclap, sending shockwaves of pain and disorientation through his senses.

Undeterred, Yasushi lunged forward, his movements fluid and relentless. He straddled Haruto's chest as the man hit the ground, raining down blows with primal fury. Each strike left its mark, distorting Haruto's face into a grotesque mask of pain and blood.

The scene was a frenzied ballet of violence, the sound of flesh meeting flesh punctuating the air with a sickening rhythm and blood mingled with the dirt.

Yinhaie and Jingliu stood frozen, their gazes locked on Yasushi with disbelief etched into their expressions. How could Yasushi, seemingly smaller and less imposing, overpower a larger, stronger opponent? The scene defied logic, like a surreal sequence from a film played out in the gritty realism of their world.

As the reality sunk in, the sound of bones crunching and flesh being battered punctuated the air, jolting them back to the brutal present. Yinhaie moved first, her instinct propelling her forward, but Jingliu surged ahead, wrapping Yasushi in a desperate embrace, attempting to pull him away from the relentless assault.

Yet, Yasushi remained eerily silent, devoid of any outward signs of effort or strain. His fists continued their merciless dance, each strike exacting a toll on the man beneath him, shattering his face into a gory mosaic without a single cry escaping Yasushi's lips. It was as though he were under a spell, lost in a trance of violence from which there was no escape.

"Yasushi!" Jingliu's voice pierced through the chaos, her arms tightening around him in a desperate attempt to halt the violence. "Stop! You'll kill him!"

Those words acted like a spell, breaking Yasushi from his trance. His fist hung suspended in the air, his gaze falling upon the motionless form of Haruto. Silence enveloped them, a heavy blanket of uncertainty settling over the scene.

Yasushi's expression was a mask of conflicted emotions, his mind wrestling with the aftermath of his actions. Slowly, he withdrew from the scene of carnage, standing over Haruto's prone figure with a mix of guilt and regret clouding his face. He couldn't face Jingliu or Yinhaie, his silence speaking volumes of his internal turmoil.

His past, an unwelcome specter, clawed its way back into his consciousness, reminding him of the darkness he had fought so hard to escape. Despite years of effort, he hadn't fully shed his old self, and now, faced with the consequences of his actions, he found himself at a loss for words, his past and present colliding with each other.