Meanwhile, back in the Dungeon…

  The teachers, after a few minutes, began to notice with growing concern that Edward was missing. No one had seen him slip away, and he hadn’t left any indication of where he’d gone. But they quickly guessed where he might be headed: those booming noises, which would have scared off most students, had likely drawn Edward right in. He was a young man obsessed with fighting, with facing monsters head-on, and with his desperate search for some kind of eternal glory. Stubborn and always quick to underestimate danger, Edward was known for his proud, difficult personality. The teachers knew all too well that Edward’s arrogance led him to see others as beneath him, clouded by an almost stubborn confidence in his own abilities. If anyone could get themselves into trouble in the most predictable way, it was him.

  After guiding the students and observers to safety, the teachers hurried toward the direction of the noises. Though the Dungeon’s monsters weren’t supposed to be an insurmountable threat for someone with Edward’s skills, his impulsive and reckless nature could easily turn even a simple situation into a mess. A faint worry tugged at them that Edward might have encountered someone—or something—beyond his control, but they pushed that thought aside.

  They arrived quickly, and what they found was unsettling. Several monsters lay dead on the ground, their wounds so precise, almost surgical, as if inflicted by a skilled and methodical hand.

  A short distance away, the teachers finally spotted Edward. He was sitting atop a small mound of ice, staring blankly into space. Though visibly roughed up, he appeared unusually calm and in perfect health, with no hint of fear or distress. The sight was so unexpected that one of the teachers, still in disbelief, called out his name.

  “Edward! You… you’re all in one piece, thank goodness,” one teacher exclaimed, hurrying over with the others. “What on earth happened? Where did you run off to?”

  Edward slowly raised his eyes, keeping a neutral expression. He knew he couldn’t reveal the truth without stirring up more trouble. “I just went a bit too far…” he lied casually. “There were more monsters than I expected. I got a little distracted and took a few hits.”

  One of the teachers frowned, examining the wounds visible under Edward’s torn sleeve. “Did you even stop to think about the risk? Going off alone in a Dungeon… can’t you understand when to hold back? You have no idea how dangerous it is to act like this!”

  Edward stayed silent, his gaze distant. His apparent calmness only irritated the teachers, who exchanged uneasy glances.

  “You can’t keep acting like a fool, just hoping it’ll always turn out okay,” another teacher pressed. “We don’t care how good you are at fighting, Edward—if you don’t learn to respect the dangers you’re facing, you’ll just end up getting yourself into serious trouble.”

  But Edward didn’t respond. He gave a slight nod, accepting the scolding in silence without adding a single word. His face remained expressionless as he rose calmly, ready to follow the teachers out. The teachers, puzzled by this unusually quiet attitude, watched him warily. He wasn’t protesting, he wasn’t making a scene; it was as if the whole experience had simply rolled off his back. Yet a shadow of something darker flickered in his eyes.

  In reality, beneath that calm facade, a storm was brewing inside him. Edward felt humiliated. Every fiber of his being buzzed with intense irritation at the memory of the defeat he’d suffered. He had never met anyone like that thief—someone weaker than him, but who could hold his own against him and then disappear into thin air, leaving him lying on the ground, alone and hurt. Every scratch, every bruise seemed to burn even more at the thought of how the other had bested him.

  The anger consumed him, but beneath that layer of frustration, a spark of excitement lay hidden. Part of him yearned to face that opponent again, to square off until they reached a final showdown. He imagined his hands around the neck of the one who had dealt him what felt like the greatest humiliation of his life. He’d prove, to that thief and to himself, who Edward really was.

  The thief slipped out of the Dungeon, using secret passageways provided by his “allies.” Outside, the night was cold, and as he quietly made his escape, the warmth of adrenaline began to fade, leaving room for pain that now cut deeply. Every step he took reignited the agony of his wounds, which burned like red-hot blades digging into his flesh. Each time the rough fabric of his clothes scraped against the still-open cuts, a sharp sting forced him to stop, struggling to breathe.

  “Damn it… The master won’t be happy about this…” the young man muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth to suppress the pain. With uncertain steps, he moved toward his destination—Tokyo’s Fifth District, notorious as one of the city’s most dangerous and corrupt areas.

  The entire neighborhood was a shadowed zone forgotten by the government, ruled by the law of the strongest. Here, abandoned buildings with broken and blackened windows faced streets littered with trash, while from narrow, damp alleys rose a sour, persistent smell of mold and rusty metal. The air was heavy and oppressive, and people moved furtively, keeping their gazes down, avoiding each other as if they feared recognizing a reflection of themselves in others.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The young man wasn’t an unfamiliar face in these alleys, and that constant sense of danger had become almost second nature to him. His lean but solid figure, with muscles taut under his dark skin, moved gracefully despite the wounds. His face, now partially hidden by a dark mask, revealed amber-colored eyes, cold and watchful, like those of a predator.

  At the end of a dead-end alley, he entered a dilapidated, grimy building filled with pungent, unbearable odors: chemical mixtures, sweat, and the stale stench of accumulated dust. It was in this run-down building, with its moldy walls and deep cracks revealing decay and neglect, that enhancement drugs were produced for the black market, sold to those seeking to push beyond human limits—even beyond the limits of the Reapers. The acrid smell, which would once have made him recoil, had become so familiar to him that he almost associated it with the concept of “home.” He moved through the corridors as though he no longer felt that stifling stench, now just part of his routine.

  Once in a safer area, far from prying eyes, he removed the mask, revealing a face marked by battle and fatigue. His black, short hair was neatly trimmed, as if recently cut for a new mission. His amber eyes, now unmasked, gleamed with a wild, almost brutal determination, while his square chin and slightly hollow cheeks lent his face a harsh, resolute look, accentuated by his dark skin, which made his appearance all the more enigmatic. His skin was smooth and taut, and his chiseled features gave him a dangerously magnetic allure, as though he could have been a model—a striking contrast to his life of deception and stealth.

  After navigating the short, grimy corridor, he finally reached a dimly lit room where his master, Fei Long, awaited him. Fei Long was a severe-looking man, his face etched with the marks of years of battles and unyielding discipline. He wore simple yet dignified robes, and his dark, intense eyes seemed to pierce into him, weighing the young man like an artisan scrutinizing an unfinished work.

  “At last you’ve arrived, Ryu. You’re looking pretty battered, boy,” Fei Long said, his cold, resonant voice echoing in the room. His eyes inspected each cut, every abrasion on Ryu’s hands, with an experienced gaze that quickly identified the cause of each superficial and deeper wound.

  Ryu, though respectful, couldn’t hide a hint of bitterness. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his gaze fixed on the ground, as if he could still see his opponent’s face in his mind. “I apologize, Master. This time, I ran into a rather difficult enemy…” he murmured, trying to keep his tone steady despite his fatigue.

  Fei Long continued to observe him without moving, until his gaze fell on the sack Ryu still held in his hand. After a few moments of silence, he gave a barely perceptible nod, letting out an almost inaudible sigh of relief. “Well, at least you retrieved the goods,” he noted, stroking his chin with a calm that felt distinctly judgmental. “But I didn’t expect you’d find someone in those Dungeons capable of giving you that much trouble.”

  Ryu gave a small nod and, trying to keep his composure, opened the bag to reveal the stolen items. “He wasn’t just some random observer,” he retorted, a hint of frustration slipping into his voice. “That bastard was a student from Tokyo’s Thousand Arts Academy. He looked about my age, but he gave me a real challenge. He was probably a Class D+ Reaper, with the Mark Quick Shift… he was fast, Master, too fast. If i didn’t use Divergent Strike—”

  “So you used Divergent Strike?” Fei Long asked, his brow furrowing in a way that made Ryu’s blood run cold.

  Ryu looked down slightly, as if hoping to avoid that question. “W-well… yes, Master… I didn’t have a choice.”

  Fei Long let out a deep sigh, shaking his head slightly. Taking a few steps forward, he placed a firm but impersonal hand on the young man’s shoulder.

  “How many times must I tell you, Ryu? Divergent Strike isn’t a technique for you, not yet. Not only is it hard to control and leaves obvious marks—” here, the Master gestured at the abrasions on Ryu’s hands, “but it’s also a well-known Reaper technique. If anyone finds out you’re using it, they could trace it back to us—back to me. You took an unnecessary risk.”

  Ryu nodded, biting the inside of his lip. Even though he knew the Master was right, there was something he couldn’t keep quiet. “Master…” he began, lifting his gaze, his eyes reflecting both tension and a rare spark of admiration. “That guy… he wasn’t experienced, and he didn’t use any advanced techniques… but he was incredibly strong. As skilled as I am, that bastard was so much faster than me that I could barely defend myself, let alone counter his moves. It’s the first time someone my age has pushed me this hard. I’m frustrated, angry. But at the same time, I can’t help but admire that idiot…”

  Fei Long was silent for a long moment, taking in Ryu’s words. Then he nodded slowly, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “It’s an important lesson, Ryu. Admiring your opponent’s strength isn’t weakness. True strength lies in understanding that every battle teaches you something… even when it requires sacrifice. But if you start using techniques you’re not ready to control, those same battles will eventually consume you. You’ll have to train much harder so you’re not left feeling frustrated like this.”

  Fei Long turned, retrieving a small container from one of the room’s shelves. He moved toward Ryu and motioned for him to offer his injured hands. With measured and careful movements, he began applying an ointment with a scent of herbs and spices to Ryu’s scrapes and abrasions. “This will give you some relief,” he said, spreading the balm carefully over Ryu’s fingers and palms. “But you’ll need to avoid any intense training until you’re fully healed.”

  Ryu immediately felt relief, and his gaze dropped to his hands, now covered in a thin layer of shiny ointment. Fei Long carefully placed the jar back on the shelf, watching him closely.

  “Listen to me, Ryu,” the Master continued with a stern tone, “tonight we’ll have a very important guest: the head of the Hand, Jinsuke Nakamura. It’s rare to receive a visit like this, and I want you to be at your best. Wash up thoroughly, change out of those worn clothes, and stay on guard. This is a night you won’t soon forget.”

  Ryu, caught off guard, widened his eyes. The name Jinsuke Nakamura—the legendary head of the Hand—resonated among the Reapers like a myth, albeit a ruthless one. He was a figure both revered and feared, a man who embodied power and mystery, who had kept a firm grip on District 5 for years. He wasn’t someone you met easily, and certainly not someone who made casual visits.

  Fei Long caught the young man’s surprised expression and offered a rare, almost amused smile. “Yes, Ryu, tonight you’ll be in the presence of Jinsuke Nakamura. Consider it an honor… and a reminder of the power you’re pledging your loyalty to.”