Chapter 460: Everyone's Here
Guevara pointed downward, drawing attention to the cratered footprint he had
just stamped into the concrete.
At the exact same time—Swish-la!
The Caracal, who had been launched spinning into the heavens, finally plummeted
back down to earth. With a heavy thud, he crashed hard against the distant
pavement.
The blood he had spat out earlier was still settling, showering the surrounding
area in a wide, circular spray flecked with shattered teeth.
A single strike—
Guevara had settled the entire match with one solitary blow!
The inhumanly savage Caracal lay completely still, his jumping and stomping
finally brought to a permanent halt.
All that remained standing was Guevara, the ogre warpaint etched across his face
as plumes of hot, white vapor drifted from his lips.
"—!!"
The sheer impact of that climax left everyone breathless, rooted to the spot in
trembling, absolute silence.
Guevara's eyes shifted sideways toward Ren, his eyebrows lifting in a silent
inquiry as if asking how his "answer" measured up.
Ren swallowed hard, the vivid memory of that explosive rising uppercut flashing
back in his mind. "That... that was insanely cool..."
"Ha! It's rare we get to run a proper two-on-two tag match like this—"
In high spirits, Guevara stepped forward, raising his palm toward Ren in an
inviting gesture.
"Bring it!"
At the low bark, Ren instinctively raised his own hand.
Guevara whipped his right palm forward, meeting Ren's hand in a thunderous,
resounding CLAP!!!
The sharp concussive pop sent an invisible ripple of sound washing rapidly
across every single spectator in the vicinity.
Paklong finally lapsed into total unconsciousness, collapsing flat against the
ground.
Tokita Niko's eyes went wide, while Setsuna Kiryu beside him stood frozen,
entirely robbed of speech.
The low-level street thugs all around swallowed hard in synchronized terror.
As for the various criminal operatives from the Fourth Turtle District hiding
within the crowd, hoping to wait for an opening—their fighting spirit was
utterly shattered, evaporated into nothingness.
Every single person remained paralyzed by shock.
Only Ren stood rubbing his tingling forearm, wincing and shooting Guevara an
aggrieved, grumbling look.
"My hand's burning! That hurt like hell!"
"Ha-ha-ha~~!"
Guevara rested his hands on his hips, his expression entirely unapologetic.
That single display proved too much for the criminals of the Fourth Turtle
District. One by one, they began backing away.
Some of them were so thoroughly terrified they had lost bladder control, warm
urine soaking straight through their trousers in a steady stream.
Without waiting for orders, they turned tail and bolted, no longer caring about
blown covers, contingency plans, or master strategies.
The grueling war of attrition that could have theoretically worn down Tokita
Niko—the elaborate multi-pronged trap—was utterly meaningless against the
overwhelming presence of Ren Shiroki and Guevara!
These guys aren't human!
Since strategy was entirely off the table, staying behind meant courting death.
Within moments, the forces of the Fourth Turtle District completely dissolved
into a panicked rout.
With Paklong and the Caracal—IDEAL's two premier martial assets—both thoroughly
wrecked, the Fourth Turtle District's assault force had suffered catastrophic
losses and was forced into a full, panicked retreat.
Guevara reached into his pocket, pulling out his bandana to wipe the
mud-and-blood warpaint off his face before re-tying the cloth neatly around his
head.
"Hah!"
He let out a long breath, casting a casual glance toward the unconscious Paklong
before calling out to the distant gang members.
"We can't have bodies littering the street. Do me a favor and haul this assassin
character over to the hospital, then call the local authorities—let the public
police deal with him."
"..."
The thugs nodded frantically, hastily cobbling together a makeshift stretcher
and scrambling to haul the comatose Paklong away.
Stretching his neck with a lazy yawn, Guevara rubbed the sleep from the corner
of his eye. "The weather's too nice; I'm going back to finish my afternoon nap—"
Just as he turned to leave, he caught Tokita Niko staring straight at him with
the sharp, burning gaze of a true warrior.
Guevara paused, blinking in thought. "Oh-oh! Are you Mr. Niko?"
"It's Ohma. Tokita Ohma..."
Ohma's eyelids drooped lazily. "We literally shared a meal together just last
night. Did you seriously forget me already?"
"Oh~! How could I? You're Ren's buddy!"
"Yeah..."
Guevara chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Though that name's a bit complicated.
Is it named after a district in The Inside? Did you pick it up yourself?"
Hearing that, Ohma lowered his head with a faint smile. "No... Tokita Ohma—that
was a name given to me by my master."
Reading the expression on Ohma's face, Guevara understood instantly.
"I see. From the look on your face, I take it you really cherish that name?"
Guevara pulled his jacket back on, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Your
master must've been a pretty free-spirited guy. And the bond between you two
must've been something special."
"...Yeah, I suppose it was."
Ohma nodded honestly.
Then, his gaze drifted back to the distinct styles of combat Ren and Guevara had
just displayed.
"You two... are ridiculously strong..."
"Two completely different fists, two completely different styles. But both
packed with terrifying weight."
Ohma drew in a deep breath, offering a respectful nod to both Guevara and Ren.
"Thanks."
"If you guys hadn't stepped in to keep those boring bastards off my back, I
wouldn't have been able to throw myself completely into that fight without
holding anything back."
At that moment, Kiryu started drifting back toward Ohma like a stray magnetic
particle, only to be firmly shoved away by Ohma's massive hand.
Ohma let out a heavy sigh, shooting a sideways glance at Kiryu.
"—Settling things with this guy right here... at our starting point feels
right."
"With that out of the way, I can finally move forward with a clear conscience.
As for him... well, what he does next is entirely his own choice."
Across the way, Kiryu's "auditory hallucinations" had finally subsided. He no
longer projected the image of Tokita Niko onto everyone he met, and the quiet
stillness had allowed him to finally cool down.
"Anyway... thanks, Mr. 2."
Faced with the gratitude, Kiryu chose silence, keeping his thoughts locked
tightly behind his teeth.
Guevara shook his head with a warm smile. "Don't sweat it. After all, this is my
turf—and besides, that turned out to be a surprisingly entertaining piece of
afternoon entertainment."
"—Your turf?"
A voice chimed in with a challenge.
Guevara traced the sound to find Ren standing right beside the cratered
footprint he had just excavated into the pavement, inspecting the indentation
with genuine, intellectual curiosity before sweeping his gaze over the
neighborhood.
"Strictly speaking, this sector is the Three Wolves District. It's my turf."
"From that perspective, Mr. Guevara, you actually stomped that footprint right
onto my property."
Ren bared his teeth in a wide grin. "That means you and I are—"
Before Ren could finish his sentence, Guevara playfully cut him off, "—'About to
walk down the aisle together'? Yeah, count me out of that wedding!"
"However—"
Guevara's tone shifted, his expression hardening into one of sharp intent. "If
you're looking to pick a fight over territory, that reason works just as well
for me."
"Wind or no wind—if you want to throw down right here, right now—I'm ready
whenever you are."
"..."
The moment those words dropped, the atmospheric pressure in the immediate
vicinity spiked violently. The air itself seemed to warp, churning into an
invisible tempest swirling directly between Ren and Guevara.
—!!
Ren's eyes widened, a sharp brilliance flashing fiercely in the depths of his
pupils.
The air grew thick with gunpowder.
Right at that critical juncture—RUMBLE!
A heavy, echoing impact slammed into some massive piece of structural metal
nearby.
Everyone snapped their heads toward the source. Over near a distant cluster of
ruins lay a slanted concrete ramp leading downward into the "Underground
District," its entrance blocked by a colossal, rusted iron bulkhead door.
As established, The Inside featured a vast "Underground District" that spanned
nearly as wide as the surface level, composed of multiple subterranean tiers
housing a multitude of formidable fighters.
Various transit tunnels connected the surface to the depths below; some were
controlled by local street gangs, while others had been abandoned and sealed
away for years.
The massive iron gate everyone was staring at was caked in thick layers of grime
and dust, clearly having remained untouched for a long time.
Right now, however, the lower left corner of that heavy bulkhead door was
visibly buckling outward, warped into a sharp, protruding bulge as if something
heavy had just hammered against it from the other side.
Had it been pried open with heavy crowbars?
—No.
It had been punched out!
From that newly ruptured gap, four thick, chocolate-toned fingers shoved their
way through the steel.
—?!
Before anyone could process the sight, muffled voices drifted through the tear
from the other side of the gate.
Two individuals seemed to be conversing, one of them sounding particularly
panicked.
"Mr. Oliva, please stop tearing up the floodgates! We need a physical boundary
separating the surface from the underworld, otherwise those thugs are gonna run
amok!"
"What's the harm? Besides, the underground sector's already forfeit anyway—might
as well listen to me and let the surface and underground live together in
peace~!"
With a casual laugh, those four dark fingers gripped the jagged edges of the
steel and pulled.
Kragh-la-la—!
Accompanied by a teeth-gritting shriek of tearing metal, the entire multi-ton
bulkhead door was ripped straight open from the side, bending and folding back
like a sheet of cheap paper.
Everyone froze.
Pure human strength? Ripping open a bulkhead door?
That was a bomb-shelter-grade blast gate over ten centimeters thick, tough
enough to shrug off artillery fire!
Snap!
The massive hand applied a second surge of torque, horizontally tearing the rest
of the iron barrier completely off its hinges and folding the entire assembly
flat against the wall, clearing a massive entryway.
Crash-shatter—!
Billows of dust and debris billowed into the air, slowly parting to reveal a
figure of exaggerated, monstrous proportions—[Mr. Unchained] Biscuit Oliva.
He had torn open the reinforced gate with his bare hands, cutting straight
through the subterranean layers to bypass Guevara's perimeter and emerge
directly from the Underground District, flanked by a squad of Tokita Niko's
local street thugs.
"Is this where Guevara's been throwing down?"
"And little Ren... is he here too?"
Oliva's round, obsidian eyes rolled back and forth in his head.
The moment he spotted both Guevara and Ren standing in the same courtyard, his
face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. The corners of his eyes crinkled
into a delighted arch as his tone turned smooth, rich, and playfully teasing.
"Well, what a happy coincidence—you're all~~~ here~~!"
Oliva brushed a speck of dust off his immaculate suit jacket, stepping out into
the open courtyard and flashing his signature, ultra-gentlemanly smile.
"Mr. Guevara... and little Ren..."
"While you two were busy squabbling over turf disputes, I got bored out of my
mind, so I took a little stroll through the Underground District and made all
those boys down there promise to behave."
"Coming up from the basement cuts out all the messy surface architecture, you
know. Much faster route."
Oliva raised an eyebrow, sweeping his gaze slowly back and forth between Guevara
and Ren.
"Word on the street is that the two of you traveled all the way to The Inside
specifically because you wanted to pick a fight with me?"
☆☆☆
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