Part 5

  "Well, yes, of course. Where would we be without it?" Minato muttered, standing in the middle of a dark abyss, surrounded by darkness that enveloped him as if it were alive. He tapped his foot impatiently, as if waiting for a late train, but in reality, he had been waiting forever for the army of the dead to appear and tear him to pieces.

  But that didn't happen. Not even the door appeared, behind which the corpses would begin to tear him apart. And for some reason, the waiting was much more painful than the process of being disemboweled.

  After all, he always knew what to expect from his dreams. That's why he was used to the pain. Even having his joint put back in place didn't cause him any discomfort.

  But now, when everything was going according to a different scenario, he was filled with anticipation of another painful death in his sleep. The silence was as sharp as a razor blade.

  “What will it be this time? Will there be a concert of idols, and a crowd of forty-year-old men with glowing sticks will crush me like a cockroach?” Even though he said it with a sneer, he would not have been surprised if that were the case.

  The ripples on the tar that appeared from his stomping began to reflect a light that was unnaturally bright for this place. So unusually bright that it would be comparable to looking directly at the sun without any protection.

  “Yeah, so it's not a concert. I don't even know whether to be happy or afraid.”

  Minato slowly walked toward the purple glow in the distance, which practically blinded him. The thought flashed through his mind that this was exactly how a moth flying toward a flame must feel. To his surprise, he discovered a wisteria tree whose leaves shone so brightly, as if they had been rubbed with phosphorus.

  They felt real to the touch and looked like real branches. However, the smell coming from them was not pleasant at all.

  It was as if someone's rotting, bleeding entrails had been hung on the branches of a beautiful tree for all to see. That's how bad they smelled. However, the inhabitants of this endless void smelled about the same. Thanks to them, he had already developed an immunity to the gag reflex in such cases.

  “Hm? What's this?” he wondered, seeing several chestnut curls of hair hanging from the branches. Suddenly, the theory about disemboweled people hung on a tree no longer seemed so crazy.

  Pulling on the hair, a mutilated woman's head fell into his hands. The face looked as if it had been melted in acid, but the hair was intact. Long, silky, chestnut hair with a slight scent of cheap strawberry shampoo.

  “Now that's a blow to the balls,” Minato hissed, squeezing the skull until it crumbled to pieces, not wanting to see this fake homage to someone dear to him.

  He understood at first glance. Whoever created this place today, whether out of guilt or growing paranoia with hints of schizophrenia, the author of this vile art house had only one goal. To shove Minato's face into his greatest fear.

  To dispel the illusion and prove that even those he tries to protect at all costs can die, regardless of the efforts made. And with that realization, the veil of the beautiful, blossoming wisteria tree disappeared, leaving only a long-rotten pole with dry branches tied with rotting entrails, tied in a noose for hanged men.

  “You want to humiliate me, don't you? It's okay, it's not the first time.”

  As if on cue, when the last hair fell into the resin through his fingers, hundreds and thousands of executioners, Minato's eternal companions in his dreams, burst out of the depths of darkness.

  “You're really taking a long time this time. You're losing your grip...”

  Before he could finish, his head slipped through the noose, and hands, as if sewn together from thousands of bodies, grabbed his legs and pulled him down, trying to finish Minato off as quickly as possible.

  Surprisingly, the branch did not break under the weight of the army of the dead, the dry tree was still as strong as a mighty oak in its prime.

  Unable to bear the pain and suffocation any longer, Minato only looked arrogantly at his killers, who were tearing his flesh in an attempt to stuff it into his mouth.

  “You missed this taste, this nectar, didn't you?” they growled in unison with thousands of hoarse voices merging into a single melody of primal horror.

  They clearly savored every moment of his agony, absorbing every drop of blood and every inch of his body. But he would be damned if he let them end it like this.

  “No way. I'll leave on my own terms. And I'll beat the crap out of the scum responsible for this damn serum.”

  With these words, Minato bit off his tongue, voluntarily hastening his own death. A few moments later, life left the hanged man's body, and with it, he awoke from his sleep. The hand he was used to wiping sweat from his forehead with was now tightly gripping his throat, as if embodying his desire to continue strangling himself.

  “It's not getting any easier,” Minato muttered, tilting his head to the side. The sun had long since risen in the sky, which meant it was time to act. He had already made a plan of action, so it was time to go to Shibuya and kick the asses of a couple of thugs.

  Or maybe not. What he hadn't taken into account was one interesting fact. Even though there were always plenty of people here during the day, after all, it was one of the largest and most popular areas, where there was no shortage of students, workers, revelers, and tourists. It would be more effective to come at night. When the area really comes alive. More people on the streets meant a better chance of dragging interested parties into an alley for business negotiations on the purchase of serum. And at 10 a.m., there was nothing to do here. Except maybe buy clothes, which Minato was obviously not into.

  Even now, leaning back against one of the many vending machines, he was dressed in the first things he found in his closet. A pink T-shirt, light-colored jeans, and sneakers, which he hardly ever takes off due to his hectic lifestyle. That was the height of fashion in his dull eyes.

  “And I can't go to the pachinko hall, they won't let me in. Arcades are out of the question, because going there alone is like shitting in company...”

  Lost in thought, Minato lazily kicked the vending machine until a drink that Tsuna disliked so much fell out of it. Speaking of Tsuna, Minato couldn't just tell him that he was going to investigate in an attempt to find the culprit behind the distribution of the hated serum. So he claimed to be feeling unwell due to lack of sleep from constantly running away from Makoto.

  “What is he complaining about? It tastes pretty good,” Minato thought to himself, lazily sipping from the can. The sharp taste of the cold drink pleasantly burned his tongue.

  In a moment of calm, he couldn't help but remember yesterday's incident and the words that he couldn't get out of his head all day. He was really just driven by curiosity. He had no other reason to delve deeper into the investigation of the drug's appearance. It was all for the sake of preserving the illusion he had created for himself. If it didn't affect his loved ones, then he shouldn't care. At least until last night.

  Only when the person most dear to him suffered from this scourge did Minato decide to do something. Back then, in the cafe, he thought he was invincible, that he could always protect Aya-nee from anything. So there was no need to worry. But reality is cruel, and it forced him to face the consequences of his arrogance.

  Only when he saw the injured Aya-nee did he decide to act. So he was nothing more than a selfish hypocrite. Minato considered it unacceptable only when the trouble affected him personally.

  Realizing this simple truth, which even a child could understand, he felt particularly lousy.

  “And what's worse, I'll have to tell her to her face that she was right. Oh, life, you heartless bitch.”

  Lazily sipping soda that burned his throat, Minato watched the crowd intently. Including all sorts of suspicious individuals who could be involved in the atrocities. Like horror on the wings of night. Or day. It didn't matter.

  At first, he thought about hacking into the surveillance camera network, since they had been installed on every corner after the crime rate had risen. But after much deliberation, Minato decided that without dozens of pairs of eyes, it wouldn't be worth it. Instead, he could simply focus on a few areas that he could cover.

  And so time passed, thousands of people walked by without even noticing him, which played into his hands. His patience paid off when he had already lost all hope of finding the culprits. And, for the first time in his life, luck smiled on him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Minato noticed a nervous schoolboy who, looking back, entered one of the alleys.

  “Couldn't be more suspicious. Master of conspiracy, my ass,” Minato muttered, clenching the half-empty can as he followed young Sam Fisher.

  The alley was no different from dozens of others like it. Empty beer cans were scattered around after a night of partying, along with other trash.

  Although, to be fair, his apartment looked no better when Aya-nee held her occasional alcohol-fueled parties. The only thing missing was cigarette butts.

  “No way, I have enough of this nightmare in my everyday life. I'll pass,” Minato mentally shuddered at the memories.

  As soon as he turned the corner, Minato heard the characteristic sound of a trash can being knocked over. Along with it, a schoolboy who had wandered into the alley fell to the ground. Standing silently around the corner, Minato decided to wait and watch the situation unfold.

  About five bullies surrounded the boy and kicked him back and forth between them, as if playing a game of square. One of them counted the money in his wallet with an arrogant smirk.

  “Seventy, eighty, eighty-two thousand yen? Not enough, kid,” one of them said mockingly, as if relishing his position.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "B-but you said the serum would cost eighty thousand! I brought it! Isn't that enough?!“ the boy asked, his face tear-stained and his voice trembling with pain and fear.

  ”Huh? Ah! The prices have gone up. We forgot to tell you. Now it's a hundred thousand. You understand, demand is high. And we all need to make a living.“

  ”Th-then give it back! I'll bring more!“ The student was already reaching to take his wallet back when his hand was swept aside by a tentacle, which was what the hand of one of the less intellectually gifted members of the group had turned into. The slap was followed by a punch to the jaw from the leader, which knocked out the guy's tooth.

  ”Nope. That won't work. You didn't fulfill our request right away. Consider this a small penalty. Or should we shove a shovel handle up your ass again? I didn't know you missed that feeling so much."

  Unable to stand by any longer, Minato sighed extremely loudly, attracting the attention of the alerted thugs.

  “No, seriously. I didn't know that in real life there are idiots who behave like cartoon villains from comic books,” Minato grumbled, sipping casually from a can. "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you. It doesn't make you look cool. More like a bunch of idiots with eighth-grade syndrome.“

  ”Huh? What kind of brave guy are you? Are you this loser's friend?“

  ”Are you trying to insult me? It hurts to hang out with people like him. I was just passing by. I was just interested in the part about the serum. Are you really selling it?"

  Even though his desire to turn these guys' faces into mincemeat was growing as fast as yeast dough, the lousy little angel on his left shoulder whispered in his ear that it would be better to wait and try to get all the information he could.

  “Only if you buy it. If not, you'll be spitting teeth like this guy.” The gang leader had already swung his leg at the beaten schoolboy, but Minato pulled him up by the collar of his shirt.

  "If I wasn't interested, I would have walked by. Is there really such a demand? All anyone talks about on the streets is this slop." Minato asked, throwing the guy aside.

  Although enraged by Minato's recklessness and indifference, the leader quickly hid his sneer. It wasn't worth losing a potential customer because of his poor self-control.

  “You're serious now? There are plenty of people who want it. Everyone, whether they're incompetent or rich private school kids, is willing to pay a fortune for the chance to become stronger or finally get Special,” the leader boasted with relish, showing off a dozen vials of serum.

  “I doubt that you and your guys are the only ones selling this. There must be several dozen groups throughout the city, considering the speed of distribution. So it's probably made on the fly, in some dirty basement.”

  "Think what you want, but it works. That's all that matters. We don't know who makes it. We're looking for them ourselves. But he or she pays us for it, plus lets us keep the money from the sales. The main thing is to distribute it. And in principle, even if it's donkey urine or manganese solution, they'll still buy it, they're like possessed." The boss concluded, spreading his arms, staring intently and waiting for Minato's response.

  “Well, that's the culture of consumption. Even if you sell them shit wrapped in chocolate candy, after feeding them a bunch of bullshit, they'll accept it. There's just one problem.” Minato muttered monotonously, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  “Hmm? What is it?”

  “If you don't know who's creating, and you're just blind pawns, then there's no need for you. But thanks for being so talkative.”

  Before he could think of anything to say, Minato squirted the remains of the pepper drink into his interlocutor's eyes, causing him to clutch his eyes. Yesterday's comparison of Tsuna's drink to liquid pepper spray was painfully accurate. His eyes seemed to be popping out of their sockets from the pain, which gave Minato a perfect opportunity to attack.

  A fist slammed into the leader's jaw, giving his brain a concussion, followed by a kick to the temple that knocked him off his feet, straight into the nearest wall of the narrow alley, from which he slid down like a bag of trash.

  "Well, looks like it's time to clean up the mess. Who's next in line for Valhalla?“ Minato grumbled, cracking his neck. At that moment, he could have just walked away. But the anger from the pointless encounter with these idiots, plus the need to confiscate the ampoules, left him no choice. ”Oh, right. I'll slap for the kid a couple of times too. No more.“

  ”You bastard! What the hell do you think you're doing?“ roared one, his skin covered with gray stone that protected him like armor.

  ”You just signed your own death warrant!" barked another, spreading his rotten wings, which almost touched the walls of the alley.

  With vicious cries, the remaining four thugs activated their abilities. In a fit of rage, each lost his composure, which would be the cause of their defeat. In such battles, it is important to use any means necessary to win, because in street fights there is no such thing as a forbidden move or honor.

  But an integral part of such skirmishes is having a trump card up your sleeve, in this case, an ability that must be used at the right moment. Of course, if you have a developed ability, like Arnie, there is no need to stand on ceremony. You can knock everyone out in an instant, which she would surely have done in his case.

  However, since Minato can't stand his ability, he will deal with it using traditional methods. With his hands and feet. Doing the only thing he's good at.

  “Wings, tentacles, stone skin. Plus, the ground has become sticky, most likely because of the fourth, but I'm used to that. I think a minute will be more than enough,” Minato thought. And the report had already begun, because the guy with wings rushed at him at full speed.

  But Minato understood perfectly well that betting on such an attack in a narrow alley would be complete idiocy, so he didn't even try to take the enemy flying at him seriously. And he was right in his judgment, because just a couple of meters away from him, the rooster man (as Minato mentally called him) flew up, opening a window for the guy with tentacles instead of hands to attack.

  In an instant, they wrapped around his torso, slimy and sticky, and didn't let Minato go thanks to their suction cups, clinging like leeches, which, in fact, played into his hands.

  “Retaaard.” Minato said arrogantly, grabbing one of the tentacles with both hands. Even though the tentacles and the sticky ground beneath his feet prevented him from moving normally, he could still fight back.

  He jerked the tendrils sharply, like a rope wrapped around him like barbed wire, pulling the attacker toward him against his will. With just three jerks, he was already seven meters away from Minato. A distance he could have covered in one leap if his feet hadn't been stuck. But he didn't need to move from his spot to defeat him.

  Using his physical superiority, Minato lifted the skinny tentacle-wielding creature and slammed him to the ground with all his might, taking him out of the game. It took less than ten seconds.

  Unable to bear such humiliation, the stone man ran forward, sweeping away everything in his path like a tank. Speed didn't matter, because he relied solely on brute force. And given the mass of this individual, the collision would be extremely painful. Simply put, Minato would be finished.

  But even now, his face remained expressionless, and he was still confident of victory. Stepping on the unconscious body of the octopus man, which was stuck in the sticky asphalt, Minato used his carcass as the only available platform to bounce off the wall.

  There, he pushed off with a squeak of his sneakers, jumping right behind the guy who was turning the asphalt into tar through the stone bruiser. As Minato had thought, there was solid ground behind him, because it took an incredible effort for this member of the support team to maintain his ability over a 20-meter stretch. So much so that his capillaries began to burst.“What the hell?” That was the thought that flashed through Minato's mind. But there was no time for doubts. Knocking the enemy off his feet, Minato trampled his face into the ground, taking another opponent out of the game. “You have to protect the support better. That's the first rule,” Minato muttered sarcastically, grabbing the lid of a fallen trash can and aiming it at the rooster man who was watching the scene in a frenzy.

  “I've always wanted to try my hand at pitching,” Minato thought to himself. Calmly crumpling the lid of the bin like a sheet of paper, Minato struck a pose like a professional baseball player.

  Aiming accurately and tensing every muscle in his arm, he threw it. At school, when performing shot put standards, Minato always managed to throw it farther than anyone else, about 20 meters. And considering the difference in weight and density of the objects, it would fly even farther.

  The improvised projectile reached its target, and the tightly compressed piece of iron flew straight between the eyes of the high-flying rooster-man with a dull ringing sound. The latter, having lost consciousness from the impact, fell straight into a trash can filled to the brim with bags of waste.

  “Not bad. At this rate, I could make it into the professional league,” Minato whistled, looking over his shoulder at the stone man who was only a couple of meters away from him. “What do you think?”

  Standing practically right next to such a massive target, Minato had almost no chance to dodge and jump back. But there was no need. His stone skin protected him, but his joints and larynx were still as vulnerable as any other human's.

  With his right hand, he deflected the blow to the side, his palm sliding over the rough stone like sandpaper. With his left hand, his fingers sharpened like a spear, Minato aimed at the two most vulnerable points for a penetrating blow. The eyes and throat. Hitting the eyes was too risky, even though he disliked these scumbags, it was no reason to blind them. Therefore, he aimed for the throat, more specifically the Adam's apple. Although the larynx area was also quite fragile, if he calculated his strength correctly, the damage would be minimal.

  His hand pierced the larynx like a stiletto, with surgical precision.

  The armor did not save him. He grabbed his throat, his eyes widening from suffocation.

  Along with asphyxiation came sharp pain, which would soon end. His left hand, like a snake squeezing its prey, wrapped around his right hand, which was still raised for a blow. Clenching his fist so tightly that it almost broke, he delivered the final blow to the abdominal cavity, right into the solar plexus, the center of the nerve node. The bruiser collapsed like a felled oak, and Minato sent the last one standing to the realm of Morpheus.

  “Thirty-four and a half seconds exactly. Not bad.” Minato muttered calmly.

  But inside, he wanted to scream with delight if he could. After all, he had finally managed to repeat something similar to the fight scenes from the numerous Hong Kong action movies he had watched during his sleepless nights.

  “Well, we've had our fun, that's enough. You can crawl out now,” Minato said, and after a couple of seconds of waiting, a frightened schoolboy crawled out from behind the tank where the rooster man had fallen, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind.

  “Is it over?”

  “As you can see. You can go. Take all their money. I'll take the serum with me.” Minato replied indifferently, rummaging through the leader's pockets and taking a dozen ampoules.

  "B-but that's why I came here! If I don't have Special, I'll remain a weakling! And more scumbags like these will make fun of me!" Even though he was immensely grateful to Minato, he couldn't let him take the ampoules. Not after what he had to do to get the money.

  "You'll be a weakling even with the ability if you decide to remain one. Did I need to use Special to beat up these underdeveloped guys? Just my legs and arms. If you wanted to be strong, you would be without the ability. With it, you'll just be getting revenge for the humiliation, and you'll become a replica of these guys,“ Minato muttered, contemptuously throwing down several wallets he had pulled out of the thugs' pockets. ”Take the money and get lost. Otherwise, I'll knock you out. I'm not in the mood for diplomacy."

  Feeling fear, shame, and humiliation, the schoolboy grabbed the wallets and ran so fast that his heels sparkled. And once again, Minato was alone.

  Sitting on the unconscious body of the leader, who had been knocked out first,

  Minato looked at the bright sky visible through the gap between two buildings. The day was clearly not going well. Extremely not going well, considering his determination to find those responsible for everything that was happening.

  “And where should I look if they don't know anything about the creator?” Minato asked himself. Even though he hadn't gone far into the alley, the noise of civilization seemed particularly distant to him.

  Glancing at the guy who was turning the asphalt into mud, or more precisely, at his bloodshot eyes, Minato realized that this group of five had also gained abilities from the serum. And quite recently. Which is why they didn't know how to use them to their full potential.

  “If they used their abilities more skillfully, it would be more difficult. A bunch of wanna-be idiots.”

  He could have continued to sit and stare into the void if one of the cell phones hadn't rung. By a lucky coincidence, it was the leader's phone that rang, the one with the unplanned listener on it.

  “Unknown number. Spam or encryption?” Minato asked himself.

  But before he could decide what to do, he answered the call. “Hello? The diabetes ambassador is on the line.”

  “Huh? Who are you?” asked a cold male voice on the other end of the line. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to Minato that the creator might still have contact with the distributors. But since he couldn't pretend anymore, he might as well be sarcastic.

  “Oh, sorry. Did you call your boyfriend? I just didn't like his attitude, so I knocked him out. I hope you're not upset about your darling?”

  After a couple of seconds of silence, the voice just sighed wearily. It was as if he was trying to reason with a naughty child who was arguing back at every point.

  “I didn't think she would resort to the help of brats like you. She's losing her touch.” the voice muttered meaningfully.

  "Huh? She? What are you talking about? Although, no, wait. I don't care. Better tell me who you are.“ Minato grumbled in response, guessing the possible identity of his interlocutor.

  ”So curious? Well, you've messed up my plans a little, so if you come, I'll forgive you. Come to the abandoned warehouse in Ota, you'll find it right away, it's covered in graffiti."

  “Are you asking me out on a date? How sweet. I see no reason to refuse. Get your ass ready.” With that last warning, Minato hung up. Rubbing his tired eyes, the thought that he had been talking to the creator of the serum crept into his head.

  But there was no proof, and if he didn't go there, he would never know for sure. Ota had one of the lowest crime rates, so he would have plenty of time to search.

  “The only thing that bastard didn't take into account was the size of Ota. How am I supposed to find a single warehouse in such a huge area?”

  Minato thought long and hard, so much so that steam almost came out of his ears. But instead, he just plugged his earphones in and went to look for the target of his righteous crusade.

  If that voice really belonged to the culprit, he would find him at any cost. Even if he had to turn the entire district upside down. The flame of determination reignited in his dull soul, and so he set off on his search.