“I don't understand a thing. What part of atrophied brain should one use to think about looking for a single warehouse in an entire district?”
Even though searching for the unknown was Minato's main goal at the moment, hundreds of thoughts consumed his mind, which was already exhausted from brainstorming.
For example, where should he go? By nature, Minato was a hikikomori, but not in the terminal stage where the apartment is littered with trash and the task of going outside and touching the grass becomes akin to the task of killing the demon king.
That's why Minato had been wandering around Ota for an hour, climbing onto the roofs of houses along the cornices and asking locals for clues.
“Although, if I'm not mistaken, I've been here a couple of times,” Minato muttered thoughtfully. Memories came flooding back of how Aya-nee had dragged him to one of the famous hot springs with black water. Or when he had to drag his guardian home, who was drunk as a skunk after visiting every izakaya.
He could have continued to recall similar incidents if it weren't for the news he was leafing through on the way.
There were more and more cases where people who were inadequate after receiving the serum either lost control of themselves and fell into a coma right on the street, or tried to stage a bloodbath for personal reasons. Even though they tried to hide it, the news still leaked into the information field.
One of the official reasons given was the ability to control the mind and interfere with the thought process, but that was a stretch. Besides, even if that were the case, a person capable of controlling so many people almost without pause should not be made public.
“And it's all because of this junk,” Minato muttered, scratching his head helplessly. Now he was lost both in the area and in his own thoughts.
Even his favorite songs, which he had listened to millions of times and could repeat by heart even in his sleep, screamed relentlessly in his headphones. But they couldn't help him find any semblance of clarity.
“A serial bomber, huh?”
Stumbling upon this interesting case, Minato began reading articles about the explosions, but there was practically no information. Only that the explosion could happen anywhere. In the subway, a shopping center, or even a playground.
He couldn't understand what was going on in the minds of such individuals. Either he was as resentful of those around him as those jerks under the bridge, or his brain had melted from excessive drug use. In other words, psychosis.
"How did it go? When the brain is overloaded with chemicals, stimulants, and training, a person with an unstable psyche can enter a state of psychosis. Aggressiveness, unwillingness to perceive others as full-fledged forms of life."
Minato understood this much better than his peers, but not because he himself was a victim of it. He had seen it many times before. Lack of self-preservation instinct, indifference to other people, lack of self-control, and bright flashes of unmotivated aggression.
At best, such people could expect a scorched nervous system and burnt-out neurons, and at worst, death. But Minato didn't care about the fate of the guy who loved explosions, because everyone is the architect of their own life and demise.
He could have continued to rack his brains over what was happening, but fate had other plans. He finally managed to find a building that more or less fit the description.
A two-story warehouse that looked more like a hangar for agricultural equipment.
“Looks like it's seen better days,” Minato whistled as he approached the building on the outskirts of Ota.
Abandoned, covered with colorful, ugly graffiti, the warehouse appeared before his eyes. A gloomy place, as if forgotten by time, perfect for shooting some kind of horror movie. The gray concrete walls were covered with cracks, like scars, after years of neglect. The once bright blue paint, now faded, peeled off the exterior walls in layers, leaving only rusty stains that looked like boils on a sick person's body.
On the second floor, directly above the entrance, were tall, black windows. Most of them were broken, gaping black holes from which came the faint howling of the wind. Even from the entrance, you could see holes in the iron, dilapidated roof. The only thing that broke the darkness inside were the rays of the early sunset, which allowed you to see a little deeper into the darkness, with dust particles dancing in the air.
Under normal circumstances, Minato would not have taken a step toward this dump, which had long been awaiting demolition. But he had no choice.
Entering through the main entrance with its missing gate, the smell of dampness, rotting wood, and rust hit his nose sharply.
Looking around, he could see broken pallets, dismantled metal racks, the remains of equipment that had once been stored here, truck tires, and boxes of tools covered in dust in the corners, scattered around the warehouse as if after a small hurricane.
“The perfect place for a trap,” Minato thought to himself, pricking up his ears, but all he could hear was someone's heavy breathing from the second floor, which was accessed by a staircase in the far corner. Climbing the old, creaky wooden staircase, Minato could see wires hanging from the ceiling like snakes. Most likely used for lighting. Swaying in the draft, they looked like snakes that could end the life of an uninvited guest at any moment.
The second floor was slightly cleaner than the first, as it was filled with the same wooden pallets, boxes of tools, bolts and nuts scattered everywhere, and piles of barrels with illegible labels in the corners.
But none of this interested Minato. The object of his curiosity was a T-shirt torn to shreds lying at his feet. At first, he thought it had been used as a makeshift rag when the workers were still here. But it looked too clean, and the pattern on it was too familiar. A pug dressed in knight's armor and a helmet with the visor raised.
The eccentric scientist's T-shirt lay torn, as if by wild dogs. Even on the red fabric, he could clearly see dark bloodstains that looked very fresh. Looking up slightly, his eyes followed the bloodstains until they reached their source, which lay ten meters away from him.
“Aranagi?”
The words escaped his lips faster than he realized, but his heart wasn't filled with the same fear he felt when he heard about Aya-nee's hospitalization. Was that cruel of him? Quite. He couldn't bring himself to care about the life of a stranger any more than the situation demanded. But he didn't plan to stand by and do nothing.
Approaching her motionless body, he stepped into the pool of blood surrounding her. Her entire body was covered in cuts, from her wrists and shoulders to her back and legs. Only her face was left surprisingly untouched.
Each of the wounds looked deep enough to be fatal. But the attacker was clearly a professional, because even though bone was visible in each wound, she was still breathing. With difficulty, hoarsely, but breathing.
“Damn, there's so much blood. Gotta get her out of here quickly.”
Time was running out, and if she wasn't carried away, she would rot here. With tetanus. Even the search for the culprit took a back seat. But Minato didn't even have time to reach out to pick up Aranagi and carry her away when a voice he had heard on the gang leader's cell phone came from a dark, unlit corner.
“I was wondering who fate would bring? And it's really just an ordinary kid.”
A click, and a small fire flared up, the faint smell of a lit cigarette began to mix with the rest of the stench of this place. The culprit of today's celebration emerged from the corner. Despite the hellish heat, he was dressed in business attire.
Black trousers and a white shirt with half the buttons undone, over which he wore a white raincoat without a single stain. Each of his fingers was tattooed with Celtic runes, as if he had just left a tattoo parlor. The runes were on every finger except the ring finger of his right hand, which had a tattoo of a ring. He had short, slightly tousled raven-wing-colored hair, shaved temples, and a piercing in his left eyebrow. A smoldering cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, swaying in time with his words.
Minato froze. But not out of fear, but out of surprise. Normally, he could sense someone's presence, as if with a sixth sense. But he had no idea anyone else was there until the observer decided to reveal his location. Like a natural-born predator hiding in the shadows, he decided to show himself in order to play with his prey.
“I think it would be pointless to ask if you did it,” Minato muttered, clenching his teeth.
“That would be foolish. We're not characters in a game who try to stretch out the running time with endless questions,” the man said haughtily. He looked no older than twenty, but he looked and behaved like a battle-hardened veteran.
“You're right. Just be kind enough to satisfy the kid's curiosity. Why the hell did you call me here? To show off a battered woman? Like a cat that brought a dead bird to its owner?”
“No. The reason is much simpler. I wanted to see with my own eyes the man who messed up my plans. And, as it turns out, you're involved with her too.” The stranger nodded toward Aranagi, who was lying on the floor like a worn-out rag doll.
With every word that came out of the mouth of the man opposite him, Minato felt something bursting out. It wasn't fear of an unknown enemy with unknown powers. It wasn't even excitement before battle.
It was rage. Rage at the man who had cold-bloodedly tormented Aranagi and then behaved as if he were at a picnic in the park, ignoring everything around him. As if he didn't want to ruin the picture of a world that was so easy to understand.
“I have no idea what's going on here. I don't know what your beef is, but...”
“My beef? Ah, it's simple,” the man replied lightly, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Some people don't like the research Ms. Aranagi is doing. I'm here to settle the conflict. The easiest and most effective way is to eliminate her in a dark corner. That is, here.”
Something clicked in Minato's head. At the very least, he began to understand the essence of what was happening. Based on what he said, this guy was sent here to stop Aranagi's research, presumably by the creator of the serum himself, who wanted to remove the obstacle.
Realizing this made being in the same room with this guy even more unbearable.
“Well, I should have guessed you weren't one of the good guys. Who ordered this?” Minato asked, clenching his bleeding fist tightly.
“Do you think I'm completely underdeveloped? To squander secret information like that to a random kiddo?” he said calmly, not wanting to engage. But after a couple of moments, he thought for a moment, rubbing the back of his head.
“Although... how about an exchange of names?”
“Why the sudden generosity? You don't seem like the talkative type. On top of everything else, you wounded her from the shadows. You don't reek of blood, which only proves that you're nothing more than a scavenger,” Minato snapped, kicking a nearby nail toward his enemy, who dodged it with a simple tilt of his head.
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“You're not a stupid kid. You're right, I'm not one for idle chatter. But you came here in search of the truth, even though you're still a wet-behind-the-ears kid. However, I can't cut you any slack, I'm sorry. And for collaborating with Shinso, I'll bury you right here.” With a deliberately false bow, the man jumped off the barrel he was sitting on.
He was repulsive to Minato, callous, cynical, and believed only himself to be right.
With a snap of his fingers, he sent a smoldering cigarette butt toward Minato, whose attention shifted to the flying object for only a fraction of a second. The thought that his enemy was a pyromaniac quickly left his head when his gaze returned to its original position. Only he was no longer there.
No silhouette, no sound of footsteps, no smell of cigarette smoke, not even a presence. It was as if he was alone again with the half-dead woman, and this man had never been there. As if it were nothing more than a mirage.
However, his delusions were dispelled again when, a few meters away, Minato felt an unnaturally strong thirst for murder. It was as if he had been transported to a safari where he himself was the prey.
Instinctively, he kicked backwards, but all his foot touched was air. His foot was bleeding from a fresh laceration that burned like red-hot metal.
“What the hell?” The words escaped his mouth. He didn't even feel anything cut him.
But the wound was all too real. And the burning sensation was the clearest confirmation of that.
Minato didn't know where the next blow would come from or where it would be aimed. It was impossible to predict the direction of the attack when there was no enemy.
“Invisibility? A cheap trick, perfect for a rat like you.”
Even though Minato snapped back, he knew perfectly well that the advantage was clearly not on his side. And rushing to pull Aranagi out as quickly as possible would only lead to more mistakes, each of which could very well be fatal.
A sharp pain paralyzed him when something pierced his right side, closer to his liver than he would have liked. Just a couple of centimeters, and it would have been extremely bad.
“Invisibility? I'm offended. This is called complete concealment of presence,” a mocking voice sang from the void.
As if turning off the predator's camouflage, Minato's enemy gradually began to appear before him, his hand still sticking out of his body. Like a spear, it went right through him. As if his body were not a pile of flesh, organs, and bones. But only a tightly stretched sheet of tengioshi, which even a breath of wind could tear.
"Even hired killers like me have a kind of code of honor. Before death, I tell my victims my name. It's a bad habit I never managed to get rid of.“ A haughty smirk spread across his face, just a few centimeters from Minato's, staring straight into his rotten soul. ”Suoh Takeshi. Nice to meet you, now kindly die."
For just a moment, he looked into Minato's eyes.
He didn't know what to expect: fear, anger, confusion. After all, he was only facing a child. A child whose life he would have to take.
But there was not a spark of emotion in his eyes. They seemed to belong to a doll, detached from reality, watching from the sidelines with a vacant gaze. No emotions, no groans or sobs of pain.
The boy he had stabbed showed no human emotion, even in a situation where his life was hanging by a thread. And, to some extent, it made him shiver. But there was no time for compassion or fear of taking someone's life.
His other hand, without hesitation, aimed at Minato's heart, seeking to pierce it without doubt. Like the cursed weapon of Cú Chulainn, the hero of Irish mythology. In just a couple of moments, Minato's burning agony would end in a quick and swift death. At least, that's what Suoh thought.
In reality, Minato grabbed his enemy's hand, squeezing it tightly, as if in a bear trap. The attack that was supposed to tear his heart to pieces and end his suffering stopped halfway, and no matter how hard Suo tried, his hand would not move.
“Dream on, you bastard. As if I would die at the hands of someone like you,” Minato sneered contemptuously.
Pulling on the assassin’s arm, Minato pulled the stunned Suoh closer until he grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into Suoh's bridge of the nose in a desperate attempt to crush his skull. Again and again, Minato's head slammed into the killer's face like a cobblestone, with the clear intention of turning the scumbag's face into mush.
After a brief shock, albeit slightly disoriented by Minato's sudden resilience, Suoh struck the student's wounded side with his knee. Again and again, he crushed the wound under his knee, as if trying to pour a kilogram of salt into a festering wound, just to cause as much pain as possible. Unable to bear it, Minato loosened his grip for a split second, allowing Suoh to push himself away and disappear into invisibility.
“What? Not so brave now, are you?” Minato asked sarcastically. But in reality, things were not so rosy.
Even though his attempt to kill him with two blows had failed miserably, he had still managed to significantly weaken Minato, who was clutching his bleeding side and breathing heavily. Even if his face remained emotionless, he was definitely in pain. But it was nothing compared to the horror he felt every time he fell asleep. Compared to his daily agony, this wound was nothing more than a slight pinch.
But the fact that he could stand calmly on his own two feet was surprising to Suoh, who was fixing his broken nose in the shadows. His ability was not among the strongest, and he relied on the element of surprise and his surroundings. But now that his attempt at a quick elimination had failed, he would have to use every trick in the book to win.
"How is he still standing? I definitely hit his liver, even if only slightly, which is enough to make most people struggle to move. And he's still standing. It's clearly not about muscle,“ Suoh concluded to himself, watching the wary Minato. ”More likely a high pain tolerance.“
”So? Are you going to sit on your ass in the shadows for long? My rendezvous with you isn't the only thing on my list."
Minato's challenge was clear and concise. He no longer perceived Suoh as a deadly threat, because he was not a killing machine. Just a human being. If you hit him, he would feel pain; if you hit him hard enough, you would break a bone. So now this provocation was more like an invitation to dance.
And his partner, it seemed, was not opposed. After a sharp gust of wind carried the light, tart scent of blood to Minato's receptors, he could roughly guess Suoh's location.
The smell spread throughout the room, from corner to corner, to the ceiling at the opposite end of the room, and then to the floor a couple of meters away from Minato. At first, he thought the mercenary was trying to confuse him, but if Suoh was really a pro, that would be too reckless.
“I admit it, kid, I underestimated you. I guess I just got too cocky. After all, no one survived the first blow. From now on, I'll be serious.”
“Shut up. Less talk, more action.”
Swinging in the direction where he smelled blood, Minato felt nothing. Suoh dodged again, and only a quiet, rasping whisper from his lips reached Minato's ears. Only this time, after a sensation similar to a light prick, a cut appeared on his wrist, from which blood gushed. Swinging in another direction, he slashed his shoulder.
Minato was confused. All his senses told him that Suoh was where the scent of blood was freshest. But instead, he only received a new cut that came from nowhere.
Taking advantage of the moment of confusion and seeing his chance, Suoh launched another attack, making a new hole in Minato's body. This time, it was near his kidneys. In a furious attempt to strike back, Minato grabbed the attacker's arm, but the elbow he planned to use to strike Suoh from behind was cut. It was as if someone had stuffed several packs of razor blades into a machine that feeds balls to baseball players.
It didn't take a genius to figure out why Suo was running around the second floor. He was setting traps. Each one was placed in a calculated spot so that Minato couldn't take a step without being injured first.
And yet, despite the pain, Minato overcame himself and grabbed Suoh by the throat, lifting him as if he weighed nothing and slamming his head into the concrete floor. Even if he wasn't as agile, his resilience and explosive power were still on his side.
“Agh!” The air left the killer's lungs from the sharp contact with the floor.
As he swung his fist to strike the fallen enemy, his forearm was slashed by another blade that came out of nowhere, nearly cutting Minato's veins open. Once again, a momentary distraction gave Suoh a chance, which he used to strike at Minato's larynx.
But before the piercing attack reached his throat, Minato parried the blow with the edge of his palm, and then the mercenary was thrown aside. Minato may have been resilient, but such a battle of attrition would sooner or later lead him to exhaustion. Which, apparently, was what his enemy was aiming for.
“Do you think your cheap tricks will help you? You'll have to try harder to finish me off.”
It wasn't just bravado intended to intimidate his enemy. Minato knew the limits of his own body very well, and if necessary, he would take as many wounds as it took. Because he had no right to die here.
His feet, firmly planted on the ground, lunged forward, quickly covering the distance created by the throw. Suoh, still lying on the ground, leaned on his hands, lifted his pelvis off the ground, and swung his leg, aiming for the wounded liver.
He was guided by the rule that required him to end the battle as quickly as possible, which is why he aimed only at the most vulnerable points on the enemy's body, making his attacks very predictable. And a person who always kills with the first attack will sooner or later lose the habit of such endurance fights.
With his own rules, Suoh Takeshi had driven himself into a corner without even knowing it.
Grabbing the leg of the man lying on the ground, Minato stepped on Suoh's torso, holding him tightly pressed into the concrete and crushing his bones like paper. With a deft movement, Minato broke his leg at the joint, causing the guy in white to scream in pain.
Kicking Takeshi in the temple, Minato cracked his skull.
The pain and concussion left Suoh virtually powerless, but Minato had no intention of stopping.
“I don't know what the hell is going on here. But I can say one thing, you're pissing me off.”
The kick landed on Takeshi's crushed ribs, which he tried so hard to protect, but to no avail. The blows were like those of a gorilla, crushing bones and entrails.
With a deliberately wide swing of his leg, Minato allowed Suoh to dodge, shifting the latter's focus to a feint, while the real blow was yet to come. The blow, into which Minato put all eighty-four kilograms of his weight, hit him right in the diaphragm, disrupting the supply of oxygen to his body and crushing his organs. The impact of the blow felt like being hit by a dump truck at full speed.
“If you don't know how to fight, crawl back under the rock you crawled out from.”
After landing a direct blow to the face, Minato crouched down to the floor and swept the ground from under Suoh's feet, his leg tracing a lightning-fast arc and hitting straight for the ankle.
Now that he was defenseless, it was time to deliver the final blow.
Pushing his hands against the floor, Minato lifted his body upward and shifted his balance toward his enemy, literally throwing his body at him, as if doing a cartwheel, which children practice in physical education classes. But this time, he kicked Suoh in the head with both feet, throwing him into the nearest barrels with a loud thud.
He was more than sure that, in addition to a concussion, the last blow could well have cracked his skull. All he needed to do was finish off the man lying on the ground, and he could leave Aranagi.
He rushed towards Suoh, intending to finish him off, even if it meant crippling or killing him forever.
After taking just a couple of steps, Minato saw that his enemy was still smiling arrogantly. So he had no reason to panic. This made him slightly wary, but it didn't stop him for a second. Only three steps separated him from his target when he suddenly heard a slight click, which could only signal a trap ready to take his life.
“I have to finish him off quickly. Otherwise, I'll bleed to death here, and this shit won't even make sense.” Minato mentally cursed himself for his slowness.
He was ready for another blade to strike at his vital points. But instead, a whole network of threads surrounded him on all sides. It was as if he were an insect that had fallen into a spider's lair.
A feeling of déjà vu washed over Minato, because just the day before yesterday, he had also been caught in a web of razor-sharp threads that had nearly turned him into mincemeat in his battle with Makoto. Except...
“Are you kidding? I've been in this mess for a long time.”
Diving down, Minato barely dodged the myriad threads that nearly knocked his head off his shoulders. If he stayed close to Suoh, he wouldn't be able to get out of it, and he would be as good as dead. Therefore, to his own regret, he had to retreat a couple of jumps.
“This is starting to get annoying. Are you out of your mind, you idiot?”
“All means are good in a fight. If I have to be a punching bag to win, I'll accept it. You'd better worry about yourself,” Suoh said with a smirk.
“What?”
As soon as he thought about the words that came out of Takeshi's mouth, the strength left his legs, and he fell to his knees without even realizing it. His body felt like cotton wool, and his body refused to obey him, as if it had gone numb.
Looking down at his legs, he saw two barely noticeable cuts near his Achilles tendons. The skin had turned black, as if it were starting to rot, and a strong chemical smell emanated from the wounds. But his legs weren't the only place where the poison had struck. Looking at the other cuts left by the blades, Minato saw the same disgusting picture.
Veins protruded unnaturally, the skin was blackened, and the wounds still emitted the smell of rotting flesh mixed with poison. The stench was worse than that of a drowned man, causing Minato to suppress his urge to vomit.
“Tsk. What a freak.” Minato grimaced as he watched Suoh slowly trudge toward him.
“I admit, you're not bad. It's just that your emotions have clouded your mind.” Swinging his leg, Suoh kicked Minato in the jaw, causing blood to spurt from his bared teeth. Some of the drops landed on his torn and dirty cloak, which had not a single white spot left on it.
He struck again and again, as if trying to pay back for every injury he had received. Pouring his anger out on Minato, Suoh didn't even notice how close they both were to the second-floor window. But there was nowhere to run.
The fire escape had long since fallen off and lay below, along with a mountain of scrap metal. From rusty nails to rebar.
“Looks like it's the end. You'll never be a hero.” Suoh spat blood mockingly, straight into Minato's eyes.
Even if Minato wanted to snap back, to say something witty, he couldn't. After all, he could only blame himself. For letting his emotions get the better of him, causing him to lose his concentration. And for not noticing the obvious wounds.
His stupidity would be the cause of his demise. But if he was going to go, it would be on his own terms. Gathering all his remaining strength, he tensed his cotton-wool legs and jumped backwards, straight into the window.