Thug King

The wail of sirens grew closer, exactly as Kenji had predicted. The sound finally broke the spell that held the Suzaku students captive.

"He's right! We gotta bail!" one of them shouted, snapping the others out of their trance.

Rina Sato stood for a moment longer, her gaze fixed on the apartment building. Her mind was a whirlwind. One thought kept repeating itself: I was completely useless. She had arrived like a Valkyrie, ready to defend her chosen man, only to find herself a mere spectator to a one-man demolition. The gap between them was not a gap. It was a chasm. A canyon.

"Rina-sama!" her lieutenant urged, tugging at her arm. "We have to go!"

Rina finally tore her eyes away. She looked at her own army—fierce, loyal, and in this context, utterly irrelevant. A wry, self-deprecating smile touched her lips.

"Alright," she commanded, her voice regaining its authority. "Everyone, scatter! Use the back alleys! Don't get caught!"

Her army melted into the night, leaving the street littered with the groaning, broken bodies of the Kurokami Wolf Pack. Rina was the last to leave, casting one final, complicated look at the building before disappearing into the shadows. Her obsession had not waned; it had transformed. It was no longer the desire for a strong mate. It was the awe-filled reverence of a disciple for a master, a warrior for a god of war.

Inside his apartment, Kenji had woken Maruyama.

"...Senpai? What was that noise?" the big judoka asked, rubbing his eyes, still groggy from sleep.

"A territorial dispute with a local canine-themed organization," Kenji replied as he calmly wiped a small smudge of dirt off his pants. "It has been resolved. You should return home, Maruyama-senpai. It is late."

Maruyama looked out the window and saw the flashing blue and red lights painting the street. He saw the ambulances and police cars. He saw the sheer number of defeated bodies being attended to. His sleep-addled brain struggled to connect Kenji's calm statement with the scene of utter carnage below.

"You... you did all this, Senpai?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.

"There was a disruption," Kenji said simply, as if explaining why he'd had to swat a fly. "I restored the peace."

Maruyama felt a profound sense of uselessness, much like Rina had. He, the mighty shield, had slept through the entire battle. He bowed deeply, his head nearly touching the floor. "I have failed you, Senpai! I am unworthy of being your shadow!"

"You are not," Kenji replied. "A shadow's purpose is not to fight. It is to be present. You were present. Therefore, you have not failed."

This strange, irrefutable logic short-circuited Maruyama's guilt, replacing it with a renewed, even more fervent sense of devotion. His Senpai was not only powerful but also wise and forgiving! He left the apartment with a vow to never, ever fall asleep on duty again.

The incident did not go unnoticed.

In a high-end, discreetly located bar, several men in sharp suits sat around a table, a bottle of expensive whiskey between them. These were not street thugs or high school delinquents. These were Yakuza. Specifically, lieutenants of the Inagawa-kai, the clan that held sway over this section of the city.

One of them, a man with cold eyes and a missing pinky finger named Mr. Tanaka (no relation), was looking at a series of photos on his tablet. The photos were of the aftermath on Kenji's street, sent by a low-level lookout.

"The entire Kurokami Wolf Pack," a younger lieutenant said in disbelief. "Thirty-five men, all hospitalized. Broken bones, dislocated joints... the hospital reports say the injuries are 'surgically precise'. Not a single life-threatening wound, but every one of them will be out of commission for months."

"Kaito's shoulders were both dislocated, and his wrist and thumb were snapped," Mr. Tanaka said, his voice a low growl. "And the one who did this... is a high school student?"

"That's the word on the street," the younger man confirmed. "They say he lives in that building. Some transfer student at Seiryu."

Mr. Tanaka swirled the whiskey in his glass, his mind working. The Kurokami Wolf Pack were a useful, if unruly, tool. They served as a buffer, a source of low-level muscle that the Yakuza could use without getting their own hands dirty. For them to be wiped out so completely, so efficiently, by one person... that wasn't a disruption. That was a message.

"And Sato Rina's crew from Suzaku was there?" he asked.

"Yes. But our informant says they barely fought. They just... watched. They say the kid did it all himself."

Mr. Tanaka leaned back, his cold eyes narrowing in thought. He remembered a story, a whisper from the old-timers in the clan. A legend about a lone enforcer, decades ago, who could dismantle entire gangs by himself. A man who used a forgotten, terrifyingly efficient martial art. An art that left its victims broken but alive. An art they called...

"Ryujin Kankotsu-jutsu..." he whispered the name, a name he hadn't heard in thirty years. He had thought it was just a ghost story, a legend to scare new recruits. The art of the Dragon God.

"Sir?" the younger lieutenant asked.

"Find out everything you can about this boy," Mr. Tanaka commanded, his voice deadly serious. "His name, his history, everything. Do not engage him. Do not approach him. Just watch. If what I suspect is true... he is not someone we can afford to make an enemy of. He might be someone we need to make an ally of."

The balance of power in the city was shifting, and for the first time in decades, the Yakuza were spooked. A new, terrifying piece had just appeared on the board, and they didn't know the rules it played by.

Back in her pristine room, Akari Ishikawa reviewed the police report she had acquired through her father's connections. The details were sparse and confusing, but the outcome was clear. A notorious biker gang had been annihilated.

She cross-referenced it with the frantic, terrified reports she was getting from her network of informants. They all said the same thing. Tanaka Kenji. Alone.

She sank into her chair, a feeling of helplessness washing over her. Her plan to be the "regent" to his "oblivious king" seemed like a child's fantasy. How do you guide a typhoon? How do you build a kingdom around a man who can casually wipe out a hardened criminal gang before bedtime?

He didn't need a regent. He didn't need an army. He didn't need a shield or a sword.

The terrifying truth was becoming clearer by the hour.

Kenji Tanaka didn't need anything from any of them.

But she, Rina, Maruyama, and soon, the entire city's underworld, were beginning to realize that they desperately needed him. Whether as a king, a master, a protector, or simply a force of nature to be avoided at all costs, his existence now defined their world.

The Thug King's reputation had breached the walls of his high school. His legend was now being whispered in the darkest corners of the city. And the truly powerful players were starting to take notice.