"Mister Bald Man," Elena said politely, tugging at the scarred thug's sleeve with her tiny hand, her crimson eyes looking up at him without a trace of fear, "are you trying to hurt my new friend?"
The bald man looked down.
And for a moment, the world stopped.
The child looking up at him was like nothing he had ever seen. Silver hair cascaded around her face like moonlight made solid, catching the fluorescent lights and scattering them into tiny rainbows. Her eyes were crimson—not the dull red of blood, but bright and vivid, like jewels, like something that shouldn't exist in a human child. Her features were so perfectly formed, so impossibly delicate, that she looked less like a girl and more like a painting brought to life.
She was adorable.
Beyond adorable.
The kind of cute that made even hardened criminals pause, made them remember that there were some lines even they shouldn't cross.
He froze.
Hemanth's voice cut through the moment like a whip crack. "You dumbass! Why did you stop?"
The bald man blinked, shaking himself. "Boss... this girl... she's so cute. I can't—I can't hurt her. Not in front of her. It doesn't feel right."
Hemanth pushed past his other men, irritation twisting his features. Because his thugs towered over him, he hadn't been able to see what had distracted his scarred enforcer. Now he stepped forward, ready to berate the man for wasting time.
"We don't have time for kindness," he snarled, his voice carrying the weight of years of violence. "Cops could be here any minute. If they find us, we lose our chance forever."
Then he saw Elena.
He stopped.
Mid-stride.
Mid-word.
The girl before him was... exquisite. There was no other word for it. Silver hair that seemed to glow. Crimson eyes that held depths no child's eyes should possess. Features so perfectly balanced that she looked like something from a dream, from a painting, from a world far removed from this one.
"Look at those eyes," Hemanth breathed, momentarily lost in the sight. "This is what happens when a devil and an angel have a child. Perfect combination."
He stared for another long moment, his criminal mind already racing with possibilities. Then his expression shifted, something dark and calculating sliding into place.
"Bring her too," he ordered.
The headmaster's eyes went wide with horror. He struggled against the men holding him, his aged face pale with outrage. "What? Why? She's an innocent child! She has nothing to do with this!"
Hemanth turned to him with a smile that made the old man's blood run cold. It was the smile of someone who had long ago abandoned any pretense of humanity.
"None of your business." He paused, savoring the moment. "But since you asked—she's too adorable to leave behind. Look at her. Perfect features. Those eyes. She'll make a beautiful bride for my son someday. A trophy. A prize. Something to show the world that Hemanth gets whatever Hemanth wants."
The bald man and his companions exchanged glances.
The bald man reached for Elena, but Hemanth stopped him.
"No, not you." He pointed at the towering giant behind him. "Ban. You take the girl. Your grip is strongest."
Ban—the six-foot-five mountain of a man—stepped forward and scooped Elena into his massive arms. She disappeared against his chest, looking like a doll in the hands of a giant.
And Elena—
Elena giggled.
She actually giggled.
To her, this was still a game. Strange men playing with her, carrying her like she was special, like she was the center of attention. An adventure to add to her collection. She had no concept of danger, no understanding of what these men were capable of, no framework for evil in her four-year-old mind.
The Headmaster struggled against the thugs holding him, his voice rising with desperation. "You're making a mistake! You're going too far! She's just a child!"
But no one in the gathered crowd moved to help.
They had gathered, yes—a ring of onlookers surrounding the scene, their phones raised, recording everything for social media, for evidence, for reasons they couldn't articulate. But none of them stepped forward. None of them interfered. None of them did anything but watch.
They knew who these men were.
Everyone in this city knew.
Hemanth and his crew were infamous—drug dealers, murderers, torturers who had operated for years without ever being brought to justice. Witnesses disappeared. Evidence vanished. Anyone who testified against them ended up dead or wishing they were.
Especially the Ban the gripper. Everyone in this city knew his reputation. He had crushed a woman's head with his bare hands once—actually crushed it, her skull exploding under his grip like an egg, her blood and brain spraying across the walls while he laughed. The memory of that horror kept the crowd frozen, silent, complicit.
Better to watch than to die.
Better to record than to intervene.
Better to let someone else's child be taken than to risk everything.
The crowd parted like water before a ship.
The thugs began to move toward the exit, dragging the Headmaster, carrying Elena toward an uncertain fate.
And Elena—
Elena was still laughing.
"Tall mountain human!" she giggled at Ban, looking up at his face from her position in his arms. "You look like a mountain! Can Elena climb you? Can she? Papa says Elena is good at climbing!"
Ban stared at her, confused by this child who showed no fear, who laughed in the arms of a man who had killed dozens.
He didn't know what to make of her.
Then something happened.
Something caught her eye through the gap in the crowd.
Movement.
Familiar movement.
A face she knew.
Papa.
Elena's eyes went wide with recognition and joy.
She pushed against the arm holding her—the arm of a man who could lift a hundred kilograms with ease, who had crushed skulls with his bare hands, whose grip should have been iron.
The arm moved.
Elena slipped free.
She fell.
From the height of a six-foot-five man, she dropped to the hard floor like a stone, hitting the ground with a sickening thud that should have broken bones, should have produced screams, should have ended in tragedy.
She landed on her side, rolled once, and came to a stop.
For a moment, she lay still.
Then she sat up.
Rubbed her head.
"Ouch," she said, more surprised than hurt, her voice carrying that adorable quality that made everyone who heard it want to protect her.
Ban stared at his own hands, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. "What... how did you... how did you free yourself? That's impossible. No child should be able to—"
Elena didn't wait for him to finish. She was already on her feet, her crimson eyes scanning the crowd, searching for something, someone—
And then she saw him.
Through the forest of legs, past the ring of onlookers, across the sea of strangers—a familiar face. A beloved face. The face she had been looking for since she got lost.
"PAPA!" she screamed, jumping and waving with all her might, trying to make herself seen above the crowd. "PAPA! PAPA! ELENA IS HERE! ELENA FOUND YOU!"
Yuuta heard her.
Yuuta heard her.
Saw her.
His heart stopped and restarted in the same instant.
"ELENA!"
He fought against the crowd, shoving people aside, desperate, frantic, his entire world reduced to the tiny figure jumping and waving in the distance. People protested, cursed, shoved back—but he didn't care. Couldn't care. Nothing mattered except reaching her.
A massive hand reached down.
Grabbed Elena by the head.
Lifted her off the ground.
Hemanth's voice was thunderous with fury. "What the HELL are you doing? Why did you let her go? Are you trying to ruin everything?"
The bald man's face was pale with confusion and fear—fear of his boss, fear of punishment, fear of what would happen if he failed. "Sorry, boss. My grip... it slipped. I don't know how, but it slipped. It won't happen again."
Elena squirmed in his grasp, her tiny hands gripping his wrist, her legs kicking in the air. "Mountain human, let me go! My Papa is right there! Let me GO!"
She pushed against his grip.
His hand started to slip again.
He tightened his grip.
Hard.
Harder than before.
Hard enough to hurt.
For the first time since coming to this world—since leaving her mother's kingdom, since discovering ice cream and Papa's cooking and the joy of being loved—Elena felt pain.
Real pain.
Not the minor discomfort of falling down.
Not the temporary ache of a bump from running into things.
Not the kind of pain that went away if you blew on it and gave it a kiss.
This was different.
This was sharp and hot and wrong.
This was the kind of pain that made her eyes water before she could stop them.
This was the kind of pain that made her tiny body go still, frozen by something she didn't understand.
"Ouch," she said.
Her voice was small.
Confused.
Scared.
All at once.
"It hurts."
She said it louder this time, as if saying it louder would make someone hear, would make someone help, would make the pain stop.
"It HURTS."
The words were quiet compared to the noise of the market.
Almost lost in the chaos of hundreds of conversations, the sizzle of food stalls, the rumble of traffic on the nearby street.
Almost swallowed by the indifference of a world that didn't know and didn't care.
But Yuuta heard them.
Every syllable.
Every inflection.
Every ounce of pain in his daughter's voice.
It hurts.
The words echoed in his mind like thunder.
It hurts.
His daughter was in pain.
His daughter was scared.
His daughter was calling for him.
And something inside Yuuta—
Something deep and ancient and wrong—
Something he didn't know existed—
Woke up.
Ban tightened his grip on Elena's head, his massive fingers pressing against her skull with force that made her tiny face scrunch in pain. "What are you doing? Stop moving around!" he growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder.
The Headmaster struggled against the men holding him, his voice rising with desperation. "You idiot! She's just a child! Let her go!"
But before anyone could react, before anyone could even process what was happening—
A powerful strike connected with Ban's chin.
The sound that followed was sickening—a loud, wet crack that echoed through the shopping center like a gunshot. Bone breaking. Cartilage shattering. The unmistakable sound of violence done right.
Ban, the six-foot-five mountain of muscle who had killed more men than most soldiers saw in war, hit the floor like a felled tree. His body crashed against the ground with a thunderous impact that shook the tiles beneath him. He didn't move. Didn't twitch. Didn't breathe.
Hemanth whipped around, his eyes wide with shock.
The crowd gasped.
It had happened so fast—a blur of movement, a flash of red, and the biggest, strongest man in the group was down.
The other thugs stared, frozen in disbelief. The bald man's scarred face twisted with shock. They had never seen anything like this. Ban was their strongest, their enforcer, the one who ended fights before they started. And he was on the ground, unconscious, his jaw hanging at an angle that suggested it would never work properly again.
Standing over him was a man.
A man with crimson eyes that burned like flames, like fire given form, like something ancient and terrible looking out through human eyes.
"Who the fuck are you?" the man said, his voice cold as winter, flat as a blade.
Hemanth felt a chill run down his spine. This wasn't right. This wasn't normal. The man before him looked ordinary—tired clothes, messy hair, the build of someone who had never thrown a punch in his life. But those eyes... those eyes said otherwise.
He looks like a killing monster, Hemanth thought, and for the first time in years, he felt genuine fear.
He shoved it down.
"You!" he snarled, pointing at the stranger. "How dare you harm my men! Boys, kill that bastard!"
The bald man was the first to move. He had been eyeing the Headmaster, but now he turned toward this new threat, his scarred face twisting into a murderous grin. This was what he lived for—violence, pain, the feel of bone breaking beneath his hands.
He towered over Yuuta, his massive frame blocking out the light, his grip legendary—rumors said he could crush a human skull like an egg. He reached out with both hands, aiming for Yuuta's head, ready to end this quickly.
Yuuta dodged.
Not by much—just enough. The bald man's hands closed on empty air.
Then Yuuta grabbed his hand.
The bald man froze.
He looked down at the grip on his wrist—this weak-looking boy, this ordinary man with tired clothes and messy hair, holding onto him like he had any chance in this fight. A smile spread across his scarred face.
Then he started to squeeze.
He would crush this fool's hand first, make him scream, make him beg. Then he would move on to the rest of him, piece by piece, savoring every moment.
But something was wrong.
He squeezed.
Nothing happened.
He squeezed harder.
Yuuta's hand didn't crush. Didn't break. Didn't even flinch.
The bald man looked up, confused, and met those crimson eyes.
They were like blood.
Like a sea of blood.
Like the agony of a thousand deaths reflected in twin pools of red.
And then he felt it.
His grip was weakening.
No—not weakening.
His hand was being crushed.
Yuuta's fingers tightened around his, slow and steady, like a machine that couldn't be stopped. The bones in the bald man's hand began to shift, to grind against each other, to crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
The sounds echoed through the suddenly silent shopping center, each one louder than the last. The bald man's eyes went wide with agony, his mouth opening in a scream that seemed to take forever to emerge.
"AHHHHH! FUCK! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" His voice rose to a pitch that didn't belong to a man his size, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain.
Yuuta didn't let go.
Didn't blink.
Didn't react at all.
The lean man—the third thug, quick and vicious—saw his chance. He darted forward and drove his fist into Yuuta's head with all the force he could muster.
The punch connected.
Yuuta stumbled back, finally releasing the bald man's ruined hand. But he didn't fall. Didn't go down. Just stood there, blood trickling from a cut on his brow, breathing heavily.
The bald man cradled his crushed hand, his face pale with shock and pain. "Fuck... what the hell is this guy? Is he on something? Fuck, it hurts!"
Hemanth screamed at them, his composure completely shattered. "What the hell are you doing?! Can't you deal with one man?! He broke your fucking bone, you idiot! Kill him!"
The lean man didn't wait for further orders. He moved in, fast and precise, driving punch after punch into Yuuta's abdomen—left, right, left, right, each one landing with brutal force.
Yuuta took them.
One after another.
His body absorbing blows that should have dropped him, that should have broken ribs, that should have ended the fight.
Then he moved.
One punch.
That's all it took.
His fist connected with the lean man's face with a force that seemed impossible from someone his size. Teeth scattered across the floor like bloody confetti. The man's nose collapsed, bone and cartilage rearranging into something that would never be right again. He dropped like a stone, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The bald man stared, his ruined hand forgotten for a moment. "Boss... something is wrong with this man. Something is very wrong."
Yuuta started walking.
Toward Hemanth.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Blood dripped from his hand where the bald man's grip had torn skin. Blood trickled from the cut on his head where the lean man had punched him. He looked like something from a nightmare—a man who should be on the ground, still standing, still moving, still coming.
Hemanth's hand moved to his pocket.
He had something there.
Something he had been saving for exactly this kind of moment.
Something that would end this fight, no matter what this monster was.
His fingers closed around it.
Ready to kill.
To Be continue...
[End of chapter]
Yuuta:
Hey guys, thank you so much! We finally hit 300 collections!
Whew, that's amazing—really appreciate all of you!
Haha, I feel like doing a little happy dance!
Erza:
Tch.
That's nice…
More importantly, did you check the fandom rankings?
I'm ranked #2 now.
Yuuta:
Wait, wait, hold up! I was #2 yesterday!
How did you jump ahead of me?!
This is sabotage.
Elena:
Papa~ Papa~!
Look, look! Elena got 63,000 popularity points!
Hehe~ I win, right? Do I get cake now?
(Yuuta and Erza slowly turn pale. A gloomy aura forms as they crouch in the corner, defeated.)
Yuuta:
Even my own daughter…?
Erza:
Ridiculous… She's just a toddler.
Elena:
Huh? What happened?
Why are you sitting like sad potatoes?
Did someone take your snacks? Mama Papa??