The sparse loot they managed to scavenge was barely enough to sustain them, stretching out meager meals over the next two days. By the third day, Haruto found himself settling into the grueling rhythm of the slums. Surprisingly, he was adapting with terrifying speed; the harshness of poverty didn't break him the way it used to, though he remained completely oblivious to the fact that Toya slipped away secretly every night to report back to Lilith and secure high-grade sustenance and updates on his training metrics.
On the third night, feeling the heavy itch for action and the urgent need to stack more cash, Haruto decided it was time to return to the underground fighting circuit.
Before leaving the shack, he looked over at Toya. "Hey, I'm heading out tonight. I'll be back late."
Toya blinked, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Out? Where are you going this late?"
Haruto just shook his head, keeping his cards close to his chest. "Don't worry about it. Just stay here."
Toya narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious, but didn't press further.
An hour later, Haruto stepped into the smoky, chaotic underbelly of the underground arena, the sleek tactical mask securely covering his face. The moment he pushed past the entry tunnel and into the reception corridor, the desk manager's eyes lit up.
"Well, look who's back!" the manager greeted with a wide, eager grin, standing up to get a better look at him. "Echo! Man, your name is blowing up out there in the underground. Word is spreading fast—everyone's talking about how you completely humiliated that brute in your debut match!"Haruto crossed his arms beneath his mask, his voice steady. "I need to ask you something."
Rocky leaned against the counter, a confident smirk on his face. "Shoot. What do you need to know, Echo?"
"The second-round matches only happen once a month," Haruto said, narrowing his eyes. "I can't wait that long. I need to fight now."
Rocky let out a low whistle, tapping his fingers on the metal desk. "Well, technically, the rules say you have to wait out the month for the official Level 2 tournament bracket. But... if you're willing to step outside of standard wrestling, I've got a private gig that pays a hell of a lot better. We're talking 1,000 credits upfront."
Haruto's eyes flashed behind his mask. "A thousand credits? Fine. What's the job?"
"Simple," Rocky grinned, sliding a small digital data-slate across the counter. "You get a target. You take 'em down. How you handle it is up to you, but make sure they stay out of the way for good."
Haruto stared at the slate, then slowly shook his head. "No. I fight in the ring, and I beat people up, but I'm not an assassin. I don't kill people."
Rocky chuckled, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Relax, kid, morality in the underground is a luxury. But if you're gonna be picky, then your only other option is to sit tight and wait out the month for the official Level 2 qualifiers."
Rocky pointed a finger toward the arena doors. "Tick-tock. The clock's running."
Haruto turned to leave the counter, but right as he reached the exit corridor, the heavy steel doors blew open.
A group of thirty heavily armed thugs swarmed into the room, cutting off the hallways. Stepping right through the middle of them was a man dressed in sleek, high-tier futuristic military gear. Just looking at the sheer quality of his armor and weapons made it obvious he was in a completely different tax bracket than anyone in this underground den.
As the man walked in, Rocky's face drained of color. Without a second thought, the promoter dropped straight to his knees, scurrying forward and bowing frantically at the man's feet. "S-Sir! What brings you here—?!"
WHAM!
Before Rocky could finish, the armored man drove a heavy boot straight into Rocky's chest, sending him sprawling backward. The man swayed slightly on his feet, his slurred speech and the sharp reek of alcohol making it instantly obvious that he was completely drunk.
"My... my men are slacking off," the man grunted, kicking a chair aside as he stumbled forward. "I need a terrifying task done. A real job."
Rocky clutched his bruised ribs, struggling back to his feet as the underground bosses and high-ranking fixers who had gathered in the room exchanged nervous glances.
"What kind of job, sir?" Rocky asked cautiously.
"I need an officer taken out," the man slurred, waving a hand dismissively. "Level 18."
A collective gasp echoed through the room. Underground fixers and street thugs usually operated far away from the law, staying safely hidden because they feared the police. But talking about assassinating a military-backed high-level officer? That was completely out of their league. Most commoners in the slums could barely even scratch their way up to Level 15, let alone touch a heavily guarded Level 18 elite.
Rocky swallowed hard, waving his hands frantically. "C-Come on, sir, be reasonable! These kids are just street fighters, they don't have that kind of power—"
Before Rocky could finish, the drunk commander let out a loud, frustrated groan and collapsed heavily into a plush leather sofa. He grabbed a fresh glass of liquor from a passing henchman, slammed it down, and shouted across the dimly lit room, "Is there no real man in this whole damn place?!"
The drunk commander sneered, glaring around the room with bloodshot eyes. "Okay, fine. You bunch of worthless mutts. You won't lift a finger unless a bone is thrown right at your faces, huh? Alright, listen up: whoever pulls off this hit and gets the job done... gets to be the District Manager. I'll personally appoint you!"
The entire room erupted into whispers. A collective gasp swept through the crowd as greed and ambition flared in the eyes of the underground bosses.
Haruto leaned over toward Rocky, keeping his voice low behind his mask. "What does a District Manager even control around here? Break it down for me."
Rocky swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he whispered back, "You're new, so you don't get the scale. Listen: one street has a gang led by a street chief. When three streets group up, they form a sector. A Captain runs that sector. When ten sectors combine, their overall leader becomes a Hotspot Owner—which is what I am. But when five Hotspot Owners pool their territory together... that makes a District Manager."
Haruto raised an eyebrow under his mask. "Meaning a District Manager controls roughly a hundred and fifty streets?"
"Exactly," Rocky nodded frantically. "And when twenty Districts band together, they form a whole Territory ruled by an Overlord. That man over there? That's Newlax. He's a Level 25 powerhouse, and he practically owns this entire side of the city!"
At the front of the room, Newlax smashed his empty glass against the floor, shattering it into pieces as he roared, "What, is there not a single real man here?! Or did you all forget how to stand up straight?!" He slammed a fist into the armrest, sneering. "Last chance! The position of District Manager goes to whoever takes the job. Who's got the guts? Raise your hand!"
Without a second of hesitation, Haruto stepped forward from the shadows and raised his hand straight up into the air.
A chaotic wave of whispers broke out across the room, murmuring in disbelief.
Rocky grabbed Haruto's arm frantically, his voice shaking. "Are you out of your mind, kid?! Even if you outlevel him, that officer is going to be heavily guarded by an elite military squad—you'll be walking straight into a meat grinder!"
Haruto didn't even blink. He coldly brushed Rocky's hand away, stepping out from the crowd and walking straight toward Newlax. Standing right before the heavily armored commander, Haruto raised his chin.
"I'll take the job. I'm ready."
Newlax squinted, his bloodshot eyes focusing on the masked figure standing before him. For a second, a slow, drunken grin spread across his face, and he let out a harsh, booming laugh. "Well, look at that... out of a whole room of stray dogs, a real man actually crawled out of the dirt!"
Newlax gave a casual flick of his hand, dismissing the rest of the room. "All right, show's over. Get the hell out of here, the lot of you."
With murmurs of unease, the surrounding thugs and fixers began shuffling toward the exits, leaving Haruto alone with the commander to finalize the terms of a suicide mission that could change everything.
Haruto watched as the guards and fixers filed out of the room at Newlax's command. Even in his intoxicated state, the sheer aura and authority the Level 25 commander held were undeniable.
Newlax leaned forward, squinting through the dim light. "What's your name, kid?"
"Echo," Haruto replied coolly.
Newlax grunted, then turned his gaze toward the doorway where Rocky was still hovering nervously. "Hey! Rocky, get the hell out of here. I need to talk to him alone."
Rocky swallowed hard, nodding frantically before scurrying out and pulling the heavy doors shut behind him.
With the room empty, Newlax gave a sharp clap of his hands, and a heavy metal chair slid across the floor. He gestured for Haruto to sit.
"I'm ready," Haruto said, standing his ground. "But understand this—I'm not going to kill him out there. I'll capture him, drag him all the way back here to you, and you can decide what to do with him yourself."
A stunned silence fell over the room. Newlax blinked, then threw his head back and burst into a rough, mocking laugh. "Capture him? Kid, are you out of your mind? Taking someone out from a distance is a hundred times easier than trying to haul a living target all the way across the city!"
Haruto narrowed his eyes behind his mask. "Why do you even want him dead anyway? If he's a target, just bringing him here solves the problem."
Newlax's expression darkened instantly, a flash of genuine venom crossing his face. "That bastard has been sticking his nose into my business operations and embezzling funds right out from under me. And to top it off, the self-righteous bastard has the nerve to act all high and mighty and honest!" Newlax slammed his fist on the table, his voice rising.
"I don't want him dragged back here, and I sure as hell don't want him alive. You kill him, you get your reward. If you fail, or waste my time trying to play hero, you die right here on this floor."
Haruto stared at him, a cold realization settling in. He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Wait... hold on. Something doesn't add up here. This whole thing is wrong..."
Haruto's mind raced, a chilling realization dawning on him. In this underworld, killing wasn't just about eliminating a threat—it was a brutal power dynamic. When you destroyed someone, taking away everything they had built was the ultimate rule.
Right on cue, a dark, distorted voice echoed from the deepest recesses of his mind: "Exactly. Spot on."
Haruto frowned, clutching his head under his mask. What are you even saying? This isn't right...
Inside his mental world, the shadowy figure of his inner persona flickered into sharp focus, its voice dripping with cold pragmatism. "Wake up, Haruto. This world is ruthless. It's either kill or be killed—it's all just a game. But remember the rules of this game: there are no respawns here. You grind, you survive, and you treat human lives like loot drops on a field."
Haruto clenched his fists, shaking his head. "No... killing people just because it's a game is wrong."
The voice in his head let out a dark, mocking laugh. "Is it? Then listen to my plan instead..."
Haruto shook his head firmly. "What's the plan? And whatever it is, I'm not crossing that line—killing is wrong."
The inner voice chuckled darkly. "Killing is good, Haruto. It's how power shifts."
"No," Haruto argued back in his mind. "Harming someone innocent isn't right."
The voice paused for a split second, then shot back with razor-sharp logic. "Oh, really? If harming others is inherently wrong, then look at nature. When one creature kills another in the wild, does anyone bat an eye? It's just the way the world works. If taking a life is so evil, why did nature give lions fangs, snakes venom, and scorpions a deadly sting? Why would the universe design a system built on predation?"
Haruto gritted his teeth, firing back instantly. "Right, but lions and venomous snakes didn't give those traits to us humans!"
The voice fell silent for a brief moment, thrown off by the counter-point. But then it recovered, its tone turning cynical. "True. But humans were given something far more dangerous: a brain. With a human brain, we figured out how to seize absolute power. And you know what else weak people did to protect themselves from things stronger than them? They invented laws."
The voice pressed harder, its argument growing uncomfortably sharp. "Think about it. If you poach a rare, endangered species, you get thrown in prison. But if you slaughter a goat, people throw a meat party! Why? Is it because the goat did something wrong? No! It's just because goats are common, and rare species are scarce. Supply and demand. By that logic, if humans are the most abundant species on the planet... how does that suddenly make it wrong to kill a human then?"
The dark voice in Haruto's mind let out a cold, chilling chuckle, pushing its twisted philosophy further.
"Think about the ancient days, Haruto. Back then, when a tribe attacked, they would slaughter the men, take the wives as spoils, and enslave the children. To survive that sheer terror, people had to retreat into dark caves."
Haruto frowned, clutching his head tighter as the voice echoed relentlessly.
"And when predators prowled outside those caves, locks and bars were invented. When thieves broke through those bars, night-watchmen and guards were born. And when the people finally needed someone to protect them from the chaos, they crowned a leader—a chieftain, a hero, a savior."
The voice paused, a sickeningly sweet mockery lacing its tone. "Do you know what created all of that? What built civilization, laws, and power? Fear."
Haruto's breath hitched. "Fear...?"
The inner voice erupted into a manic, echoing fit of laughter that rattled inside Haruto's skull. "Yes! And do you know who gave birth to all those fears? Us humans! Hahahahaha!"
The dark laughter grew louder and more unhinged, ringing like a madman's echo through the empty chambers of his mind.
"When corruption becomes normal, dominating becomes much easier than trying to be a hero."
With that final, chilling thought, the dark voice in Haruto's mind abruptly vanished.
A sharp wave of clarity hit him, washing away the mental fog as fragments of memory rushed back. He remembered everything now—not just the cruel realities of this current world, but the heavy sting of betrayal from his past life. He had spent his entire existence believing he was somehow special, chosen, destined for greatness, only to realize it was all a sick joke. All he ever got in return were lies, fake smiles, and backstabbing betrayal.
A bitter, self-deprecating laugh rose in Haruto's throat, but it quickly hardened into raw, unyielding resolve. Let them play their games. Let the world be corrupt. If playing by the rules meant being a stepping stone, he would tear the whole board apart.
Newlax's rough, impatient voice snapped him back to the present. "Hey! You've been spacing out for a good fifteen minutes. Are you in or out?"
Haruto blinked, his eyes locking onto the commander. "In. Where do I find him?"
Newlax grunted, tossing a small digital map-slate across the table. "Here. This has his current coordinates. But don't expect any backup or weapons from us—you're going in clean. If you get caught, we don't know you, we never saw you, and you were never here."
Without another word, Newlax stood up and walked away, leaving Haruto standing in the dim room alone with the glowing slate.
Haruto looked down at the screen, a cold, calculated smirk forming beneath his mask. Three days. That was all the time he had to pull this off. And to prove he actually did the job, he wouldn't just need to take the officer down—he had to bring back a direct blood sample to prove he was the one who ended him.
Haruto stared down at the digital map-slate in his hand, a cold, numb indifference washing over him.
My family is gone. My entire world is reduced to nothing. People backed away from him in fear, treating him like a monster, but it didn't even register anymore. Let them run. If this world was rotten to its core, he could gladly tear down everyone else's world right along with it. That was just the law of the jungle.
With a chilling finality, Haruto pocketed the map and turned toward the exit.
As he pushed past the heavy doors into the outer corridor, he caught sight of Rocky standing nearby, watching him with a tense, worried look. But Haruto didn't even break his stride—he walked right past the hotspot owner, completely ignoring him.
It was time to work. And this wasn't just some petty street brawl anymore; this was his stepping stone. Climbing through the ranks, seizing control of 150 streets, and breaking the district open meant massive power, heavy influence, and credits beyond anything he ever had.
The hunt was on.