Rain fell on Shinjuro City like judgment.
It washed the neon into rivers along the gutters, pooling outside a run-down house tucked deep in Higashimura district. Inside, voices shouted. Wood cracked. A life unraveled.
Kaito Rengoku was on the floor, bleeding from his mouth.
His limbs didn't work. His vision swam. Each breath came with the taste of iron.
He had tried to protect his grandfather. Stupid. Brave. Useless.
The three men in suits didn't even flinch. They didn't need to. One held a knife. Another held a bat. The third, older, slick hair and gold rings, pointed like a god passing sentence.
"Your debt's long overdue, oyaji," he said coldly.
"Please…" the old man coughed, holding his side. "One more week…"
"No weeks left."
Kaito tried to scream—but the boot came down on his chest.
Then the knife came down on his grandfather's throat.
It was quick.
Too quick.
Kaito's world collapsed in silence. His grandfather's body hit the floor with a thud louder than thunder. Blood spread fast, soaking into the tatami. The air reeked of it.
The boss wiped his blade on the old man's sleeve, then looked down at Kaito like stepping on a worm.
"Let him live. Let him rot in it."
They left him there. Dying.
And then they set the house on fire.
Smoke filled his lungs. Fire licked at the walls. The heat was unbearable.
He didn't care.
Kaito lay there, half-dead, face buried in blood and ash, vision going black. His body was broken. His family gone. His home burning.
He had nothing left.
Nothing—except rage.
That's when he heard it.
> >> SYSTEM ACTIVATED – Kagami no Tatakai: "Mirror of Battle"
>> Trauma Detected. Critical Condition Confirmed.
>> Instinct Core Unlocked. Syncing...
>> Combat Style Acquired: STREET BRAWLER
>> STYLE LEVEL: 1 | EXP: 0 / 100
>> Emergency Recovery Engaged...
His eyes snapped open.
A red interface burned into his vision. Symbols. Stats. One word pulsing like a heartbeat:
FIGHT.
Strength poured into ruined muscles—not healing, but raw, violent function. His body moved not by will, but survival.
He stood.
Barefoot. Bloodstained. Burning.
Outside, the gangsters stood in the rain, laughing. One turned toward the crackling house.
Then froze.
"…That kid's still—what the hell?!"
Kaito stepped out of the fire like a demon.
No fear in his eyes.
Just war.
> >> COMBAT INITIATED – EXP GAIN ENABLED
Then he charged.
Their eyes widened.
And in that instant—
> >> COMBAT SYSTEM INITIALIZED
>> STYLE UNLOCKED: STREET BRAWLER
>> STYLE LEVEL: 1
"Instinct forged in pain. Built for survival. Made to hurt."
[STYLE: STREET BRAWLER]
1. Brutal Instinct
• Type: Passive
• Effect: Boosts attack power when health drops below 50%. The lower the health, the harder the hits.
• Pain fuels rage. The brink of death is where this style thrives.
2. Tough as Nails
• Type: Passive
• Effect: Slightly reduces incoming damage and resists weak crowd control.
• Grit over grace. Break him, and he gets back up.
3. Jawbreaker Slam
• Type: Active | Single Target
• Execution: Crouch low, then launch a brutal uppercut to the chin.
• Effect: High impact. Can disorient or knock down.
• One clean hit can silence a storm.
4. Skull Cracker
• Type: Active | Grapple | Stun
• Execution: Grab the target and headbutt full-force.
• Effect: Briefly stuns enemy. Bonus impact if used mid-counter.
• Crush distance. Dominate the close.
5. Bone Rattle Combo
• Type: Active | Combo
• Execution: Hook to jaw → Knee to gut → Spinning elbow to temple
• Effect: A relentless 3-hit chain.
• Strike fast. Break faster.
> >> ENGAGE COMBAT. NO MERCY LOADED.
And just like that—the fight began.
Kaito didn't hesitate.
The interface vanished in a flash of red light—leaving only instinct, fury, and the lingering heat of the flames behind him.
He lunged forward, a blur of blood and broken fury, shoulder twisting violently as he threw a wild, untrained haymaker. It wasn't clean. It wasn't pretty.
But it was deadly.
The punch whistled through the air, then connected with a sickening CRACK—knuckles crashing into the thug's jaw like a hammer into concrete. The man's head snapped sideways, teeth flying, body spinning off balance as he stumbled with a howl of pain.
Kaito didn't stop.
With a savage snarl, he grabbed the bastard by the shirt, twisted the fabric tight in his fists, and yanked him forward like a ragdoll. The thug barely had time to gasp—
Kaito's knee rocketed up like a piston.
It slammed into his gut with a thunderous thud. The breath was ripped from the man's lungs in a wheezing, desperate gasp. His entire body folded forward, eyes bulging, spit flying.
But Kaito wasn't done.
He shoved the man back with a grunt, and the thug stumbled away like he'd been hit by a truck—crashing into the wet pavement with a limp sprawl, arms flailing.
For a second, he didn't move.
For that thug, the world went dark—a far-off world of ringing ears, shattered ribs, and broken pride.
One down.
Kaito turned, eyes wild, fists still shaking.
He had just tasted his first strike.
And the street was about to learn his name.
The first thug lunged with a wide, sloppy punch, aiming for Kaito's head.
Kaito dodged, the punch slicing through the air just inches from his face, the wind from it stirring his hair. Before he could retaliate, the second thug's boot crashed into Kaito's ribs with bone-shaking force.
THUD.
The breath was driven from his lungs in a violent rush, his body twisting from the impact, but there was no time to dwell on the pain. The first thug followed up fast, swinging an uppercut that caught Kaito under the chin.
CRACK.
His head jerked back, the impact rattling his teeth and blood spraying from his mouth. Kaito's vision blurred for a split second, but his rage—fueled by the pain—kept him grounded. He spat blood, the crimson stain darkening the pavement beneath him, his grin spreading wide, wild, and unhinged.
"Is that a girl punch?" Kaito taunted, voice raspy and broken, dripping with defiance.
The thug hesitated, just for a moment, the anger in his eyes clouding his judgment. Kaito seized the opening. He shoved the kicker back with all the force his body could muster, sending him stumbling backward. Without a breath to spare, Kaito drove his elbow straight into the thug's gut.
The air whooshed from the thug's lungs. He gasped, his knees buckling as Kaito's elbow dug deep, cracking ribs, leaving him bent over, gasping for breath.
But the first thug wasn't done—he came back, fists swinging in a blur of rage. His punch came again, wild and desperate.
Kaito ducked under the swing, the fist missing by mere inches. His body moved as if on instinct, rising fast from the crouch, his elbow shooting upward, smashing into the thug's chin with unrelenting force.
CRACK.
The thug's head snapped back, his body following in a drunken stagger as his vision swirled. Blood dripped from his nose, staining his shirt. He took one, maybe two steps back, dazed, his knees wobbling beneath him.
Kaito didn't wait. Blood dripping down his brow, he grabbed the thug by the collar, yanked him forward with brutal force, and with a guttural snarl, he slammed his forehead into the man's nose.
CRUNCH.
The sound was sickening, like the cracking of dry wood, and the thug's eyes widened in shock as his nose shattered under the force. His body collapsed in a heap, legs failing him as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the floor.
Kaito stood over him, his chest heaving, his pulse roaring in his ears. His vision was clouded with blood and rage, the stench of sweat and rain heavy in the air. The fight was over, but the fire still burned in his gut.
Kaito stood over the fallen thug, his chest heaving, blood still dripping from his brow. His body burned with the aftermath of the fight, muscles aching and blood-slick. He took a step back, gritting his teeth as the cold rain lashed against his skin.
He looked down at the unconscious thug. Then, with no hesitation, he dropped to a crouch in front of him. His fist shot out like a hammer, slamming into the man's face with a sickening smack.
THUD.
Even unconscious, the thug's head snapped back from the force of the punch, his body jerking as if the blow was meant to wake him. But Kaito wasn't done. He stood slowly, his movements slow but deliberate, a man without mercy. The second thug was still trying to rise, struggling to get to his feet.
Without a word, Kaito walked over to him. He grabbed a fistful of the thug's greasy hair, yanking his head back, exposing the tender throat and chin. The thug's eyes flickered with panic, but Kaito's grip was iron-tight.
Then, with a snarl, Kaito swung a haymaker, his fist crashing into the thug's chin with bone-shattering force.
CRACK.
The thug's body went limp, his head jerking backward with unnatural force, as if his skull might snap from the impact. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground in a heap, unconscious, his mouth slack, blood already trickling down his chin.
Kaito stood over him, panting, his chest rising and falling with each jagged breath. He wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, eyes cold and calculating, his body a live wire of tension.
It was over.
No words, no warning—just the brutal rhythm of survival.
Kaito's fists were still clenched, his body trembling from the fight. Blood dripped from his brow, his shirt torn, and the cold rain beat down on him. But then, a strange sensation surged through him—a pulse of power that seemed to course through his veins.
The system.
A flicker of light illuminated his vision, cold and mechanical.
System Notification:
Street Brawler
Level 1 → Level 2
EXP: 0/100
New Skill Unlocked:
Spine Twister
Type: Grapple | Throw
Description: A dirty back suplex or neck crank throw into hard ground or wall.
Execution: Grabs from behind or side, twists the enemy's torso sharply, and slams them down or into a nearby surface.
Kaito's breath hitched as the words flashed before him. The power, the raw energy of the level-up hit him like a freight train. He could feel it in every muscle, every fiber of his being. His body was becoming more than human—stronger, faster, deadlier. He wasn't just surviving anymore; he was evolving.
He clenched his fists again, and as he did, the Spine Twister skill echoed in his mind. He grinned, the thrill of the fight still surging through him.
His gaze flickered to the two unconscious thugs at his feet. Their bodies were twisted, broken. And yet, they weren't enough. Not nearly enough.
He stood tall, arms wide, his chest heaving with breath, as he closed his eyes.
Then, slowly, he opened them. His gaze was filled with cold fire, dark and unyielding.
"They took everything from me… my family… my future. But now?" He paused, his voice low, reverberating through the alley, full of hate and hunger. "I'm going to show them the cost of crossing me."
With a grim smile, Kaito spread his arms wide, letting the storm pour down over him, as if he were inviting the world to come at him.
"This is the price of revenge. And I'm just getting started."
Kaito's eyes closed once more, the rain soaking him to the bone, his body ready. He wasn't just a survivor anymore. He was a weapon, a force waiting to be unleashed.
As he turned and disappeared into the night, the system's hum whispered faintly in the back of his mind.
Level 2 was only the beginning.
Northern Kyoto Prefecture
Outskirts of Miyazu — Edge of Kurokami Forest
The morning sun rose slowly over the mist-covered hills of Miyazu, casting a pale glow across the forest floor. The tall cedars of Kurokami stood silent, their roots sunk deep in secrets and shadow. Here, just beyond the treeline, the earth had been freshly turned.
Kaito knelt in silence before a modest grave.
His grandfather now rested beneath the soil—no ceremony, no mourners. Just a wooden grave marker he had carved with trembling hands the night before. It bore his grandfather's name in careful kanji, etched with a pocket knife and sealed with candle wax.
Kaito wore clean, dark clothes—black long-sleeved shirt, simple slacks, and a light jacket. His gloves were folded beside him. His boots were soaked from digging. A single white flower rested at the base of the grave.
He pressed his forehead to the dirt and whispered, "Ojii-san… I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough."
The wind whispered through the trees.
"I'll carry your name… and your pain. And I'll make them pay for what they did."
He lit a stick of incense, planted it in the soil, and bowed deeply, holding the silence like a vow.
When he rose, something had changed.
His face was the same. But his eyes—cold, heavy with purpose—no longer belonged to the boy who once flinched in the dark.
Kaito stood and turned toward the forest. Toward Kurokami—the "Black God Forest," whispered about in local folklore as a place of trials and restless spirits. It was a place where old souls went to disappear… or be reborn.
He walked into the shadows with the grave behind him and fury in his heart.