"Are you crazy? You trying to steal my goods?"
Kevin Carpenberg threw a punch. The tall, skinny man reacted quickly—although surprised, he instinctively crossed his arms to block as Kevin charged.
Once he'd made his move, Kevin had no intention of stopping. He wasn't a trained fighter, but he knew how to brawl. Using the advantage of surprise, he relentlessly punched and kicked. The energy he'd trained to control over the past few days surged into his limbs, enhancing the power of his strikes.
The man tried to defend himself, but Kevin landed a solid punch to his shoulder.
The force sent him stumbling back several steps, his gaze locked on Kevin.
"You bastard, you underestimate me? You think you're the only one who can use this power? I've learned it too! Die!"
Kevin dodged the straight punch with a tilt of his head. His opponent's knuckles scraped a shelf, knocking over two cans of motor oil.
As the man retreated, he dragged through the spilled oil, the sweat seeping through his black overalls glistening under the overhead lights.
Had he misjudged?
Kevin had quickly assessed his opponent's potential the moment he decided to act.
Based on what he knew of the body he now inhabited, it looked sickly—like a gloomy bookworm who spent all his time in a lab. No presence. No threat.
Yet this man, ever since showing up, had maintained a lower status—without fear, more like inferiority.
That behavior convinced Kevin the man was weaker than his body's former self.
Still, the man's actions were unacceptable. If Kevin were selfish, he could've just turned away and left once the man was gone.
But calling the cops was off the table—he himself wasn't clean.
So the only option was to fight. Use the opportunity to test his current strength.
And if things went south... American-style iaido.
As he thought, Kevin relied on muscle memory and instinct, dodging the man's blow and countering with a hook to the ribs.
He heard a crunch—possibly a rib breaking. The man stumbled, slamming into the side of a van, triggering the alarm which shrieked through the rainy night.
So he had misjudged, but not by much.
From the man's earlier words, it sounded like he had just started learning to control his aura. A beginner.
Maybe they were at a similar level, but Kevin had the advantage of muscle memory, giving him better control.
Amid the mix of rust and heavy breathing, Kevin noticed the man's right hand creeping along the van's door—toward a magnetized box holding a spare key.
Suddenly, the man's other hand, slick with oil, swung a wrench at him.
Kevin ducked just in time. The metal clanged loudly against a shelf.
In the background, a chorus of frightened whimpers came from the girls. If their mouths weren't gagged, they'd be screaming.
All except one—outside the van, tied up. A blonde, twin-tailed girl.
She was watching the fight not with fear, but with annoyance.
She even looked like she wanted to say something, but held it in.
The tall man spun, his left leg whipping toward the shelf behind Kevin. The impact collapsed the already unstable structure, spilling its contents.
Kevin rolled away from the flying objects, landing hard against the edge of the lift platform.
But the bruised, battered man didn't press the attack—he ran for the van door.
He yanked it open. His bloody fingertips were just inches from the glovebox.
There's a weapon in there. A gun, probably.
Kevin's instincts screamed it at him.
Time to end this.
He had suspected from the start the man was armed. But since the fight had remained physical, it gave Kevin a chance to test his recent progress—and the man had chosen to use aura, so he played along.
But now, that was over.
"Don't move! I'll shoot if you do!"
The cold voice and gun barrel froze the man in place. His hand hovered five centimeters from the drawer. The black muzzle peeking from the shadows glinted coldly.
The storm pounding on the rolling door suddenly grew deafening, echoing with the heavy breaths of the two men.
The garage fell silent.
Even the gagged girls stopped crying.
"Calm down, Kevin. Look, you can have the goods."
The skinny man slowly raised his hands, pulling himself halfway out of the van. He looked nervously at Kevin and the gun pointed at him.
"If you wanted the stuff, you should've just told me. We're brothers, right? I'd have given it to you. So how about lowering the gun, huh? You don't want it going off by accident."
He gave a stiff, pleading smile.
Kevin didn't answer.
He just held the gun steady, while his mind raced.
Should he kill the guy?
Without a doubt, it was a valid option.
The man clearly knew about the crimes Kevin's current body had committed—maybe even an accomplice.
He couldn't justify letting him go. Not even selfishly.
Truth be told, Kevin believed that people traffickers deserved only one thing—death.
But if he tied the man up and called the police, the guy would definitely reveal Kevin's crimes too.
Even if Kevin could dig up some information online, there was no way to be sure he wouldn't be slapped with an international warrant.
He'd seen those kinds of notices before—tons of them. And there seemed to be dedicated agencies for cross-border pursuits.
As someone raised in a peaceful country, Kevin couldn't stomach being branded a fugitive. Even if the crimes weren't truly his.
Kill him, then call the cops. Leave the country while he still could.
He'd already prepared for this.
Thank this world for using mostly the same language across nations—at least V5 did.
Kevin had no real attachment to anywhere.
"Damn it! I'm not going down alone!"
The man suddenly roared. Having lived in the underworld, he could clearly feel Kevin's killing intent.
He chose to gamble with everything.
Fueled by sheer survival instinct, his aura erupted violently—Kevin could feel it surge.
In a flash, the man closed the distance, slamming into Kevin before he could react.
Kevin adjusted fast. He brought his elbow crashing down hard.
The strike made the man howl in pain.
But his desperation drove him—he didn't let go. He rammed Kevin into a shelf.
Pain shot through Kevin's back.
He retaliated with knees and elbows, smashing them downward.
His aura enhanced every move, making them brutally effective.
The man finally went limp, blood spurting from his mouth as he collapsed unconscious.
"Damn... like a thug fight," Kevin muttered between breaths.
He really needed to find a martial arts teacher soon. Learn how to fight for real.
Quickly, he tied the unconscious man up.
Then he looked at the terrified girls.
And finally, his eyes landed on the blonde, twin-tailed girl—now free from her restraints.
He grabbed the phone from the man's belt and tossed it to her.
"Call the police. You'll be rescued."
Then he turned and walked back into the house, starting to pack.
Luckily, he'd prepared ahead. It took less than five minutes.
As he glanced at the garage again, he bit his lip and walked back.
His sudden return sent the girls into fresh panic.
But Kevin didn't even look at them. He went straight to the bound man.
"For filth like this… death is the only justice. It's okay…"
He whispered to himself, steeling his nerves. He raised the gun.
"Huuh!"
Bang!
Ignoring the girls' screams, Kevin rushed out, heart pounding wildly.
He had killed a man.
But there was no nausea—just overwhelming tension and anxiety.
He reached the alley where his escape car was waiting. He jumped in and drove off.
From the shadows, a young man pushed up his glasses, watching the taillights disappear.
"What is Master thinking… why let him go?" he muttered.
In the distance, sirens grew louder.