Chapter 144
Chase (3)
The group of 15 immediately lost it.
A ripple of anger spread through them, with their faces twisting into ugly masks of fury. Several of them stepped forward at once, arms rising as if they couldn't decide whether they wanted to punch, grab, or strangle this annoying bastard in front of them.
The one who had spat earlier was the first to explode. His voice rose above the others in a bark of rage.
"You must have a death wish," he growled, the words dripping venom, "and I'm going to beat it out of you."
He bent forward like a bull, his head tilted low, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing with tension. His fingers spread wide, hands outstretched like claws, and then—without hesitation—he charged. The speed was startling; the space between him and Reuel evaporated in seconds.
But Reuel… simply smiled. It was one that belonged to someone who already knew how this would end. He didn't move a single step.
The man's man reinforced frame barreled forward, the sound of his pounding boots could be heard drumming the ground. The moment stretched; he was nearly on top of Reuel now, his eyes locked on his target, ready to slam him into the ground with the full force of his charge.
And then—Reuel moved.
It was so quick and smooth it was almost lazy. He stepped neatly to the side, body turning with a fluid pivot, one leg sliding out just far enough to hook the path of the charging man. The momentum did the rest.
The attacker's foot caught on Reuel's leg, and in the blink of an eye his body lurched forward out of balance. He pitched downward, his hands flailing for purchase, before crashing face-first into the dirt with a loud, ugly thud.
A muffled groan escaped him as his palms scraped against the rough ground. Grit stuck to his skin, his teeth ground together, and humiliation burned in his chest.
He scrambled up almost instantly, like a spring snapping back into place, eyes wide and blazing red with fury. His gaze darted, searching desperately for Reuel—determined now not just to knock him down, but to break something, anything.
But Reuel was already gone.
The faint sound of footsteps echoed around the corner, and when the attacker whipped his head toward the sound, he caught only a glimpse of Reuel's back disappearing.
"You little bastard! Come back here!" the man roared, the words breaking into a ragged snarl.
He lunged after him, legs pumping, his earlier humiliation fueling his sprint. The rest of the group began to shift forward instinctively, but he didn't wait for them. His focus tunneled on the fleeing figure. He rounded the corner without hesitation, vanishing from sight.
And then—silence.
For several seconds, the only sounds were the distant scared murmurs of the smaller, cornered group and the uneasy shifting of the remaining 14. The tension was thick, everyone straining to catch a hint of what was happening beyond the bend.
Then, as if nothing unusual had happened, Reuel reappeared from around the corner. His pace was unhurried, with a gloating expression painted on his face. Not a scratch marred him.
"What the hell," one of the uniformed teens blurted, stepping forward. "Where's Goku? What did you just do to him?"
Reuel's smile returned, as he lifted his hands in a mock display of innocence. "Isn't it obvious?" His voice carried an almost playful tone. "I took care of him."
That simple sentence made the tension thicken. The boy with his arm wrapped around one of the frightened captives narrowed his eyes. He wasn't smiling anymore.
"Don't be too hasty, guys," he said to the others, his tone was sharp and cautious. "This guy's obviously pretty skillful to be able to take care of Goku like that. Six people should attack him together. I refuse to believe he can take all of you."
The order was like a trigger being pulled. The six chosen moved forward in unison, their eyes locked on Reuel with a mixture of caution and arrogance.
Reuel, however, took a single step back, lifting his hands as if warding off a wild animal. Then, in a loud, almost cheerful tone that carried easily to everyone present, he said, "Whoa, I can't handle SIX people at a time."
The challengers smirked at one another, confidence renewed. They broke into a run, boots slapping against the uneven ground as they closed in, certain of their advantage.
The corner loomed ahead. They chased him hard, and when Reuel slipped around the bend, they followed without a second thought—
Only for a startled cry to ring out almost immediately.
"What the—!"
The shout was cut off by the sounds of a struggle—thuds, sharp grunts, the impact of blows landing fast and heavy. It was almost chaotic with the noise oddly contained as if the fight was happening in a space just barely big enough for movement.
A head popped briefly around the corner—a flash of wide eyes and a half-open mouth—before it was yanked violently back out of sight. Another round of muffled fighting followed, the sounds were harsh and sudden, making the rest of the group instinctively take a step back.
Seconds ticked by. Then, abruptly, silence.
Every face in the alley turned toward the corner, anticipation and unease etched deep into their expressions depending on who you were.
Reuel emerged once again, clothes slightly disheveled now—dust on his sleeves, the hem of his shirt rumpled—but his breathing calm, and not a single visible injury on him.
A vein pulsed visibly at the leader's temple. His voice snapped like a whip. "All of the rest of you fight him, but don't run around the corner. Do it here where I can see. He must be getting tired after fighting all of those guys."
The remaining seven tightened their formation, moving forward in a slow, wary advance. This time, their eyes followed Reuel with a respect they hadn't given before, though it was wrapped in hostility.
Reuel let out a small huff. "Oh, what—you guys won't follow me around the corner? But my heroic powers won't activate in front of everyone. You see, I'm quite shy in front of crowds."
"Don't listen to him!" the leader barked, his frustration cracking through his composure. "He's just trying to distract you—maybe because he's tired. Take him down!"
Reuel's expression shifted, the corner of his mouth dipping slightly. "Change of plan then."
He moved first. The sudden burst of speed caught them off guard, and before their minds could process his intent, he was already halfway across the gap between them.
They flinched, raising their arms instinctively, bracing for impact. But Reuel didn't slow—he jumped.
His leap carried him high, one leg extended forward. His boot connected solidly with the side of one attacker's face, the force jolting the boy backward. But Reuel didn't pause; the kick was only a springboard.
He pushed off the poor boy's head, launching himself through the air with startling momentum. The leader's eyes widened in panic.
In a split-second decision, the leader shoved the captive boy he'd been holding into Reuel's path.
Reuel twisted midair, narrowly avoiding slamming into the frightened boy, his body rotating in a controlled roll as he hit the ground.
Using the momentum, he planted his palms firmly against the dirt and kicked upward in a tight arc. His heel connected with the crown of the leader's skull in a brutal overhead strike.
The man collapsed instantly, crumpling to the ground in a heap.
Reuel exhaled, resting one foot lightly on the unconscious leader's head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"For people who claim to be from the Hope Academy," he said, his tone dripping with teasing disdain, "you guys are weak as hell."
"You… bastard…" one of them hissed through gritted teeth, his voice low but trembling with rage as he stepped forward, shoulders hunched, ready to tackle Reuel into the ground.
Reuel, instead of preparing to dodge or block, casually pulled a phone from his pocket. Without a hint of urgency, he crouched down beside the unconscious leader and began snapping photos. He didn't just take them—he posed for them. One leg casually rested on the guy's side, chin tilted as if he were a model showing off new shoes, each click of the camera sounding like a taunt.
The bullies froze mid-step, brows furrowing in disbelief.
"What the hell are you doing?!" one of them barked, his voice pitching upward in frustration.
Reuel glanced up lazily, lips curling into an infuriating smirk. "Oh, just thinking… maybe I should post this on TockTick. You know, see how many likes and shares a little public service announcement could get. 'Fake Hope Academy thugs get flattened'—what do you think?"
The way he tilted his head and gave them a mock-curious look made it clear—he wasn't afraid of them in the slightest.
Two of them clenched their fists, ready to leap at him… but before they could move, sharp grunts and shouts erupted behind them.
They spun around just in time to see three other boys, moving fast and dismantling the rest of their crew.
The quickest was a boy with tight, dark curls, his brown eyes the warm color of desert sand. A long silver earring swayed with every swift movement. He wore a plain white top that clung lightly to his frame, paired with black trousers and scuffed shoes. His style was simple, but there was nothing simple about the way his blows landed.
Another fighter, just as fierce, had dirty blonde hair that puffed outward like a mushroom cap. One eye was piercing blue, the other a soft, warm brown—it was an image that was hard to forget. His blue top and brown shorts gave him a casual look, but the right hook he just delivered to a bully's jaw was anything but.
The last one stood out for different reasons. Locs framed his head like a crown, and diamond studs caught the dim alley light with every movement. But it was his eyes—deep, almost black—that seemed to pull the air out of the space around him. Wearing a grey hoodie, slightly sagging black trousers, and sneakers, he planted a heavy punch straight into another bully's gut, folding the man over instantly.
Now only four bullies were left standing.
Reuel's smirk widened.
Without hesitation, he burst forward, slamming his heel into the nearest thug's chest. The man gasped sharply, air knocked clean from his lungs, before Reuel's palm cracked across his face. The second strike—another open-handed slap—landed harder, snapping the man's head sideways and dropping him to the floor.
Henry, meanwhile, moved like a blade. He stepped in close, delivering a knife-hand chop to his opponent's throat. The motion was fluid but vicious—it was enough to make the man choke mid-breath, his hands instinctively flying to his neck. Before the thug could recover, Henry's body twisted and his leg whipped upward in a tight roundhouse, his shin catching the man's face with bone-jarring force. The impact to the face sent the thug sprawling backward like a ragdoll.
IAM met his opponent with deceptive calm. A punch came for his head—he dipped under it with inches to spare. Then came the feint—a quick jab toward the man's face. The reaction was instant: the bully flinched, bringing his guard high. That was all IAM needed. His foot shot upward, driving brutally into the man's groin. No scream came—only a strangled wheeze as the man folded over and collapsed into a twitching heap.
Yohan's fight was just as decisive. Grabbing the back of his opponent's head, he yanked it down hard, smashing the man's face into his rising knee. The sharp crack of teeth breaking was followed by the thug dropping to the ground in an unconscious heap.
Silence settled over the alley, the heavy sound of the four boys' breathing the only thing filling the space. Their eyes scanned the scene—a scattered mess of groaning, unconscious bodies littering the alleyway.
The group of six victims stood frozen, eyes wide, their minds struggling to catch up to what had just happened. Then, slowly, they realized—they'd been saved.
IAM stepped forward, his voice firm but urgent. "We have no time. Grab your money back and let's get out of here before they get up."
...
A few minutes later, the boys stood at the mouth of the alley, watching as the shaken group hurried off. The six victims kept glancing back. Even as they walked away, gratitude spilled out in stammered thanks, voices overlapping in their rush to express relief. The boys waved them off with small nods—though none of them seemed particularly eager for recognition... Apart from Reuel...
One of the rescued boys had muttered something about how it all began—how a bully had "accidentally" bumped into one of them, An insult was exchanged, and from there it spiraled into threats, intimidation, and a full-blown shakedown.
IAM's brow furrowed slightly. From the looks of it, someone is trying to undermine the academy's reputation, he thought, his gaze narrowing as if he could trace the scheme backward to whoever had set it in motion. Hope Academy had plenty of competitors—and this sort of underhanded tactic was hardly rare. And, IAM suspected with equal certainty, Hope Academy is probably running its own version of this against others.
He gave a small tilt of his head, dismissing the thought for now, and turned toward the street leading back to the academy. Without a word, he started walking. The others fell in behind him, their footsteps echoing faintly against the pavement.
Breaking the quiet, Reuel stretched his arms overhead with a satisfied grin. "Hey, we should celebrate. Why don't we go to a restaurant or something?"
"No." IAM's reply came instantly, his voice carried a hint of finality. This—right here—was exactly why he'd been hesitant to let them tag along in the first place.
But Reuel, being Reuel, didn't take the hint. He kept talking, his tone playfully persuasive, like he was trying to chip away at a locked door with a spoon. "C'mon, it doesn't have to be fancy. Just some good food, relax a little. You can't always be like this IAM."
While Reuel continued his campaign, Henry glanced sidelong at IAM, a shadow of guilt tugging at his features. His voice was quieter than usual when he finally spoke. "IAM, I want to—"
He never got to finish.
A sudden, guttural roar cut through the street. "KILL THEM! CATCH THEM! DON'T LET THEM ESCAPE!"
The words were raw with rage, scraping like metal against stone.
The group turned sharply toward the sound. Charging down the alley were the same bullies they'd just flattened minutes ago. Their faces were twisted with fury, and though their movements were uneven from the fresh bruises.
Leading the charge was the one IAM had kicked in the groin—his eyes wide and wild.
His run was awkward, but the raw hatred in his expression more than made up for any limp.
Henry turned to IAM, urgency in his voice. "We need to—"
But IAM was already gone. Without warning, he had bolted, his figure cutting away from the group like a shadow breaking free from its owner. His pace exploding into a full sprint before the others could even process it.
He didn't even look back.
Henry stared for half a second, then looked to Reuel and Yohan. Their exchanged glance was brief, but it carried all the answer they needed. Without a word, they took off after IAM, their footfalls joining the sudden chaos behind them.
The shouts of the bullies grew louder. The air filled with the pounding rhythm of pursuit—the smack of shoes on asphalt and the ragged breathing of those running for blood.
The chase had begun...