Chapter 9: Trouble Comes Knocking
Shinjuku Tavern, backyard.
The midday sun blazed down, bright and scorching.
As usual, Mord was performing basic strength training:
100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 10-kilometer run.
All while wearing the weighted suit.
By now, Mord was drenched in sweat. He couldn't shake the feeling that the suit had grown even heavier after absorbing his perspiration.
What a strange material.
After all these days, absorbing so much sweat, it doesn't smell at all.
Thankfully, otherwise Mord would have had a hard time with this training.
Just then, he suddenly heard commotion coming from the front of the tavern.
A fierce argument!
...
"Madou, don't push your luck. We've given you enough face already."
"It's been so many days. You should give me an answer by now."
A man with a mohawk and dark skin glared gloomily at Madou behind the counter, his voice low and heavy.
Behind him stood a group clad in black uniforms, each bearing a white inverted cross on their backs.
The moment they entered the tavern, the previously lively atmosphere turned deathly silent.
So quiet that the sound of a pin dropping could be heard.
The patrons who had just been discussing the lawless ways of the Inverted Cross Legion now kept their heads down, not daring to make a sound.
"Domen, save your breath. No matter how many times you ask, my answer will always be no," Madou said calmly, lifting her head to glance toward the tavern entrance.
"Your sister and the others left Meteor Street so many years ago. You don't actually think you can still rely on them, do you?" Domen sneered before continuing. "Now, you have to pick a side—either us or them."
"Otherwise, neither side will tolerate you in Meteor Street."
"I rely on no one. I've told you, I'm just an ordinary tavern owner. If you're here to drink, you're welcome. But if it's anything else, please leave," Madou replied, her expression still composed.
Yet it was precisely this calm demeanor that enraged the mohawked man named Domen.
"If we can't be allies, then let's settle another score."
Domen stared at Madou with a venomous gaze, his body radiating killing intent.
"The night the Rory family was massacred, we lost one of our brothers. His last mission before disappearing was to chase down one of your tavern's employees."
"Can you bring him out?"
As he spoke, he made a move to search the back room of the tavern.
Madou set down her glass and lifted her head, her cold eyes fixed on Domen and his group.
The tension in the room reached its peak—a fight was imminent.
"Sis Madou, what's going on here?"
Just then, a slightly lazy voice broke the stalemate.
"These faces are unfamiliar. Are they customers?" Mord stepped out from the back room, scanning Domen and his men before settling his gaze on Madou.
"No," Madou replied. The chilling aura around her vanished instantly, replaced by her usual languid demeanor. "These guys say they have questions for you. They insist you killed one of their men."
Mord nodded. "Got it."
"You're Mord?" Domen glared coldly at the newcomer, surprised that he had shown up on his own.
"Yeah."
"Did you kill Chelsea?"
"Who's Chelsea?"
"The one sent to hunt you down that night."
Mord's expression grew even more puzzled. "Who was trying to kill me? Mohawk Bro, what are you even talking about? I don't understand any of this."
"The night of the Rory family massacre, we saw someone in a Shinjuku Tavern server uniform passing by. We sent Chelsea to chase that person down."
"Oh, so they tried to kill someone and got killed instead," Mord said, feigning sudden understanding before shifting his tone. "But what does that have to do with me?"
"I was at the tavern all night and never left. Sis Madou can vouch for me."
"Right, Sister Madou?"
Mord spoke up to Madou, who nodded cooperatively. He then turned back to the group led by Domen and spread his hands.
"Are you joking?!" Domen's veins bulged on his forehead. Using Madou as a witness—wasn't this just making fools of them?
"Then how can you prove it was me you saw that night? Where's your evidence?" Mord countered without backing down.
Seeing Mord's current demeanor, the patrons in the tavern narrowed their eyes in shock.
Most of them were regulars and familiar with Mord, the waiter. He had always been a low-key presence, just a quiet young man in their memories.
Yet after only a few days, Mord seemed like a completely different person. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what had changed, but he now carried an unmistakable air of confidence.
Facing the Inverted Cross Legion—a group that made others hold their breath in fear—Mord stood his ground effortlessly.
Domen and his gang glared fiercely at the suddenly assertive young man, their expressions hostile.
In Meteor Street's District D, offending the Inverted Cross Legion meant a life of hardship. One of the patrons, familiar with Mord, discreetly tugged his sleeve, urging him to back down and explain properly rather than confront them head-on.
Chelsea had been a well-known expert in District D. Knowing Mord's background, they couldn't believe he could have killed him.
They thought if Mord just explained himself calmly, he'd be safe.
They were wrong on two counts: first, Mord had killed Chelsea, and second, Mord would never back down.
Mord glanced at the older man beside him and smiled. "Thanks for your concern, Uncle Fike."
"Ah." The man named Fike sighed.
He knew young men were often brash.
But brashness came with a price.
With a look from Domen, one of the Inverted Cross Legion members stepped forward and reached out with a massive hand to grab Mord.
Mord's body was still young and slender, while the Legion member towered over him, making Mord look like a helpless chick in comparison.
The nearby patrons held their breath, hearts in their throats.
They could already picture Mord being lifted by the neck, powerless and desperate.
As the large hand closed in—
Mord's expression remained calm. His right hand shot out like lightning, seizing the other's wrist and twisting it downward.
"Ah!"
The Legion member cried out in pain, but before he could react, an immense force sent him flying.
His massive body crashed into a distant table, shattering it before he slammed onto the floor.
By the time he realized what had happened, he was already sprawled on the ground.