Alistair couldn't figure out why no one else was bothering him. Apart from the one guy who came looking for trouble in the restroom, he wandered around for a while, but not a single person approached him. Even the punks smoking cigarettes just glanced at him and looked away, showing no intention of starting anything.
Did my reputation really spread already? It can't be. That blond thug wouldn't broadcast the story about being shoved into the urinal, would he?
Alistair scratched his head. He decided to just go explore. There was no one he knew in the classroom; the Gyaru girls were out modeling. He had nothing to do back there, so he might as well go look for some fun.
If he was looking for trouble, places frequented by small-time gangs would be the best bet. When Alistair casually walked near the movie theater and saw a group of people gathered in the same spot where he and Mina Morita had been cornered, he knew he had found some fresh drama.
The crowd gathered there consisted of guys wearing leather jackets, loud patterned pants, sandals, and dress shoes—a mix of street punks. In Alistair's eyes, they were just soft cowards who preyed on the weak, not a legitimate gang among them.
But the people around didn't see it that way. Combined with the common local habit of minding one's own business, no one else dared to approach the area. Even those who did were quickly driven away by the thugs guarding the perimeter.
Alistair was naturally stopped well short of the scene.
"Hey, hey. Outsiders aren't welcome here. Beat it, kid. And as a disruption fee, we'll take three thousand Yen."
A guy with a rooster haircut blocked Alistair's path, rubbing his thumb, index, and middle fingers together and extending his other hand toward Alistair. Another guy in a leather jacket moved in to block Alistair's escape route.
The two glanced inside occasionally. They were likely ordered to just drive people away, and soliciting cash likely wasn't strictly according to the rules. But they were punks; rules meant nothing to them. Besides, Alistair was dressed like a student. To them, letting a fat sheep like this go un-slaughtered was a waste, a sin.
Alistair clicked his tongue, finding them merely annoying. It seems even rubbernecking has a barrier to entry these days.
Alistair wasn't too worried. He was more concerned that if he beat them up, they might all run away, ruining the fun. But since they had come to him, could Alistair let them get away with it? Obviously not.
"Pfft! Ugh!" The rooster-haired punk was struck down by a sudden punch, throwing up the contents of his stomach all over the pavement and instantly rolling his eyes back. This scene utterly stunned the leather-jacketed punk behind Alistair, leaving him frozen in shock.
Alistair retracted his right fist, turned around, slowly removed his glasses, hanging them on his collar. He leaned forward slightly, smiling as he met the frozen punk's gaze.
"Little brother, you look familiar. Have we met? What do you think?" Alistair asked with a chuckle.
The leather jacket punk stared blankly at Alistair's face. After a moment of thought, his pupils suddenly constricted, and his face instantly turned white.
"Uh, you're here, sir. Please, please go through." The punk laughed obsequiously, welcoming Alistair like a dog craving shit, licking its master's shoe soles—it was repulsive, making Alistair frown in disgust.
But Alistair was here for the drama, so he ignored him, walking directly into the crowd and peering into the center through the gaps.
Well, well, well, isn't that my old acquaintance, Jiro Morita, who's sort of related to me? Why is he so pathetic after just a few days? He's being hammered on the ground by this whole group.
Alistair clicked his tongue, looking at Jiro Morita and a few other unknown guys curled up on the ground, being punched and kicked. He saw several people taking pictures and videos with their phones, calling them experts. Need to keep records and media, huh?
"Stop." A deep, heavy voice rang out. The group of thugs immediately ceased their actions, retreated several steps, and cleared a path, revealing a muscular figure leaning against a motorcycle.
He wore a black uniform typical of a biker gang (Bosozoku) and orange sunglasses. What was noticeable was a palm-sized monster tattoo on his left arm. He was probably a genuine gang member, likely a low-level boss. Next to him was a red-haired girl sitting side-saddle on the back seat of the motorcycle.
The girl's makeup wasn't heavy; in fact, she applied it skillfully. Only eyeshadow and lipstick were clearly visible, which complemented her seductive look. She had a red tattoo on her left collarbone; it was too distant to clearly make out, but her tits were obviously huge. I'd like to try them out.
"Hey, student brat over there, I'm talking to you. How did you get in here? This isn't the place for you. Go home and drink milk." Just as Alistair was admiring the red-haired beauty, the biker gang leader interrupted him and walked toward Alistair. All the surrounding punks, except the leather jacket guy, quickly backed away, leaving the leather jacket guy conflicted and stranded behind Alistair.
The leather jacket guy looked left and right, his face grim, but he stayed behind Alistair. Alistair, however, paid no attention to whether he stayed or left.
"It seems you have some skill," the sunglasses-wearing gang leader observed as he approached Alistair, noticing the rooster-haired punk curled up nearby, vomiting and foaming at the mouth like a shrimp.
He walked up to Alistair and lowered his head. His tall, muscular body cast a shadow over Alistair. Coupled with the monster tattoo on his muscular arm and his sunglasses-obscured face, the effect was intimidating.
"You're good at fighting, huh? What good is fighting? To hustle, you need influence, you need connections. What crew are you with?"
The gangster asked arrogantly, but he didn't make a move. There were two or three gangs operating in this area, and strictly speaking, this movie theater was the dividing line between his gang and another.
It was possible this guy was from the rival crew. Nowadays, skilled guys often had strange eccentricities. If the guy was formidable, it wasn't something a low-level boss like himself could handle.
This guy looked soft and easy to bully, but he knocked out that thug without making a sound, clearly finishing him off in a few hits. Furthermore, he was heavily covered by his clothes, making it impossible to see how many tattoos he had underneath. And the number of tattoos often represented status within a gang.
"My name is Alistair Vance. If you don't like that, you can call me Oyaji-sama (Father)." Alistair looked at the sunglasses-wearing gangster, his tone calm as he introduced himself with a grin.
"Oyaji-sama" is a term used by traditional families, indicating seniority and respect, roughly equivalent to saying, "I am your superior," or, "I am your Father," but not necessarily biological.
In short, it meant: I am your Daddy.
"Oh~ So you're just a nobody, a little shrimp. And you dare to be this arrogant? Looks like you've never been beaten before."
The gangster quickly searched his memory and, finding no information on anyone named Alistair, sneered, reached out, and patted Alistair's face arrogantly.
SMACK!
A loud slap landed on the gangster's face. The massive force sent him spinning two full times in the air before he crashed to the ground.
Alistair put on the sunglasses he'd snatched off the gangster's face during the slap. He took off his school blazer, then removed his shirt underneath, revealing his entire upper body covered in a black tattoo.
He tossed the inner shirt to the leather jacket punk nearby and draped the blazer over his shoulders like a cape. He raised one foot and placed it firmly on the gangster's face.
"What were you just saying? Say it again now."