Chapter Seventeen: Beating and Desire

Baitang Jing frowned.

He had no fondness for “delinquent youths.” To begin with, they were not the peaceful, ordinary people he preferred. Yet, to call them vicious or belligerent would be giving them too much credit—they didn’t even rise to the level of lowly gangsters. In the end, they were nothing but second-rate trash, incapable of fully committing to anything—useless in every direction.

“Four-eyes, you’re sickening. Still trying to act the hero? Ha!”

“Hey, hey, show some respect! Rare to see a loser trying to butt in. Hahaha!”

The newcomers to the scene were met with jeers and contempt from the delinquents lounging in every corner of the room. In their eyes, this was just another amusing spectacle.

Amid the clamor, a silver-haired young man on the sofa set down his beer and spoke languidly.

“Takagi, don’t give him a hard time. Who knows how much it took for him to work up the nerve to come in here? At least show some respect, will you?”

“Narushima, stay out of it. I’m burning up right now!”

Baitang Jing could tell that the white-haired man genuinely meant to help. Yet, no matter how well-intentioned, words coming from that arrogant, menacing face sounded like nothing but provocation.

“Could you all just disappear from my sight?”

Expressionless, Baitang Jing stared ahead. The glare from his glasses made it impossible to see the eyes behind, but for these delinquents, the mere fact that this bespectacled student dared to utter such words was provocation enough.

“You little bastard!”

The thug gripping Baitang Jing’s wrist contorted his face in rage, fist cocked and ready to strike.

But only a weary sigh broke the tension...

On any other day, Baitang Jing might have indulged these petty thugs, played along for his own amusement. Today, however, he couldn’t even be bothered to waste words.

“Hey!” Only then did Taisuke Zenaga, who had been held by the collar, snap out of his daze. He rushed forward, desperate to intercept the oncoming punch.

Yet, before his foot even touched the ground—

A storm erupted!

Thud, thud, thud!

...

The thug who had been holding Baitang Jing’s wrist was suddenly flung to the farthest corner of the room. The rest of the delinquents were either sent flying in the same manner or collapsed where they stood.

In less than twenty seconds, only Baitang Jing, Hikaru Narushima, and Taisuke Zenaga remained standing in the detective agency.

“...?!”

The two men, apart from Baitang Jing, stared wide-eyed in disbelief at the chaos strewn before them.

What on earth just happened?

The unknown always breeds fear. That fear, in fact, struck so suddenly that Narushima, who had just risen from the sofa to intervene, and Zenaga, who had tried to block the punch, both froze awkwardly in place.

It had happened so fast that even their terror lagged behind reality.

“You’ll clean this up, won’t you?” Baitang Jing approached Narushima, his voice soft.

“…!”

After a moment of paralysis, Narushima jolted upright from the sofa as if on springs, his muscles taut as steel.

Baitang Jing glanced at his trembling limbs and nodded lightly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He turned and strode toward the yellow-haired boy still frozen by the door.

“Eep!”

Zenaga, blocking the exit, pressed himself flat against the wall as if a speeding train were bearing down on him, making way for Baitang Jing.

Then, with a firm grip on his collar, Baitang Jing dragged him out.

“What is this guy…?”

Not until the groaning of the battered delinquents filled the office did Narushima’s muscles finally unclench. He lowered his head, swallowing hard to ease his dry throat.

But when his gaze returned to the entrance, his eyes burned with feverish intensity.

~~~~~~

“So, you’ll be staying at the dojo for a while, young man? What should I call you?”

“Ah—ah! I’m Taisuke Zenaga, eighteen years old. Currently a dropout. No bad habits. That’s all! Pleased to meet you!”

In the rear hall of the dojo, Saeko smiled as she handed a cup of tea to the nervous, yellow-haired youth, the very picture of a gracious hostess.

Today the kendo beauty had traded her usual yukata for casual homewear, yet the healthy, alluring figure sculpted by years of martial arts could not be hidden even by loose clothes. Her perfect, pear-shaped silhouette was undeniable.

Zenaga’s hands trembled as he received the cup, a blush blooming on his face as he stammered through his introduction.

On the way from Kamurocho to the dojo, Baitang Jing had explained how things might unfold. Zenaga now understood that, if he wanted to survive, he would have to stick close to the monster who could lay waste to dozens in seconds.

Perhaps it was because he’d seen the dark side behind clients while working with Yagami and Haiteng, but faced with this life-or-death situation, he found himself accepting it with surprising ease.

This, in turn, earned him a measure of Baitang Jing’s respect.

“To face mortal danger without blinking, yet blush and stammer in front of a beautiful woman—are you really one of those pure-hearted types? What kind of light novel protagonist are you supposed to be?”

From the kitchen, Baitang Jing’s teasing was both exasperated and amused.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. As far as I’m concerned, your only role right now is to serve as a useful card against Toden.”

Zenaga scratched his head sheepishly, gulping down tea to escape the awkwardness.

The rhythmic sound of chopping filled the air, onions transforming into fine shreds under his knife as if by magic.

Yesterday’s feast, prepared alone by Saeko, had been an exception. Normally, the two cooked together—otherwise, with Baitang Jing’s appetite, Saeko would be too exhausted for kendo practice.

Saeko returned to the kitchen, rapping Baitang Jing lightly on the head as if to remind him to rein in his jokes. She changed the subject.

“I remember you once said you wanted to savor the thrill of climbing to the top step by step, which is why you started with Bishamon in the fighting world. Why the change of heart now?”

Donning an apron, Saeko moved in, and Baitang Jing instinctively shifted aside to make space. Their movements meshed with the ease of a seasoned couple.

“When you mentioned the Kengan Association before, neither you nor Sensei told me about the vast flows of capital and power involved—far beyond mere entertainment. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have wasted a second on things like ‘Bishamon’ or ‘Red Sand.’

You know me, Saeko. That’s what I’m willing to risk my life to pursue.”

The young man’s eyes, calm yet profound, burned with a quiet, icy fire as he sliced the vegetables. His tone was even, but each word was edged with unwavering resolve, as sharp and decisive as the blade in his hand.

That cold, explosive danger gave him a feline allure.

Saeko, distracted, nicked her finger with the kitchen knife—a mistake unthinkable for a kendo practitioner. Yet she simply slipped her finger into her mouth, gazing at Baitang Jing with eyes as bright as spring water.

She adored the greed and desire that radiated from this man, inside and out. His “do-or-die” obsession and insatiable hunger awakened a craving for blood in her own twisted heart—a passion she could not resist.

He seemed to sense her infatuation, too, never bothering to hide his blazing desires in her presence.

Perhaps this was something even Master Takemoto hadn’t anticipated. Living day and night with someone meant to be her healer, her own pathology had only intensified.

For a healer’s sickness often runs deeper than the patient’s.

At this thought, Saeko couldn’t help but laugh softly. She paid no mind to the yellow-haired boy in the house.

Setting down her knife, her voluptuous figure enveloped Baitang Jing from behind, squeezing him against her soft body as if she wished to meld the two together…

Zenaga could only stammer incoherently, “Abba… abba…”

Though a delinquent by reputation, this scene was clearly too much for him to handle.