Quest - Part 6... (EDITED)

~ Ayano's Pov ~

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The stench of stale cigarettes and sweat practically clung to the air, it's both thick and suffocating. The music were pounding through the walls, bass-heavy and distorted, enough to rattle the floor beneath me.

I scanned the room. Graffiti was smeared across almost every surface, a chaotic mess of tags and crude drawings. Boxes of cigarette packs were stacked carelessly against the seams, some spilling onto the sticky floor. Trash was also, everywhere—nothing but empty bottles, crumpled wrappers, and the occasional broken chair shoved into a corner.

'So this is one of the places…' It looked disgusting...

Against my better judgement I stepped further in, pushing past the heavy hazes of smoke and drunken laughter coming from further in. Eyes turned toward me, some were wary, some indifferent. Heck, most didn't even care. They were too busy gambling, drinking, or making an absolute mess of themselves.

Then, I found him.

The owner was sitting behind the counter, half-slumped over, swirling a cheap drink in his glass. He looked, exhausted. For lack of the better word—like a man who had given up a long time ago. There were Dark bags under his eyes, his clothes were heavily wrinkled, and the flickering neon light above him only made his tired expression seem more hollow to me.

I pulled up a stool, or what was left of one, resting my arms on the counter. "You look, miserable..."

His eyes drifted to me then coughing from the smoke, dull and uninterested. "You lost, kid?"

I ignored his question. "Do you want all this to stop?"

"?"

A bitter chuckle escaped him... He leaned back, taking a slow sip of whatever cheap liquor he had. "You're serious?" His gaze flicked around the room. "Is this some kind of sick joke? There's at least a hundred of them scattered in here. Assuming you aren't one of them playing a sick prank on me... You think you can just snap your fingers and make all this disappear?"

I tilted my head, realizing just how bad this situation really was... Still. "I could fix it for you..."

That one? That one made him laugh. A real laugh this time—short, dry, and laced with absolute disbelief. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But you should leave before you get hurt. You don't seem like the kind of person who—"

"I'm going to ask you again." I interrupted, keeping my tone even. "Do you want this, to stop?"

The laughter faded... He stared at me for a long moment before exhaling, rubbing his face with one hand. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he responded to me, "If you can do this… I'll make sure you, and anyone you bring has a lifetime privilege here."

I grinned... "I'll hold you to that one, old man... Oh, and don't leave this room until I come through that door, got it?"

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I walked into the game room, keeping my steps light but deliberate enough to draw attention... The air was much thicker here, with smoke and the scent of cheap alcohol as pungent as it could be. Laughter and shouting filled the space, a chaotic mess of voices talking over each other.

I shook my head, 'How the heck do these kids even do it?' I felt as if I'd get carcinoma from this alone...

I saw some boys lounged around the pool tables, some gripping cue sticks lazily, others too drunk or high to care about the game. A few high school girls sat draped over them, laughing at jokes that weren't funny, pretending to enjoy the company of men who barely acknowledged them.

'That old man really wasn't lying... There had to be at least a hundred of them here.'

Some sat on the counters, legs swinging, watching card games play out with bored expressions. Others leaned against the walls, eyes glancing to the entrances every now and then, keeping an unspoken watch over the place.

I took another step forward, my gaze sweeping the room. It didn't take long before a few heads turned in my direction, their eyes narrowing as they sized me up. Some looked disinterested, others annoyed—like I had just walked into their territory uninvited.

A group near the back muttered amongst themselves. One of them, a tall guy with dyed blonde hair and a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, pushed off the pool table and started towards me.

"Hey!" he called out, voice laced with irritation. "Who the hell are you?"

I turned my back towards him, "Just a regular guy looking to play a few games..."

The blonde snorted, exhaling a puff of smoke. "You lost, man? You don't look like you belong here."

"That so?" I tilted my head. "Could've sworn this was a public place."

He let out a short laugh, turning to the others. "Hear that? We got a smartass here."

A few of them chuckled, but there was no humor in it. The air shifted slightly...

I let my smile widen. "Actually, I'm here for something else."

The blonde took another drag of his cigarette. "Yeah? And what's that?"

I cracked my knuckles. "Cleaning up."

For a second, no one reacted. Then—

"The fuck did you just say?"

I struck him first.

Blouff!

My fist drove into his stomach, hard enough to lift him off his feet. The cigarette dropped from his lips as a choked gasp left his throat, his eyes widened at me with shock. Before he could even crumple to the ground, I grabbed him by the collar, and hurled him into the nearest table...

It didn't take long before chaos erupted.

Chairs scraped against the floor as bodies started scrambling. A bottle smashed somewhere behind me. Someone shouted too, but I wasn't paying much attention to that.

The first one to charge at me swung a cue stick. I caught it mid-air, yanking him forward before slamming my elbow into his face. His bone crunched with his Blood splattering across my sleeve.

'Crap... I'm gonna have to get these cleaned again...'

Before I could even finish my own thought. Another lunged from my right. I pivoted, grabbing his arm and snapping it with a knee. He screamed as his arm bent in a way it shouldn't, but I silenced him with another knee to the ribs. He hit the ground, coughing up up blood violently...

A third guy tried to tackle me. I didn't even let him graze me.

I sidestepped, letting his momentum carry him past me before driving my heel into the back of his knee. He collapsed with a yell, and I followed it up with a sharp kick to the side of his head...

I turned towards the rest of them who were looking at me, "...I don't have all night... SO HURRY THE FUCK UP!!!"

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~ The Old man's Pov, Half an hour later... ~

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It started with a scream. A sharp, guttural cry that cut through the usual drunken noise like a damned knife. Then, a crash—glass shattering, bottles sounded as if they were flying, wood splintering under the force of something being thrown.

More scream had followed. Pained, desperate, some too choked up to even be called screams at all. The sound of dull thuds of fists meeting flesh, the sickening sound of bones breaking or snapping, the shuffle of feet as people tried—and failed—to run.

I must have sat completely, frozen behind my own damn counter, my fingers were gripping the glass so tightly I thought it might crack...

'Wh... What the hell was going on out there?'

I wanted to stand up. Wanted to peek around the corner.

But, I just couldn't.

Because every single sound coming from that room made it very clear… This wasn't just some regular fight. This wasn't even some scuffle over a lost bet either.

Behind those doors were signs of a massacre. I swallowed hard, my throat felt dry.

I had seen my fair share of fights. Some of them bloody, some of them brutal. But this? This was different.

I swore I even heard Someone begging. Their voice was hoarse, barely understandable.

Then—CRACK. The begging eventually stopped.

I flinched each and every time... More glass broke. Someone or something slammed against the wall hard enough to even shake the shelves behind me.

The screaming was getting quieter.

Not because the fight was over—But because there weren't many left to scream. I could feel my hands trembling.

'Who the hell was that kid?'

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Minutes passed. Maybe more.

Then—footsteps. Slow. Steady.

Until the door creaked open.

I held my breath... And there he was.

The same kid who came to me half an hour ago... I could see it... The Blood that smeared across his cheek and clothing, his knuckles looked red and raw. His clothes were a mess, torn and stained, but his expression—Relaxed...

No... I could see it, he was tired...

But, on another hand, he looked almost, satisfied.

"It's done," he said simply, as if he hadn't just turned the entirety of my backroom into a warzone.

I swallowed hard, my words catching in my throat. "Y-you… what the hell did you—?"

He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, glancing at the blood before shrugging. "I Just cleaned up, that's all..." I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. My body slumped forward against the counter, heart still hammering.

I was scared.

But also…

Thankful.

That room… that damned pit of filth, of crime, of wasted lives—It was gone. For months was my business plummeting. I even gave up since I could do nothing about it. I couldn't even call for help, because they threatened me and my helpers, and some random kid fixed all of it...

He had done what I couldn't. What I wouldn't have dared to even try. I exhaled shakily, gripping the counter to steady myself. "K-Kid…" I muttered. "I… I owe you."

The boy tilted his head, amused. "Yeah... I guess you do."

He looked around, "You might want to call an ambulance for these guys... I definitely busted them up pretty badly."

I nodded, "Of course, that won't be a proble—K-Kid? Where are you going?"

"Where do you think? I'm going home to get a good night's rest..."

I wanted to stop the kid, but something tells me, I should leave him alone. For what he did, he at least needs some time to rest. I just hope he comes back so I can repay him.

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~ Ayano's Pov ~

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It felt… different tonight. The fights had went well, no injuries, nothing too major. I didn't even get scratched, which, honestly, surprised me. But there was still that feeling of exhaustion creeping in, even if it wasn't physical. Mentally, I was worn out, but at the same time, something else was going on.

I could tell, without a doubt, that I was stronger than I was just a few days ago... It wasn't even physical. I hadn't grown in size or muscle, but... my fists? They were starting to feel, different.

Like, when they hit, it wasn't just the normal impact—it felt like there was something more behind it, I just can't place my finger on what said thing even was. Even when I was holding back there, it felt like I was dealing a considerable amounts of damage.

'Will I need to tone down my strength a bit more?' I'm practically at a crossroads with this kind of thing. The more I held back, the more difficult the fights were becoming. It was already taxing enough as is to not get injured fighting so many people, but to go even lower than this is simply being risky, if not outright cocky of me...

Was this what it was supposed to feel like? I kept thinking about it. That strange sense that I was more in control, like everything was essentially clicking into place. I actually feel as if my body wasn't just reacting anymore—it was almost like I was controlling it, commanding it to a greater extent. I didn't have to think about each movement. I didn't have to even force it. I just… knew.

'Hmm... No use in bothering with it now... I guess I'll just have to research this kind of thing later.'

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END