Hearing Enji's words only tightened the knot of anxiety in Haruto's stomach. If someone like Enji, who was far stronger and more fearless than him, was being this cautious, what the hell was waiting for him inside?
He wanted to press Enji for answers, but he knew better. His friend had never wanted him involved in this gang business in the first place.
This was likely another test, or worse, something he was being dragged into without a choice.
'Ah, shit...' Haruto let out a shaky breath as he shut the car door.
Clenching his fists, he straightened his back, forcing himself to push away every shred of fear and doubt.
He couldn't afford to be weak—not now. If he was serious about revenge, if he really intended to kill Daiki, he had to face whatever this was head-on.
Backing out now would prove he wasn't ready. And that wasn't an option.
His gaze locked onto the gray building in front of him. From a distance, it looked like any other warehouse near the port.
But as Haruto approached, the grim reality set in. The faint but unmistakable sound of bones breaking, followed by muffled screams, seeped through the walls.
The metallic scent of blood mixed with the salty air from the ocean, wafting toward him on the cold, biting wind.
When he reached the warehouse door, Haruto hesitated for a split second. The smell of blood hit him harder now, nauseating and sharp, as he slowly pushed the door open.
Inside, the sight that greeted him sent a shiver down his spine. Blood-smeared bodies littered the ground.
Men stood around, some looking at him, others tending to the injured or worse. The brutal scene told him everything: this was no simple deal.
A man approached, his knuckles red and raw, clearly ready to deliver another punch. Haruto's heart pounded in his chest, but he didn't flinch.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small golden emblem, the one Enji had given him—the Crow insignia catching the dim light.
The man stopped in his tracks, his bloodied hand dropping to his side. "Get the boss," he barked at one of the others without taking his eyes off Haruto.
Haruto squinted, his gaze narrowing on the man in front of him. There was something familiar about his face, he swore he saw him somewhere.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim, murky lighting inside the warehouse, the scene became clearer.
In the center of the room, a gang of men circled a lone figure, the only one still alive amidst the bodies strewn across the floor.
The man, barely able to stand, was being tossed around like a rag doll—pushed, kicked, punched—his tormentors treating him like a toy.
Each hit sent him reeling into another pair of hands, only to be beaten down again.
A slow grin spread across Daiki's face as he inspected the bills. "Well, that red bulldog can be trusted after all. No need to count it."
He tossed the money back into the bag. But then, his eyes shot back to Haruto, the smirk curling into something more sinister.
"Newbie, you look like you're itching for a fight."
At his words, the room shifted. The gang members all moved in closer, circling Haruto like vultures.
Their intention was clear—one wrong move and they'd tear him apart. But Haruto didn't care.
His focus was singular, his glare burning into Daiki with all the hatred he'd kept bottled up since that night.
But then, Enji's voice echoed once more in his mind, reminding him to stay in control. With a deep breath, Haruto forced himself to swallow the rage threatening to consume him.
"Apologies," Haruto said, his voice unnervingly calm.
"It's just that I have bad eyesight, and I thought I recognized you." He paused, letting his words linger.
"You're Daiki Yamada, right? From Aoyama High School?"
Daiki's eyes flickered with recognition as the room quieted. His men paused, sensing something beneath the surface.
"Haven't your leader told you already?" His voice was cold and sharp, like a knife being unsheathed.
"He didn't," Haruto said, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "I guess he enjoys keeping me in the dark."
Daiki's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "We went to the same school, and you joined another gang?" he asked, the weight of his accusation hanging in the air.
The room fell deathly silent. Haruto stood frozen, unsure of how to respond, when suddenly Daiki broke into laughter—loud, cruel, and echoing off the walls.
"That's interesting," Daiki said as he strode toward Haruto, stopping just inches away.
He scrutinized Haruto's face, a glimmer of recognition sparking in his eyes.
"Ah, yeah, I remember now. You're that weird, ugly kid always lurking in the corner of the classroom."
Haruto's eyes widened in disbelief. They weren't even in the same class. How could Daiki remember him?
Daiki chuckled again, his amusement obvious. "You're interesting. Come to the Underground Ring next Saturday night."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. "Let's have some fun."