Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Clash with the Wolf
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Kalifa tilted her head at the man's words.
"Why bother? Anyway, you said you have something to confirm. Do you two know each other?"
"Let's say we do."
The man said that while looking at Jin. No, he'd been staring at Jin from the start.
"What'll you do?"
What was there to do?
From Jin's perspective, there was no reason to refuse.
It was a chance to show off his skills and smack some sense into that rude bastard.
In truth, it wasn't just that one shoulder shove that ignited Jin's fighting spirit.
He might look rough, but he'd been properly educated in elementary school morals, middle school ethics, and high school philosophy. No matter how much a year in Downtown had influenced him, he hadn't turned into some thug who flipped out over a single shoulder bump.
The real reason Jin didn't dodge the fight headed his way was that his body instinctively reacted to the feral hostility radiating from the man.
"Shall we get started?"
Kalifa cut in as Jin cracked his neck.
"Hold on. Not here."
After confirming the unyielding glares in both men's eyes, she let out a soft sigh and turned to the bartender.
"Poh. Take them to the training room."
"Yes, ma'am. This way, gentlemen."
The bartender set down his glass and led the way.
As Jin followed, he realized this pub was far larger than it appeared from outside.
Just opening the door to what looked like a warehouse revealed a spacious open area beyond—proof it was no ordinary bar.
A front business, huh, he thought.
By the time he snapped out of it, Jin was facing the goblin-masked man across a distance of about five steps.
The man spoke.
"Fenrir."
"Got it."
Jin skipped his own introduction.
They'd already exchanged names plenty.
"Fenrir, whatever your deal is, keep it moderate. Don't cause any trouble."
"I'll try. No guarantees."
Jin's eyes sharpened as he overheard Kalifa and Fenrir's exchange. These two...
How could he feel good when they were already assuming his defeat before the fight even started?
Fuming, Jin suddenly stomped the floor.
First strike wins!
He closed the gap in an instant and threw a punch. Fenrir reacted to the sudden blow, ducking his head to evade it before lowering his stance and sweeping at Jin's legs with his own.
Thud!
Jin's supporting ankle got kicked out from under him, sending his body floating into the air. Just as his waist was about to slam into the ground, he thrust both hands down to brace himself.
It was far from a proper ukemi. With his legs dangling, all the impact was on his wrists—a perfect setup for fractures.
But his Superhuman strength overcame it.
Muscles bulged on his forearms as they braced solidly against the floor for a split second. Then, twisting his core, he spring-kicked both legs upward with explosive elasticity.
It evoked the image of a famous black capoeira character from a fighting game.
Fenrir, pursuing the falling Jin, hurriedly crossed his arms in defense.
Bam!
Jin pressed the attack toward his recoiling opponent. A chasing punch hammered the side, and he didn't miss the momentary slack in the man's guard—his opposite leg targeted the head.
A left jab flowing into a right high kick.
Fenrir leaned back like he was lying down to dodge. The leg whistling over his face and the gust brushing his skin filled the masked eyes with alarm.
Jin's leg whipped through the air and landed just as Fenrir straightened up—almost simultaneously.
And in that instant, they were very close.
Their fists crossed paths.
Fenrir couldn't fully rejoice that his punch had landed on Jin's face, crushing his nose flat. A drum-like boom exploded beside his ear.
Even just grazing it made his ear ring.
Lucky for him, the counter landed perfectly. If he hadn't deflected it, that would've smashed his face.
What kind of body is that...!
Something had felt off from their shoulders clashing.
Like hitting a chunk of metal.
He'd dismissed it as impossible, pride stinging.
But sparring up close confirmed it. No illusion.
This guy's weird.
Don't finish properly, and it'll bite me.
As Fenrir thought that and prepared a follow-up—
Jin's face, flipping backward amid a spray of blood, snapped back into place like a bungee jumper.
He'd recovered from the momentary daze. His blazing eyes were a bonus.
Right after, Fenrir's fist smashed into Jin's face again.
But Jin endured the skull-rattling shock. The first was an unforeseen counter; this time, he saw it coming.
The brain doesn't usually short-circuit from anticipated impacts.
Thus, as he took the hit to the face and closed in, Jin's arm shot out, clamping iron fingers around Fenrir's nape just as he tried to retreat.
"...Where do you think you're going?!"
He yanked the arm down while driving his knee up into Fenrir's gut.
Fenrir desperately raised an elbow to block, but the impact shook his entire skeleton.
No time to recover—Jin pressed the arm down again. The force was so immense that Fenrir's head snapped forward.
The follow-up target's sweet spot shifted from gut to head.
Crack!
Fenrir's body convulsed violently from the direct knee to the face. His resistance visibly weakened.
Jin went for the finish. One solid hit would end it, he was sure—as he chambered his knee once more.
Suddenly, he found himself distanced from his opponent.
It wasn't reason; pure instinct.
His aviation jacket, torn in four long gashes across the chest, proved the call correct.
Grrrrr...
There stood Fenrir, staggering to regain balance.
His dramatically swung arm drooped at his side as he slowly raised his head—gray fur sprouting thickly across it.
The goblin mask clattered to the floor.
Revealed: an elongated muzzle, height surged over 20cm taller, swollen muscles, and razor-sharp claws.
Jin muttered upon seeing the creature that ticked every box.
"Werewolf?"
Grrrrr...
Fenrir growled low. Then, yellow eyes fixed on Jin, his hand rested on the hilt of a long knife at his waist.
"Enough."
Kalifa's voice pierced the tense air.
Jin, fists clenched for the continuation, spotted the bartender blocking his path.
"Please stop, Jin."
The man's polite smile drained the tension from Jin's grip.
Same for Fenrir—over the bartender's shoulder, he was reverting to human form. Kalifa, standing beside him, spoke.
"How serious were you planning to get? The test's over, Fenrir."
"...Damn it."
He spat the curse like chewing gravel.
Fenrir turned and stormed out of the training room without a backward glance. His unsteady gait made the bartender move to follow, but Kalifa held up a hand.
"Let him go."
"Understood."
"Anyway..."
Kalifa trailed off, shifting her gaze.
It landed on Jin, nose a bloody mess, wincing in pain.
Her lips curved into a smile.
"A fun customer indeed."
Anecdote even had guest rooms attached.
Not surprising, with a training hall already.
In the spartan room—bed, desk, chair—Jin was taking a short break.
Whether it qualified as rest was debatable.
"Ptoo!"
A glob of bloody phlegm splashed into the bucket.
Jin kept hacking up more.
His nose was completely caved in. Breathing through his mouth meant blood kept trickling down his throat—something you couldn't understand without experiencing it. Utterly maddening.
And since both clean hits had been to the face, his entire mug throbbed, not just his nose.
But Jin just endured.
Broken bones were routine now.
If only pain got familiar too.
Unfortunately, it always felt fresh, impossible to adapt.
"Ptooey!"
Another bloody glob. Jin clutched the bucket.
And thought to himself:
That was close.
Lucky it was the nose. Temple or jaw? Recovery would've lagged.
Follow-ups might've landed clean, multiple times.
The fight would've dragged much harder.
Even then, Jin didn't think he'd have lost.
Assuming Fenrir stayed human, that is.
Werewolf.
What genre even is this game?
Cyberpunk, arcanepunk, biopunk—all those punks mashed up. Adding one werewolf to the genre soup didn't change much.
Still, Jin chuckled at the unexpected beastkin.
Not from joy or happiness.
Just foolish laughter.
Bloody saliva dripping from his split lower lip.
Next it'll be vampires, elves?
Make 'em cry to prove their purity?
Are our pretty elves as sharp-eyed as rumored?
Bows? Nah, guns in this world. Bet they're crack shots.
What a joke. Total bullshit.
Just getting used to it, and bam.
Jin laughed.
His twisted expression soon blurred between laugh and sob.
His breathing lost its steady rhythm.
"Hah, hah—"
Inhales and exhales ran wild.
A black wave crashed into Jin's room.
No time to react—blinding speed.
Ankles submerged first, then thighs, belly, chest in seconds.
Jin knew it was panic but couldn't stop it. His breath quickened.
"Gasp! Gasp! Gasp!"
No bullets or Superhuman toughness here. Just a man feeling like an utter outsider.
A soft knock saved Jin.
Knock knock knock.
The ordinary sound made the black water vanish up to his chin like a lie. The door opened.
"Are you alright?"
The bartender's concerned face entered Jin's gasping view.
"Your heart rate spiked too high, so I came. Any issues?"
Poh, right.
Reading heart rates, that otherworldly speech and poise.
Didn't feel human at all.
But on the verge of mental drowning, Jin couldn't hide his relief.
"Thanks, man. You saved my life."
"Jin?"
"Happens sometimes. I'm good now. Really."
"Glad to hear it, but..."
"Ah, nose finally cleared. One sec."
Poh silently watched Jin blow out globs of red snot into the bucket. When Jin finally looked up, swelling down, he delivered his message.
"Shall we go? The boss has been waiting."