Unfortunately for him, at that very moment—no one could tell exactly when—Ryōta Kitazawa had already appeared at the back door, as if he had known all along that Kirov would try to escape. He blocked him outright.
Then, with a sudden motion, he seized Kirov's wrist in an iron grip.
Kirov let out a scream like a slaughtered pig, the pistol in his hand clattering to the floor.
"Let go! Let go! It hurts!"
It felt to Kirov as if his bones were being crushed in a vise. Kitazawa's grip was like a steel clamp, the pain drilling straight into his bones.
In that extreme agony, Kirov could no longer think of anything else—he begged for mercy.
"Willing to talk now?" Kitazawa slowly loosened his hold, speaking with calm detachment.
"All right, I'll talk. But if I tell you, you'll let me go—right?" Kirov ground his teeth, speaking through hatred.
"Of course," Kitazawa nodded, giving a definite answer.
"Fine. Here's how it is—"
Kirov was a drug lord, and drug lords had no code of honor—he would traffic poison for money, and sell out anyone for it just the same.
But just as he was about to speak, there was a deafening bang.
Kirov's head exploded. A single bullet slammed into his skull, bursting it apart; bone and brain matter sprayed across the scene.
Everyone froze in shock. None of them had expected that, at this moment, a shot would come flying in from outside.
The café window now had a gaping hole—the bullet had clearly come from beyond the building.
"After them!"
Kitazawa was the first to react, but even as the word left his mouth, a second bullet was already screaming toward him.
The bullet was fast, but Kitazawa was faster—he shifted sideways in a flash, the round grazing his shoulder before punching into the wall, leaving a hole the size of a fist.
By then, Ryōji Kaji had already rushed out, drawing his pistol and firing several rounds toward the second floor of a nearby apartment building.
At the stairwell of that floor stood a white-haired Russian gunman, cradling a sniper rifle.
The sniper fired back—one shot whistling past Kaji and slamming into the ground beside him, kicking up dust.
Then, from the apartment burst five or six more armed men, all opening fire on Kaji in a hail of bullets.
Kaji had never imagined there would be this many people lying in ambush here. In moments, he was surrounded with no way out.
Just then, a figure dropped down from above, suddenly appearing behind the gunmen. In a blur of punches and kicks, several of them were knocked sprawling.
Startled by the sudden attacker, the remaining gunmen swung their weapons around, trying to gun him down together—
—but they hadn't counted on the newcomer's extraordinary skill. In just seconds, he dropped them all one after another, his heavy strikes forcing screams from the men as they fell.
The gunmen looked on in shock, and it was no wonder—this man was none other than Ryōta Kitazawa.
Even the sniper was stunned. Aside from a few elite enforcers within the Sun Gang, there were few in the underworld who could match this kind of skill.
And then, something happened that shocked the sniper even more—Kitazawa took a light leap forward, closed the distance in just a few strides, and drove a brutal punch into him.
Boom!
The sniper reeled as if struck by lightning; dazed and senseless, he collapsed limply to the ground, unconscious.
In barely an instant, Kitazawa had dealt with the entire ambush, leaving no doubt about his strength.
Even Yamamoto Takehito, who had rushed out just in time to see it, was left shaken. It was his first time witnessing Kitazawa in action, and the sheer power of it explained how this young man had managed to slip past the layers of surveillance at his own home that night, moving as if through empty air. Yamamoto was silently grateful he hadn't done anything foolish then—otherwise, he might not be alive now.
Kaji, though not seeing it for the first time, was no less astonished.
A youth with such skills was no ordinary person—his combat ability surpassed even that of elite military special forces.
Kaji took a step forward, about to speak—
—but at that moment, the black muzzle of a pistol suddenly pressed against the side of his head.
"Don't move. Don't make any sudden moves, or I'll shoot."
The man holding the gun was a burly Russian, his massive frame filling the doorway. He had been hiding in the shadows, waiting for his chance. Only after Kitazawa had finished off everyone and the group had relaxed their guard did he emerge, using Kaji as a hostage.
"Sun Gang's idea of silencing witnesses?" Kaji's voice was cold as ice.
"Heh. Sorry—but when the Sun Gang wants someone dead, they never escape. You—drop your gun. And you—back up five steps… no, ten! Then stand right there and don't move, or I'll pull the trigger!"
The Russian snarled the order at Yamamoto and Kitazawa.
"Ryōta Kitazawa, what now?"
Kaji's life meant nothing to Yamamoto—but Kitazawa was another matter entirely. No one knew what other tricks he might have, so Yamamoto had to play along.
"Drop your gun. Do as he says," Kitazawa said flatly. He backed up ten steps and stood still, his expression cold as stone. Whatever he was thinking was unreadable.
"Good," the Russian grinned savagely. "Then on behalf of the Sun Gang, let me say—hell welcomes you! Hahaha!"
With that, he swung the muzzle toward Yamamoto and Kitazawa, his finger tightening on the trigger.
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