"No. I always hack others. Nobody hurts me," Ryuuto murmured, footsteps a calm, lethal rhythm as he sidestepped a flick of steel. Deadpool's blade swung, bright and manic, and for a heartbeat everything looked like a bad punchline.
A cold flash traced Ryuuto's waist. He moved like someone who'd practiced understatement until it was deadly. The blade clipped air; Deadpool's sword clattered free. Then the merc's chest split in a messy, ridiculous fashion—he fell, theatrically incapacitated, and for a single ridiculous second it looked permanent.
"That's not fun!" Deadpool crowed from the floor with a voice that should not have been possible from someone so logically shredded. He scrambled, grinning, wielding another blade; madness was his soundtrack.
"Then let's see how long you're fun for." Ryuuto's voice was dry as winter. He spun—Leaf Great Whirlwind—360 degrees of motion, a single perfect kick that sent Deadpool skidding. The merc crashed through baggage and toppled into a hollowed pit, the airport floor caving where the impact landed.
Green Goblin, riding his glider like a homicidal carnival act, rained mortar and fire down, tearing up the tarmac. The terminal buckled into craters and rubble. He laughed, a high, feral sound, and delighted in the chaos—until he noticed something missing.
He stopped throwing grenades. He turned, scanning. Gwen's trail had vanished.
A muffled thump from under the glider made the Goblin stagger. "Now's my chance to clean you up!" Gwen's voice sliced through the roar, strung out behind him like a noose.
"Where are you, you coward?" he snarled, firing lasers down, hunting for shadows. There was nothing below the glider—no figure, no cover—only the echo of his own arrogance.
"Idiot. I'm behind you." Gwen's taunt was velvet and steel. Ryuuto watched, waiting.
Then, impossibly, Gwen dove. She snatched a strand of webbing, vaulted down and struck the Goblin in the chest so hard he tumbled off the glider. The impact sounded like a snapped promise.
"Damn it—get off me!" he roared, pain raw and furious. He sprayed lasers, the ceiling shimmered with light, and for an instant the airport looked like a collapsing sun.
Gwen moved through the beams unbroken—agile, precise—hurling dozens of web lines that tangled the Goblin like a living net.
"You tough little pest," he spat, stuffing pumpkin grenades into a frantic cluster and launching them at her. His desperation was a bright, ugly thing.
One of his grenades exploded midair—but not where he meant. A hairline strike from somewhere, a micro-thread of velocity, detonated the bundle on his head. Green Goblin's armor ruptured; shards and flame sprayed out. He flew back, metal screeching and body skidding across broken tile. Blood sprayed the air, and when he finally hit the floor he was a broken puppet with too many stitches.
"You…you bastard!" he gasped, eyes bloodshot, pointing at Ryuuto. He barked and spat, accusing the boy of trickery.
Ryuuto just smiled—small, annoyed, satisfied. He grabbed Gwen's hand and gave a short, almost embarrassed nod. "Nice work," he said. Nothing dramatic. Just facts.
Green Goblin, sputtering, tried to weld his control back together. He kept backing away—bad tactician, good coward. He'd been fighting Gwen and now a new variable, Ryuuto, had tipped the balance.
Ryuuto sauntered forward as if bored by the whole affair. "You think you can take me?" he said. "I wasn't planning to join your little duel, but you forced my hand."
Green Goblin's reply was a spray of black-blooded threats. He pulled out every grenade left and flung them like a pyromaniac throwing birthday confetti.
Ryuuto didn't waste insults. He formed a simple hand sign and released a concentrated blast—Fire Style: Fire Dragon Ball. The fireball swallowed the incoming grenades, consuming them cleanly; nothing left but heat and the bitter smell of burnt metal.
"Look down!" the Goblin screamed, scrambling to his glider. He hit a small remote and the floor beneath them split open. A slab of transparent, reinforced glass revealed itself, sliding aside like a trapdoor. Beneath it was a narrow pit—packed with people.
Ryuuto and Gwen peered down. Thirty civilians were trapped in the basement cell, huddled and terrified. A digital timer blinked in the far corner—red numbers counting down.
A bomb.
The terminal's noise dimmed into a single, primal clarity: the timer's pulse, the rising heat on everyone's necks, the exact cold math of seconds left to act.
[Ding! System Alert]
[Host: Ryuuto — Critical: Hostage Basement Detected]
[Shion: Timer active. Recommend immediate rescue window. Don't die on me, idiot.]
Ryuuto's face went as still as a blade. There's "not fun," and then there's the kind of not-fun that ends lives. He didn't smile now. This was business—fast, clean, and merciless.
"Gwen," he said, voice tight. "Timer. Thirty people. We pull them out, now."
She nodded. "On it. You cover me. Don't let him get up."
Green Goblin, on the floor and bleeding, rolled like a wounded beast, trying to access more tricks. His grin was thin, and his eyes were all trembling hate. He still had tricks left. So did they. The fight had just become a race against the clock.
End of scene — a ruined terminal, a wounded villain, a mercenary gone through theatrical hell, and a countdown blinking like a heart monitor. Ryuuto's smirk had no room for jokes; this chapter closed on the cold edge of a ticking bomb.