Bitou Kengo had just lost a fight and was already full of rage. Now some clueless little brat was blocking his way. He strode over, intending to give the kid a heavy punch, then snatch his Motorcycle and make his escape.
But as he approached menacingly and had barely gotten out a "You," the middle schooler glanced at him, seemingly annoyed, then raised his leg and kicked.
With a dull thud, Bitou Kengo felt as though a massive hammer had struck his chest. He flew back a meter, then rolled another two across the ground. The furious curse rising to his throat was crushed into a string of strange pained cries.
That kick seemed to have knocked the thoughts right out of his head. Clutching his lungs, Bitou Kengo rolled on the ground in agony. When he looked up through a face full of cold sweat, he saw the high schooler leaning against the Motorcycle, lighting a cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of pure white Smoke, and against the backdrop of late autumn leaves, the good student aura around him finally blurred into the grim menace a delinquent ought to have.
Bitou Kengo froze at the sight. A moment later, hearing the footsteps of pursuers approaching from behind, he suddenly began to gloat—though they were his enemies, compared with himself lying on the ground, that pretentious little punk in front of him was clearly the one who deserved a beating more.
His enemies were going to avenge him! Get him!!
But under his expectant gaze, the brawny blond leader approached with a bat on his shoulder. When he saw the middle schooler, not only did he not dare attack, he instead greeted him enthusiastically and fawningly, "Boss!"
He was completely different from the way he had just been grinning wickedly