Kannazuki stood where he was, both hands held up in front of his chest.
The rhythm of his bouncing on his toes returned to its original tempo.
"Tap, tap, tap, tap-"
Even. Steady.
Like a metronome.
His breathing had quickened slightly, but it was still under control.
The stocky man had crumpled a patch of his coat at the shoulder. Apart from that, there was no sign that anyone had touched him.
The onlookers were breathing harder.
The crowd churned like boiling water, low murmurs rising from every direction.
"Four against one?"
A student was the first to force the words out. His tone was flat, but he couldn't hide his disgust.
He ground his cigarette out against the wall, as if extinguishing the last of his patience.
Ganging up on someone.
On the streets, those words sounded uglier than any curse.
The onlookers came from every walk of life-those who had run with gangs, those who hadn't, those who had seen blood, those who feared it-but on this one point, their limits were remarkably consistent.
You could be ruthless, vicious, even fight dirty. But if four of you surrounded one man and attacked without so much as giving a reason, you weren't tough. You were a coward.
The kind of coward who was so spineless he didn't dare fight one-on-one, who needed a gang to work up his courage.
Anger spread through the crowd like wildfire.
Some cursed aloud. Some spat. More simply glared in silence, and that silence carried more weight than the shouting.
The anger began to change.
It didn't fade. Another, more cutting emotion settled over it-contempt.
Because those four hadn't managed to lay a finger on him.
"That's it?"
No one knew who had said it. The words were airy, almost casual, as if passing