His appearance at that moment was utterly appalling.
He was soaked to the bone, his face was covered in bruises, and his mouth was cracked and bleeding.
His left eye was so swollen it was practically a slit, and there was a noticeable abrasion on his right cheek.
His Flash Wind Express uniform was covered in mud and water and torn in several places.
He walked with a limp, clearly indicating that he also had an injury to his leg.
What's most striking is that his hands are empty.
His second-hand motorcycle, which he cherished like his own life and which he had only recently learned to ride, was gone.
" Murasame!"
Masaki's expression changed, and he abruptly stood up.
Racing Angels brothers, including Nakajo and Kamishima, immediately surrounded him.
"What happened? Did you fall?"
Masaki's voice was full of concern.
Murasame looked up and saw his brothers, especially Kawamoto who had just returned. A hint of grievance flashed in his swollen eyes.
But more than anything, it was anger and humiliation.
He grimaced, which aggravated his wound, causing him to gasp in pain.
No, not at all.
"Damn it—I ran into a bunch of scum—"
Murasame mumbled incoherently as he sat down on a chair with the help of his companions.
Kawamoto silently went to get the first-aid kit, which Masaki took and began to clean Murasame's wounds with iodine.
The action was rough, but effective.
Murasame winced in pain, but still managed to recount what had happened, albeit haltingly.
He accepted a delivery order; the customer wanted a pack of Seven Stars cigarettes to be delivered to a remote, abandoned warehouse area in Heike.
The pay was good, and the distance wasn't too far, Murasame thought it would be a good opportunity to practice driving and went there excitedly.
When we arrived, the warehouse area was quiet, with only a few shady-looking young men gathered there smoking.
Murasame took a cigarette and went over to ask.
"Oh, the cigarettes have arrived?"
A young man with a lip ring walked over casually, followed by four or five other guys dressed similarly.
Murasame handed over the Flash Wind Express: "Hello, this is your order, here's the total—"
The young man ignored him, snatched the cigarettes, tore open the packaging, and lit one himself.
He took a deep breath and revealed a contented expression.
His accomplices behind him also surrounded him, laughing and joking, and unceremoniously reached into the cigarette case to take cigarettes.
"That... money..."
Murasame sensed something was wrong, but he still forced himself to speak.
"Money?"
The blond-haired youth looked at his companions as if he had heard a joke, and burst into laughter.
"Hey kid, new here, huh? Do you know whose turf this is? Bringing things here is a courtesy, understand? You want money too?"
Murasame's face flushed red. "We're a legitimate courier service, we have to charge! Please pay, or give me back my cigarettes!"
"Give it back to you?"
The blond-haired youth's face darkened, and he slammed the half-smoked cigarette to the ground.
"You think you can take back what's already in my hands?"
He stepped forward and shoved Murasame hard.
"Get out of here! Or I'll break your legs!"
Murasame was pushed so hard he stumbled, and his blood boiled instantly.
This job was the starting point for him to integrate into the group and gain recognition.
He absolutely would not allow himself to be trampled on like this!
Give me the cigarettes and the money!
Murasame roared and punched the blond-haired youth in the face.
The blond-haired youth didn't expect the deliveryman to actually dare to hit him; caught off guard, he was punched in the nose.
He immediately screamed in agony as blood streamed from his nose.
"You bastard! How dare you hit me!"
The blond-haired youth, covering his nose, roared furiously, "Attack him! Kill him!"
The five or six delinquents behind him immediately swarmed forward, raining blows on Murasame.
The Murasame rose up in resistance.
He was physically fit and had a fierce streak. He grabbed a green-haired guy who was charging ahead and headbutted him in the face. He then kicked over another guy who tried to grab him from the side.
But even the strongest fists can't fight off four hands, and even the fiercest tiger can't withstand a pack of wolves.
Soon, he was grabbed from behind and then hit hard several times in the stomach, ribs, and face.
He was pinned to the ground, and the delinquents surrounded him, kicking and punching him relentlessly.
The shoe soles kicked him in the body and head, while he cursed, "Kill this blind deliveryman!"
"Dare to fight back? You're asking for it!"
"Nice motorcycle, it's mine now!"
"If I ever run out of cigarettes, I'll just call this ' Flash Wind Express' service and have them send me some! Haha!"
One of the blond-haired youths, wiping blood from his nose, walked over to Murasame, who was curled up on the ground after being beaten.
He crouched down, slapped Murasame's swollen cheeks repeatedly, and said smugly, "Listen up, kid, I'm one of Idaten's men."
"I just gave you a little lesson today. Consider this car my medical bill! Get lost!"
After saying that, he stood up and kicked Murasame hard again.
Then, with his accomplices, they arrogantly laughed and rode off on Murasame's secondhand motorcycle.
All that remained was Murasame, his body aching and his heart filled with humiliation, lying on the cold, empty ground.
" Idaten?"
Upon hearing this name, Masaki paused in wiping his wound, his eyes suddenly turning icy cold.
Nakajo, Kamishima, and the other members around them instantly darkened their faces, their eyes blazing with anger.
" The Idaten of Hiratsuka are a bunch of lowlifes who only know how to bully the weak and steal chickens and dogs."
Nakajo's voice carried an undisguised murderous intent.
"They stole the car and said those kinds of things?"
Kamishima clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking.
Murasame nodded with difficulty, his swollen eyes filled with bloodshot veins and resentment. "They also said they wanted to remember our phone numbers so they could ask us to bring them cigarettes if they ran out—Brother Masaki, Kawamoto, I—"
"Alright."
Masaki interrupted him, pressing the gauze hard against the wound on Murasame's lip, causing Murasame to flinch in pain.
"You did the right thing. You didn't disgrace our Flash Wind Express and Racing Angels."
"To take a beating and not fight back, that's what makes a coward."
He stood up, took a cigarette out of his pocket, put it in his mouth, lit it, and took a deep drag.
Amidst the swirling smoke, his eyes were terrifyingly sharp.
"We need to get the car back."
People have to pay the price.
"The reputation of 'Flash Wind Express' is not one they can afford to tarnish."
"The title of 'Shonan Racing Angels' is not something they can tarnish."
"Brother Masaki."
One of the boys, who hadn't spoken until now, finally spoke.
He had a bowl tied around his forehead, looked young, but had a fierce look in his eyes.
His name is Junya, and he is one of Masaki's confidants.
"I'll go."
Masaki glanced at him and slowly exhaled a smoke ring. "You only care about yourself when it's such a good thing?"
Junya grinned, but his smile was icy cold.
" Kawamoto, what do you say?"
Masaki looked at Kawamoto, who had remained silent.
After all, Flash Wind is a legitimate business.
Kawamoto up, his movements unhurried and deliberate.
But those who know him well can sense the storm brewing beneath that calm face.
He didn't look at the Masaki, but at Murasame's swollen face.
He walked to the wall, picked up the black helmet with a silver skull logo that Masaki had prepared for him, and carefully put it on and fastened it.
"Walk."
He uttered only one word, yet it was as if he had lit the fuse of a powder keg.
"Damn it, kill those bastards!"
Nakajo spat angrily and grabbed his helmet.
" Idaten? After today, that name will no longer exist in Shonan."
Kamishima licked his lips, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Kawamoto didn't say a word, walked straight outside, and got on his modified blue Z1.
Masaki smiled and mounted the Z2.
Five motorcycles, like enraged beasts, roared in the front of the stronghold.
Murasame struggled to stand up. "Brother Masaki, Kawamoto, there are many of them, six or seven, and they might have accomplices too—"
Masaki gestured for him to sit down.
"There are a lot of people?"
"Oh.
That would be best.
"I'm not worried about not having enough to go around."
As soon as he finished speaking, he suddenly twisted the accelerator!
"Boom!!!"
The red motorcycle shot off like a cannonball!
Immediately afterwards, Kawamoto's blue motorcycle, Nakajo and Kamishima's motorcycles, and Junya's black beast simultaneously unleashed deafening roars.
The motorcycles transformed into five black lightning bolts in the rain, tearing apart the gloomy rainy night in Heike City.