The rain was getting heavier.
Large raindrops pounded against the rusty tin roof, making a dense and violent sound.
But it couldn't drown out the deafening rock music and the clamor of men and women emanating from deep within the warehouse.
This is one of Idaten's strongholds.
A community converted from an old warehouse.
The walls were covered in grotesque graffiti.
Empty bottles, cigarette butts, and unidentified stains were scattered on the ground.
More than three hundred members of the Idaten gathered here.
Most of them wore flashy and exaggerated modified special forces uniforms, sported brightly colored pompadours or long hair, and had an arrogant and fierce look on their faces.
Some were playing cards, some were drinking heavily, and some were flirting with their scantily clad female companions.
Many more gathered around a few makeshift arenas made of discarded oil drums, watching the people inside swing steel pipes and wooden sticks at each other for amusement, emitting wild howls and laughter.
A man sat on a high platform in the center of the warehouse.
He was in his early twenties, named Mitani, the second-generation leader of Idaten.
He was shirtless, holding a bottle of sake, with his legs crossed, looking smugly at the chaotic scene below.
He was surrounded by several people, including the young man who had stolen Murasame's motorcycle during the day.
He was at that moment fawningly lighting a cigarette for Mitani.
"Boss, that motorcycle was in really good condition today. It'll be even more awesome if we modify it!" the blond-haired youth boasted proudly.
Mitani took a sip of his drink and snorted, "To be outdone by a lowly errand boy like that, don't ever say you're one of Idaten's men again."
"Yes, yes, that kid looks simple-minded, but he's pretty ruthless. But the brothers taught him a lesson he wouldn't recognize."
The blond-haired youth quickly put on an apologetic smile.
"Next time----"
Mitani didn't finish speaking.
"Boom-!!!!!"
With a loud crash, the heavy iron gate of the warehouse, reinforced with chains and bolts, was struck head-on by a battering ram, caved in from the middle, and collapsed inwards.
Rain and strong winds rushed in instantly, blowing several nearby members of the Idaten off balance.
All the noise stopped abruptly, like a duck being choked.
Hundreds of eyes stared in astonishment toward the gate.
Amidst the smoke and rain, five figures appeared as if they were demons descending from hell.
One of them, wearing a black skull helmet, had just lowered his right leg, while the other four sat astride four differently styled motorcycles.
An oppressive feeling, even more intense than the torrential rain outside, spread outwards from the five people at the center.
"Who the hell are you? How dare you trespass on Idaten's territory!"
A cadre with a mohawk who was nearby was the first to react.
He grabbed a steel pipe from the side and pointed at the five men, cursing them loudly.
" Idaten?"
Masaki's voice wasn't loud, but it was clearly audible in the quiet warehouse, carrying undisguised contempt.
"After tonight, the name 'Shonan' will no longer exist."
"Court death!!!"
Enraged, the mohawk-haired man charged forward, brandishing a steel pipe.
The dozens of Idaten members behind him, who had also reacted, roared and grabbed anything they could use as a weapon, surging towards the five uninvited guests at the door like a tidal wave.
The battle erupted instantly!
"You scum! Grandpa's here!!"
Junya was the first to move!
He twisted the throttle sharply, and the black motorcycle roared into the crowd like a cannonball.
He didn't slow down or dodge at all; he just crashed straight into it.
Several members of the Idaten were knocked away by the head-on collision, crashing into more than a dozen people behind them.
Junya swung the front of the car, the rear wheels scraping the ground with a screeching sound and leaving black rubber marks.
The rear of the car swept across like a hammer, knocking down another section.
He himself jumped off the car, his eyes, hidden beneath the bowl, gleaming with a mad light.
Fists became weapons, and screams echoed wherever they went.
He fought with incredible ferocity, completely disregarding his opponent's moves; it was a life-or-death fighting style.
He took down seven or eight people in just a few exchanges, but he also took a few hits himself.
But he seemed to feel no pain; instead, he became even more excited.
Leave me a few.
Nakajo's voice was icy.
He drove like a motorcycle into the dense crowd.
At the moment of contact, he jumped off the motorcycle and kicked the Idaten member in the head.
After the motorcycle knocked down a group of people, Nakajo also began direct hand-to-hand combat with the members of Idaten.
Unlike Junya, he didn't charge headlong into the enemy; instead, he used mobility to constantly cut off and harass them.
His movements were concise and efficient; every strike resulted in someone falling and losing their fighting ability.
He himself remained untouched by any affection, like an assassin in the dark.
"Are you ready, my prey!"
With a Kamishima drove his dark red motorcycle inside.
His fighting style was even more brutal and savage.
He specifically targeted those who carried long weapons or looked the strongest.
The motorcycle executed a beautiful drift, knocking over a burly man wielding a chain.
Then he jumped out of the car, and before the other person could get up, he stomped hard on the other person's shin, the clear sound of bones cracking sending chills down one's spine.
He snatched the chain from the other person, swung it around with a whooshing sound, and then smashed it down on the people around him.
The dull thud of the chain striking flesh, mixed with screams of agony, was chilling.
Kamishima laughed wildly as he fought, as if he were enjoying a grand feast.
Masaki did not immediately join the battle; he leaned against the crimson motorcycle, like a king surveying the battlefield.
But any of Idaten's members who tried to get close to him would be instantly defeated by him using even more ruthless methods.
His movements were not as ferocious Junya's, as ghostly as Nakajo's, or as cruel as Kamishima's, but they were more precise and deadly.
A punch, a kick, or an elbow strike can often render an opponent completely unconscious.
The cigarette ash in his mouth didn't even fall off; he just stared coldly at Mitani, whose face was ashen, on the high platform.
Idaten's men weren't fools; they quickly realized that among the five, Kawamoto, who wore a black skull helmet and wasn't riding a bicycle, was probably the easiest to deal with.
Dozens of people exchanged glances, roared, and brandished various weapons, rushing towards Kawamoto from all directions simultaneously.
Steel pipes, wooden sticks, machetes, and some even pulled out daggers.
"President!"
Junya caught a glimpse of this out of the corner of his eye and wanted to turn around to help, but he was held back by several people.
Nakajo and Kamishima faced similar situations; there were simply too many of Idaten's people, like an endless swarm of locusts.
Masaki's eyes turned cold, and he spat out the cigarette before rushing over.
But Kawamoto made a move.
He didn't dodge; facing the first cleaver that came slashing down from the front, he simply raised his hand.
"Snap!"
A piercing, bone-cracking sound.
The man's hand gripping the machete was crushed.
The next second, Kawamoto's fist arrived.
A straight punch landed squarely on the opponent's face.
"Bang!"
A muffled thud that sent chills down your spine.
The man's face instantly contorted, and his nasal bone completely collapsed.
Blood splattered mixed with teeth, and the man flew backward, knocking down three or four people behind him.
This inhuman power caused the other Idaten members who rushed forward to freeze in their tracks, their eyes filled with terror.
After dealing with the man, Kawamoto didn't linger and strode forward.
The pace was not fast, but exceptionally steady.
Each step on the wet cement seemed to carry a heavy rhythm.
Faced with enemies surging in from all directions, he neither blocked nor retreated.
Only forward.
A member of the Idaten swung a wooden stick and struck him on the back of the head.
Kawamoto seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, and the moment the wooden stick struck his body...
He turned sideways, raised his hand, and lashed his arm back like a steel whip, striking the opponent's wrist with the back of his hand precisely.
"Snap!"
His wrist was broken, and the wooden stick slipped from his hand.
At the same time, Kawamoto spun around, and his other elbow slammed into the face of the attacker on the other side like a heavy hammer.
"Bang!"
The man's face was dented, and his teeth, mixed with blood, gushed out as he flew sideways.
Directly in front, two men wielding short knives attacked from the left and right.
The blade gleamed coldly in the dim light.
Kawamoto's gaze remained unchanged, and at the instant the blade touched his body, his body tilted to the left at an incredible angle and with incredible flexibility.
He narrowly avoided the blade aimed at his right rib, almost at a 45-degree angle to the ground.
At the same time, his outstretched left hand, like a venomous snake emerging from its hole, precisely gripped the wrist of the knife-wielding man on the left.
Squeeze and twist hard!
"Ah!"
The man screamed, and the dagger slipped from his hand.
Kawamoto snatched the short sword without even looking at it, and swung it backwards.
"Pfft!"
The short knife that was thrust from his right side stopped a few centimeters from his waist.
The man with the knife looked down in disbelief at the short knife that had once belonged to his companion, now stuck in his thigh.