He spoke Rinna’s basic information in the same tone he’d use to read a résumé—maybe even flatter.
He spread his arms and stepped back half a pace, using the gesture to show Rinna the hundred-plus silent figures behind him.
“You like calling people small fries, don’t you? Come on. Come on, there’s plenty. Call out a few more times to liven things up!”
When he said “liven things up,” the corner of his mouth curved upward—not a threatening smile, but one that said “I’m looking forward to this,” like he was inviting Rinna to join in a fun game.
Rinna clenched her fists.
The fringe of her red shawl squeezed out between her knuckles.
‘Damn it. This is all my fault.’
‘All because I had to show off on the train for that hundred-plus malice value, cursing at people, getting filmed.’
‘And now Hisaki is stuck here with me—in this dead-end corner with no cameras, no exits, not even the outside broadcasts reaching us—holding the lingering warmth of a cocoa cup, facing over a hundred silent perverts.’
‘She’s a girl… sure, she’s seen plenty of scary-looking men at the Kurose estate, but they probably watched her grow up.’
‘Hisaki’s used to them.’
‘But in the end, she’s still a girl. She gets scared too.’
Because Rinna could feel it… Hisaki’s arm was trembling.
‘I’m a sickly pretty girl now, right? Two steps and I’m out of breath, one tug on my wrist and it turns red, physique a mere 3.1.’
‘But I used to be a 185-centimeter adult male. I can’t beat these professional thugs, but I can stand in front of Hisaki as a meat shield and tank a few seconds of damage.’
‘Even if it might kill me.’
After that thought circled in her mind, Rinna didn’t hesitate.
She gently placed the empty hot cocoa cup on an overturned paint bucket nearby.
She stepped back from Hisaki’s embrace.
But Hisaki didn’t allow Rinna to leave her arms.
The moment Rinna retreated, her arms tightened—not the usual measured, just right hug, but a tighter, harder, no-negotiation force.
She yanked Rinna behind her, quick and precise, with exactly enough power to shift Rinna’s center of gravity from outside to inside, keeping her firmly within the protection range.
Then Hisaki turned around.
She faced the wall beside her—made of white latex paint over a cement mortar base—and raised her right hand.
Fingers curled, knuckles outward.
She channeled her entire body’s explosive power from her waist, through her shoulder line, elbow, and wrist, instantly transmitting it to her knuckle tips, and aimed at that dust-covered wall.
She punched it hard.
The wall made a sound unlike any ordinary wall at the moment of impact—not a simple collision, but a heavy, low-pitched mix of high and low frequencies as the latex paint surface cracked and the mortar base beneath was compressed, deformed, and depressed.
White paint split into a dozen irregular cracks around the impact point, radiating outward into the wall.
The crack edges curled up, revealing the light gray cement mortar underneath. The center of the impact was depressed less than a centimeter, the arc perfectly matching the contour of Hisaki’s knuckles.
Three tiny, deep red marks remained on the wall—blood seeping from her knuckle skin abraded by the wall’s rough particles, soaking into the fine pores of the cement mortar.
Everyone fell silent.
The few people standing in the first row behind that man instinctively took a small step back, their brows furrowing beneath their sun hats.
The man himself pressed his phone screen on and off again, a hint of discomfort in the motion—this wasn’t what he had expected.
Rinna also flinched at the sound of Hisaki slamming the wall, but the shiver wasn’t fear—it was heartache.
Why Hisaki punched the wall—maybe only she herself truly knew.
Her gaze swept across the faces of those who had taken videos of Rinna with their phones—they had filmed Rinna without her permission.
She was extremely, extremely angry right now.
The trembling in her body wasn’t fear—it was a somatic stress response caused by a massive adrenaline rush, a physiological reaction where the body outpaced consciousness at the peak of rage.
Come.
As for punching the wall… she needed the pain.
She needed that sharp, instantaneous pain to travel along her knuckles, along her ulnar nerve, quickly into her central nervous system, forcing her brain to wake from the frenzy of anger.
Pain was like a needle piercing a bloated balloon, pulling her back from the out of control trembling into that calm.
Rinna looked down at Hisaki’s right hand hanging at her side.
The skin on her knuckles was broken in three cuts of varying depth—the deepest at the middle finger joint, where the skin was completely worn away, revealing the deep pink tissue layer beneath.
Blood oozed from the wounds, trickled down between her fingers, and gathered on the inside of her wrist into an extremely thin red line.
Rinna’s breath caught for half a beat when she saw those traces of blood.
“Xiao Xiao! You…”
But before Rinna could finish the second word, Hisaki’s fingers gently pressed against her lips—the pressure was light, but the skin on her fingers carried the metallic smell of blood and the bitter taste of wall dust, along with a warmth Rinna already knew so well, belonging to Hisaki.
The words Hisaki spoke next… each one felt like it had been polished with the finest sandpaper—soft and low, wrapped in the still-unstopped blood’s scent and a slight tremor in her palm.
“By the time you open your eyes, everything will be over.”
She let go, and when she saw that Rinna had obediently closed her eyes, the corner of Hisaki’s mouth twitched.
At a moment like this, just before action, Rinna actually closed her eyes, entrusting all her faith to her without reservation… Hisaki had never considered herself fragile, but at this instant her heart genuinely trembled.
Hisaki stood up, her gaze sweeping toward a bundle of steel rebar tightly bound with wire in the corner.
She moved toward those rebar while speaking.
“Since you all know, after investigating, Rinna’s identity—then do you know who I am? And do you know the consequences of offending the Kurose Clan?”
Hisaki walked to the corner, bent down, and gripped one steel rebar in each hand.
The exteriors of both pipes were covered in dust and rust, and as she lifted them, a small amount of brownish rust powder shook out from the openings.
She skillfully spun each pipe in her palms to confirm the center of gravity.
Two pipes: the one in her right hand was about 130 centimeters long; the left one was shorter.
Her eyes rested on the rough rust, and her mind inevitably drifted back to when she swung a bamboo sword in the family dojo.
To protect Rinna, rain or shine, three hundred sixty-five days a year without a single day off—she never slacked, only wanting to have enough strength to keep Rinna safe.
No matter how much suffering or grievance she endured, as long as Rinna was safe by her side, that was all that mattered.
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