Flames burst through the air.
The sheer power behind the sword strike was unmistakable—but this was exactly what Yaoyorozu Chihiro wanted. The metal case he had deliberately unlocked took the blow head-on and sprang open with a sharp crack. In an instant, countless banknotes exploded outward, fluttering through the alley like snow.
"Kill me!"
The bearded man, his vision completely swallowed by the storm of money, roared in fury. He swung his machetes wildly to either side as blue arcs of electricity erupted from his body, flashing violently at a speed visible to the naked eye.
"So it really is you."
Chihiro's calm voice suddenly came from behind him.
The man stiffened. His heart skipped violently as a familiar scene resurfaced in his mind.
—On that arena stage long ago, before the black-robed figure had become known as Number Seven, he had faced a challenger known as the Electric Blast Man. A famous powerhouse of the arena. He had despised that faceless coward who hid in shadows. And yet, in the middle of the fight, that same voice had appeared behind him—followed by pain so profound it had carved itself into his soul forever. —
The air detonated.
A whip-like kick burst from the darkness and slammed into the man's lower back. He had no time to react. His body was hurled dozens of meters away, crashing violently into the alley wall.
"Cough—cough!"
Blood spilled from his mouth as he struggled, fragments of crushed organs mixed into each breath. Still, as the black-robed figure approached, his eyes burned with undying hatred. Memories replayed again and again, refusing to fade.
"We met in the forty-second match," Chihiro said evenly. "Do you remember the Electric Blast Man?"
"You finally remembered… damn you!"
The man's eyes seemed to spit fire as he roared hoarsely, his voice ragged with exhaustion.
"Why didn't you settle this inside the arena?"
"That depends," Chihiro replied calmly. "What kind of grudge is this?"
The man's face twisted grotesquely. "You took away a man's dignity. Even if I die, I won't let you feel peace!"
Beneath the black robe, Chihiro's expression turned strange. His gaze flicked downward briefly.
So that was it.
No wonder this man's screams carried such madness—he had been crippled into a eunuch.
As if sensing Chihiro's gaze, the man's face contorted further. His right hand, which had been hidden behind his back, suddenly clenched.
"Die!"
He twisted his body and threw a punch.
Electricity exploded.
A thunderous screech filled the alley as arcs of lightning gathered into a three-meter-long spear of pure electricity, launching from his fist like a shrieking swarm of birds.
But—
The man froze.
The lightning spear stopped less than half a meter from the black robe.
Before he could understand why, a sudden sound ripped through his right arm—pain sharp enough to tear lungs apart.
Grinding his teeth, he turned his head.
A long sword—thin as cicada wings and bright as fresh snow—had pierced straight through his arm, pinning him brutally to the alley wall. The blade trembled softly, releasing a faint, ringing yin sound.
"You're sluggish," Chihiro said as he walked forward unhurriedly. "No—when you activate your Quirk, your perception dulls. That's why your reactions are always half a beat slower."
"This sword…" The man ignored the mockery, staring at the blade as if all his hatred had condensed into it.
"This is a soft sword," Chihiro explained politely. "Blade length: seventy-six centimeters. Blade width: three-point-five centimeters. It can be worn at the waist like a belt—so it's also called a belt sword."
He stepped closer, pulled the blade free, and flicked his fingers lightly.
The sword bent gracefully, then straightened with a sound like a plucked piano string. In the blink of an eye, the bloodstains vanished from its surface.
"Flexible yet firm, coiling like a hook and snapping straight like a string… truly a fine blade."
Even for someone as familiar with weapons as Chihiro, the sword deserved praise.
For swordsmen like him, navigating a modern city with a katana was impractical. A belt sword, worn discreetly, was far more effective—and far deadlier.
As it was now, the Electric Blast Man had been pierced clean through by the sudden strike. Combined with his previous injuries, he had completely lost the ability to fight. His body slid down the wall, collapsing into a trembling heap.
Chihiro showed no pity.
His right hand formed a claw, gripping the man's throat as he slowly lifted him off the ground.
Deep within the narrow alley, the black-robed figure appeared almost slender—yet he effortlessly hoisted a fully grown man by the neck. The image was grotesque, chilling beyond reason.
Drip… drip…
Scarlet blood splashed onto the moss-covered ground.
Chihiro tilted his head slightly, gazing at the familiar reflection of his own face mirrored in the man's terrified eyes.
A cold sneer formed beneath the hood.
His grip tightened.