Madara watched as the group of teenagers closed in, their faces twisted into exaggerated sneers and mocking grins.
Their expressions were so over-the-top, almost comical, that Madara found it faintly amusing.
The way they contorted their mouths and squinted their eyes, trying to look intimidating, was laughable to someone who had faced true monsters and warriors. His crimson gaze remained steady, unfazed by their childish display.
These were no ordinary teens—they were part of a delinquent gang known as the Red Ogre, a group notorious in Yuuya's school.
They thrived on bullying the weak, targeting those who couldn't fight back.
Yuuya, with his timid nature and unappealing appearance, was their favorite victim, with the request from Yuuya brother and sister.
The delinquent group reveled in making his lives miserable, using their numbers and cruelty to dominate anyone they deemed inferior.
The blond leader strutted forward, his slicked-back hair gleaming under the streetlights. "Look at this pig," he sneered, his voice loud and taunting.
"Yuuya, you're so fat you're blocking the whole street!" His gang laughed, egging him on. Then his eyes flicked to Madara, who stood calmly beside Yuuya.
"And who's this guy? Your babysitter? What's with the weird clothes, old man? You look like you crawled out of a history book!" The others snickered, throwing in their own insults.
"Yeah, what's with the creepy eyes? You some kind of wannabe tough guy?"
Madara didn't react. Their words were nothing to him—empty noise from insignificant pests. He stood there, his arms crossed, his expression one of mild boredom.
If they thought their weak taunts could rattle him, they were gravely mistaken. He had faced gods and demons; a handful of loud-mouthed kids were less than nothing.
The blond leader, unimpressed by Yuuya's silence, stepped closer to the boy. He slung an arm around Yuuya's shoulder, his grip tight and mocking.
"Alright, pig," he said, his voice dripping with fake sweetness. "You've ruined our day just by existing. That's mental damage, you know? So, hand over some cash to make up for it. Now."
Yuuya froze, his face pale, his hands trembling at his sides. He didn't speak or move, his eyes fixed on the ground. The blond's smirk faltered, irritation flashing across his face.
"What, you deaf now?" he snapped. Without warning, he swung his fist, aiming a quick punch at Yuuya's stomach.
The blow landed with a dull thud, but Yuuya didn't flinch. He stood there, unmoved, as if the punch had been nothing more than a tap. The blond blinked, confused.
For a moment, he wondered if he had missed. Frowning, he pulled back and threw another punch, harder this time, straight into Yuuya's gut.
Again, it did nothing. Yuuya remained still, his expression unchanged, not even a gasp escaping his lips.
Unbeknownst to the blond punk, Yuuya was no longer the weak, defenseless boy he used to be. Through his system, Yuuya had recently defeated a powerful bull-like magical beast, a creature far stronger than anything these delinquents could imagine.
The victory had caused him to level up, boosting his strength and endurance to extraordinary levels. His body was now far tougher than any normal human's, capable of shrugging off blows that would have left others doubled over in pain.
Madara's eyes narrowed slightly, catching the subtle shift in Yuuya's demeanor. He hadn't expected the boy to withstand the punches so easily. But again he was an abnormal boy who happened to have a dimensional gate in his house, so this was the least of his concerns.
Madara let out a quiet sigh, his patience wearing thin at the pathetic display before him. The blond punk's failed punches and the gang's empty taunts were a waste of his time.
He had seen enough of this nonsense. His mind shifted to more pressing matters—he needed to return to the other world through the gate, deliver the goblin reconnaissance information to the Adventurer's Guild, and check on the children he had left at the inn.
This world was fascinating, but he had responsibilities to attend to.
He turned to Yuuya, who stood frozen, still shaken from the punches that had done nothing to him.
"Kid," Madara said, his voice sharp and commanding, "start walking. We're going back to the house." He gestured toward the road, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll see more of this world on the way."
Yuuya nodded quickly, his round face pale but obedient, and began to move. Madara followed, his eyes scanning the surroundings, taking in the strange sights of this modern world—the towering buildings, the glowing screens, the carefree people.
But before they could get far, the Red Ogre gang stepped forward, spreading out to block the entire street. Their sneers and mocking expressions returned, as if they hadn't noticed the shift in the air.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" the blond leader barked, his voice laced with arrogance. His gang chimed in, their taunts echoing.
"Yeah, you and this fat pig think you can just walk away?" one said, laughing. "What's with you, old man? You think you're tough or something?" another jeered, pointing at Madara's borrowed clothes.
Madara's expression remained cold, his crimson eyes glinting with quiet disdain. Their words were meaningless, like the buzzing of flies.
But then, one of the gang members—a lanky teen with green hair—stepped forward, gripping a baseball bat.
The blond snatched it from him, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Without warning, he swung the bat with full force, aiming straight for Madara's head.
Madara didn't even glance at the attack. His hand shot up, catching the bat mid-swing with ease.
The metal groaned under his grip, and with a casual twist of his wrist, he bent it into a useless, warped shape. The bat clattered to the ground, deformed beyond recognition.
The blond's jaw dropped. "What the hell?!" he swore, his voice cracking with disbelief. The others froze, their mocking laughter dying in their throats.
"Did you see that?!" one stammered. "He just… bent it!" another whispered, eyes wide. But instead of backing down, their pride—or stupidity—pushed them forward.
Like brainless thugs, they shouted curses and threats, their faces twisting into aggressive snarls.
"You're dead, man!" one yelled. "We're gonna mess you up!" another added, clenching his fists.
Madara's patience snapped. He had given them plenty of chances to walk away, especially since he was in a rare good mood after glimpsing true peace in this world. But they had chosen to test him. That was their mistake.
In an instant, he vanished from his spot. The gang blinked, confused, their eyes darting around. Before they could react, Madara reappeared behind the blond leader.
His hand shot out, grabbing the punk's head with an iron grip. With a single, brutal motion, he slammed the blond's face into the concrete road.
The impact was deafening, a sickening crunch echoing through the street. Blood sprayed across the pavement, splattering Madara's hands and the borrowed clothes he wore.
The blond's face was flattened against the ground, his body limp, his life snuffed out in a heartbeat.
The remaining gang members—five teens with their brightly colored hair—stood frozen, their faces pale with horror.
What they had just witnessed was something straight out of a nightmare, a scene they had only seen in the goriest horror movies. Their leader, the untouchable blond, was dead, his blood pooling beneath him.
They wanted to scream, to run, but their legs wouldn't move. And deep down, they knew they wouldn't live long enough to carry this memory.
Madara straightened, his bloodied hand flexing as he turned his cold gaze to the others. One blond was dead. A few colorful-haired punks remained. Their fate was sealed.
Madara stood over the blond leader's lifeless body, the concrete beneath stained with blood and fragments of what used to be a face.
The remaining Red Ogre gang members—five man with their brightly dyed hair actually one was killed so only four—stood frozen, their eyes wide with terror.
It was as if their souls had fled, leaving behind empty shells too shocked to move. The street was silent, the air heavy with the weight of what they had just witnessed.
One of them, a lanky boy with green hair, snapped out of his daze. His face twisted in panic as he let out a string of curses.
"Get the hell out of here!" he screamed, his voice breaking. "Run! All of you, run!" He turned and bolted, his legs pumping as fast as they could carry him.
His heart pounded, driven by the desperate hope that he could escape. Deep down, he knew the truth—if he didn't run, there would be no tomorrow. But even running wouldn't save him.
Madara's crimson eyes flicked toward the fleeing boy, his expression cold and unyielding. In an instant, he vanished from his spot, the air rippling where he had stood.
Before the green-haired punk could take another step, Madara reappeared beside him. His hand shot out, fingers closing around the boy's throat like a vice.
With a slight flex of his arm, barely any effort at all, Madara tore the boy's head from his body. The headless corpse stumbled forward, then collapsed in a heap, blood spurting onto the pavement.
The remaining four gang members screamed, their voices raw with desperation. "Help! Somebody, please!" they cried, their shouts echoing down the empty street.
But as their pleas went unanswered, the reality sank in—no one was coming, and even if someone did, it wouldn't matter.
They were already dead men walking. Their arrogance, their haughty swagger, had vanished completely, replaced by pure, unfiltered fear.
They dropped to their knees, their bodies shaking uncontrollably. Tears streamed down their faces, mixing with the snot dripping from their noses.
Their eyes, wide and pleading, locked onto Madara as they sobbed, their voices trembling. "Please… don't kill us!" one begged, his blue hair matted with sweat.
"We're sorry! We didn't mean it!" another whimpered, his red hair falling into his tear-streaked face.
Their pride was gone, their bravado crushed under the weight of Madara's overwhelming presence.
Madara stood motionless, his bloodied hand hanging at his side, his crimson eyes boring into them.
Their pathetic display stirred nothing in him—no pity, no satisfaction. They were insignificant, and their fate was already decided.
Three Left.
Madara shook his hand, flicking the blood from his fingers, the crimson droplets splattering onto the pavement.
His cold gaze settled on the three remaining Red Ogre gang members kneeling before him, their bodies trembling, their faces streaked with tears and snot.
The air was thick with their fear, and Madara's voice cut through it like a blade. "One chance," he said, his tone low and menacing.
"I'm giving you one chance. Tell me every bad thing you've done—from mocking someone to killing someone. If I hear a single lie, or even sense you thinking about lying, you'll end up like those two." He gestured toward the blond leader's crushed body and the headless corpse of the green-haired punk.
His words hit them like a thunderbolt, more terrifying than anything they had ever faced. The sting of a parent's slap, the threat of police, or even the idea of a lifetime in prison—those seemed like safe havens compared to the man standing before them.
Their hearts pounded, their minds blank with panic. Lying wasn't an option; the fear was too raw, too consuming.
Their mouths opened, and words spilled out in a frantic rush, each trying to outdo the others in confessing their sins.
They admitted to everything, their voices shaking as they laid bare their crimes. It started small—making fun of classmates, calling them names, laughing at their pain.
But it quickly grew darker. They confessed to beating people senseless, extorting money from weaker students, and vandalizing property for fun.
Their crimes escalated further: sexual assaults, forcing girls into prostitution, and cornering victims to violate them.
They admitted to gang assaults on multiple girls, recording explicit videos and nudes to blackmail them. They even bragged about leaving students half-dead, broken and bleeding, just for the thrill of it.
As they spoke, a flicker of hope crept into their minds. Maybe, just maybe, this terrifying man would turn them over to the police.
They could play the victim later, claim he had killed their friends and forced them to confess crimes they didn't commit.
It wouldn't be their first time dodging justice at a police station. They clung to that thought, a desperate lifeline in the face of death.
But their hope was short-lived.
One of the kneeling Men, a boy with blue hair, suddenly went limp. His eyes dulled, the light fading as his neck snapped with a sickening crack.
Madara's leg had moved faster than anyone could see, delivering a brutal kick that shattered the boy's spine. His body slumped forward, collapsing onto the blood-soaked pavement, lifeless.
The boy next to him, with red hair, flinched at the sound. His head whipped around, eyes wide with horror as he saw his friend's crumpled form. Three were dead now—only two remained. His heart raced, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Madara's gaze shifted to the remaining two, his expression unchanged, as cold and unyielding as stone.
The red-haired boy tried to scream, but before a sound could escape, Madara moved. He vanished and reappeared behind the Man in an instant.
His hand clamped onto the boy's skull, fingers digging in with crushing force. With a single, violent twist, Madara tore the boy's head from his shoulders.
Blood sprayed in a wide arc, painting the street red as the headless body swayed and fell, twitching briefly before going still.
The last gang member, a Man with purple hair, let out a choked sob. His body shook uncontrollably, his knees grinding into the pavement. "No… please…" he whimpered, but Madara was already moving.
He stepped forward, his boot slamming into the boy's chest with enough force to cave in his ribcage.
The Man's body flew backward, crashing into the ground with a wet thud. Blood poured from his mouth, his eyes wide with shock as his life drained away.
Madara stepped over him, his foot pressing down on the boy's throat for good measure. A final, gurgling gasp escaped before the Man went silent, his body still.
The street was a slaughterhouse now, littered with the broken remains of the Red Ogre gang members.
Madara stood amidst the carnage, his hands and clothes stained with blood, his crimson eyes burning with quiet intensity. The air was heavy with the stench of death, but he paid it no mind.
These punks had sealed their fate the moment they crossed him and from the confession they were no innocents.
…
The scene shifted to the other world, inside the dimly lit inn where the demi-human children were staying.
The focus fell on a girl seated on a wooden chair in one of the inn's another rooms, her expression a mix of relief and lingering unease.
Her name was Azuma Rin, the same girl who had dared to step in Madara's path and lecture him about his actions.
Just a few hours ago, her leg had been shattered by his brutal stomp, the pain so intense it had nearly broken her spirit. Now, though, her leg was fully healed, as if the injury had never happened.
Azuma sat with her childhood friend, Taichi Nishimura, who knelt beside her, his face etched with guilt.
Earlier, Taichi had rushed to her side with a powerful healing potion, a rare and expensive item he had managed to acquire.
While Azuma possessed healing magic, her abilities were limited, nowhere near strong enough to mend a completely broken bone.
The potion, combined with her magic, had worked wonders, restoring her leg in just an hour.
During that time, the two had also registered as adventurers at the guild, where the guildmaster had examined their attributes.
To their shock, he had declared their potential to be among the strongest he had ever seen, a revelation that left them both stunned but hopeful.
Taichi's eyes were fixed on Azuma's leg, his hands clenched into fists. "Who was it?" he asked, his voice low but trembling with anger.
"He did this to you just because you tried to help someone? I'm sorry, Rin… I'm so sorry. I left you alone to gather information, thinking you'd be fine, and then this happened. I should've been here."
His guilt was palpable, his shoulders slumped as if carrying a heavy weight. He had always been her protector, ever since they were kids in their old world. Being transported to this new world together had only strengthened that bond, and now he felt he had failed her.
Azuma's expression softened. She reached out, placing her hand gently over his, her fingers squeezing his tightly. "It's okay, Taichi," she said, her voice firm but kind.
"It wasn't your fault. It was that man's fault. I got chills just looking at him—he's definitely a bad guy. He…" She paused, her brows furrowing as she recalled the encounter.
"He had these kids with him, demi-humans with cat, dog, and bunny ears, like characters from manga or anime. They were terrified, Taichi. I'm sure they were his slaves. The way they looked at him… it was like they were scared for their lives."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with unease. She could still picture Madara's cold crimson eyes, the way his presence seemed to suck the warmth from the room.
The memory of his strength, the effortless way he had crushed her leg, sent a shiver down her spine.
Yet, there was something else nagging at her—a fleeting thought that maybe she had misjudged him. But she pushed it aside. No one that cruel could be anything but a villain.
Taichi's jaw tightened, his guilt giving way to determination. "We'll find him," he said, his voice steady now. "And those kids… if they're in trouble, we'll help them." His eyes met hers, filled with resolve, a silent promise that he wouldn't let her face danger alone again.