At that moment, Yoren finally understood. He realized just how laughable his hesitation had been.
Benson had come at him with deadly intent, yet he had foolishly hoped to subdue him without truly hurting him. But if he hadn't overwhelmed him from the start with sheer, undeniable force, how could he prove himself in such a brutal contest?
In truth, most people in the world were driven by profit—and from Richie's perspective, it was no different.
No matter how much Benson seemed to matter to Richie, Yoren believed it was ultimately about gain. Otherwise, Richie wouldn't have sat in that car, quietly watching Benson clash with a stranger like it was some kind of theater.
In the end, if someone stronger could take Benson's place, everything would make sense.
Of course, maybe this was all wishful thinking on Yoren's part. But it didn't matter right now. He was furious, and that fury drowned out everything else.
The moment Yoren broke free, Benson reacted fast.
He tossed aside the torn scarf and lunged with his other hand, trying once again to lock Yoren's neck.
But that mistake wouldn't be repeated.
Yoren would not give him the chance.
The energy inside the S-class Origin Stone surged through his body. The very air seemed to freeze.
Then, Benson saw it—black flames igniting in Yoren's left eye. And with it came an all-encompassing fear. It felt like staring into the eyes of a devil.
Benson's outstretched hand met only empty air.
And in the next instant, Yoren shot forward.
When their bodies collided, Benson heard it—the devil's whisper.
"Farewell."
With the power of a newly awakened S-class Origin Stone, the black energy sealed inside Yoren for 24 days erupted, surging out like a storm.
In a heartbeat, a black vortex exploded from Yoren, tearing through the parking lot. The shockwave drove back every onlooker. Richie's eyes widened in the car as the tornado of darkness reflected in his pupils.
The whirlwind swelled, a spiraling black sphere devouring the air. Jeeps flipped over, gang members were hurled like leaves in a gale, and two priceless Originium guns vanished into the storm.
The roar was deafening—like an entire construction site gone berserk.
Then, silence.
The parking lot was still again. In the center, a ten-meter crater yawned in the earth like a meteor had struck.
From the heart of the pit, a figure emerged.
Thin, bloodied, and breathing heavily.
Yoren climbed out slowly. He walked to a distant tree and retrieved the torn scarf dangling from its branches. Then, step by step, he approached the black car now surrounded by jeeps.
"Stop!"
A machete barred his path.
Yoren reached out and grasped it. Instantly, black energy spiraled down his arm, and the blade crumpled like paper.
"Clang."
The broken weapon fell to the ground. No one else dared to stop him.
At the car door, Yoren placed his hand on the handle.
"Boom!"
With a sharp crack, he tore the door clean off. The assistant in the passenger seat jumped back, stunned.
Yoren leaned into the car.
"Who's Richie?"
In the back seat, Richie remained calm. Slowly, he took out a cigar and answered in a deep, gravelly voice.
"I'm Richie. What do you want, kid?"
"I want to join the Freddo Chamber of Commerce."
Yoren was a walking wreck—his arms were torn open, his neck marked with bruises, his bald head gleaming under the faint lights. He looked like an intelligent zombie, something from a nightmare.
But his voice was quiet, steady.
"I want to join the Freddo Chamber of Commerce, Boss Richie. Do you agree?"
Richie stared into Yoren's eyes. One man stood soaked in blood, holding a car door; the other sat in calm composure, a cigar in hand.
"Join Freddo? What can you offer?"
"For now," Yoren said, "I can replace Benson."
Richie chuckled softly. The sound was quiet, but the meaning behind it was tangled.
Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a clean white handkerchief, and handed it to Yoren.
"Tomorrow at noon. Meet me on the fifth floor of the casino."
"Yes."
"What's your name?"
"Yoren."
Later, Benson—alive but unconscious—was dug out from the crater. The jeep was flipped upright, and the Freddo convoy slowly departed.
Yoren stood there, the torn scarf now resting on his shoulders, and watched them disappear into the night.
He took a deep breath.
Then he smiled.
"Heh."
Inside the black car, Richie turned to his assistant with a grim look.
"Do you know anything about this Yoren kid? Ever heard the name before?"
The assistant responded quickly.
"Never. If someone that strong had been in southern Victoria before, we'd know. He must be an outsider."
"Do you think he's trustworthy?"
"Hard to say. But if he'd wanted to do something just now… I don't think anyone could've stopped him."
Richie went quiet, deep in thought.
He'd accepted Yoren into the Freddo Chamber of Commerce not just because of his power, but because he had no other choice.
Yes—just as it looked on the surface. If Yoren had wanted him dead, there was nothing he could've done.
And yet this terrifying man had asked to join them.
Money, power, status, women—was that what Yoren wanted?
"Send someone to shadow him. I want to know if he has companions."
"Understood."
Yoren staggered out of the parking lot. The night was late.
A voice called out from under a tree nearby.
"Yoren!"
He turned.
"Aguang? Why are you still here?"
Aguang stepped out of the shadows, concern on his face.
"I came to wait for you. But... Brother Feng, what the hell did you do?"
Yoren gently patted his shoulder.
"Routine business."
Aguang tried to smile, but seeing Yoren's battered body, the words stuck in his throat.
"Come on, I'll take you to the hospital."
Yoren shook his head.
"Just flesh wounds. I'll sleep it off."
"Want me to take you back to the barbecue place?"
"Nah. I'll crash at your place tonight."
Tonight's action seemed risky, but Yoren was actually confident. The worst-case scenario was that he'd screw up and have to flee—and no one would be able to catch him.
Of course, Benson's strength had exceeded his expectations. Judging from how it felt during the fight, Benson's abilities were close to Red Knife's, albeit slightly inferior when it came to details.
Back in the restaurant in Bra City, he and Red Knife had fought to a standstill. That thought made Yoren feel lucky that he had waited until the 24th day of the Black and White Twins. Had he acted a few days earlier, this battle would have been much more difficult.
But now, the first step had been taken. In six days, the Black and White Twins would reach their critical threshold. Within those six days, he had to move every piece into place and construct the perfect formation to offset the gaps in his own strength.
Aguang rode his old motorcycle, sparks trailing behind him, as he drove Yoren back to the Kilt neighborhood.
Despite the wind whipping past their ears, Aguang shouted over his shoulder to Yoren, who sat behind him, bruised and battered.
"Brother Feng! Why did you suddenly get into it with someone from the casino?"
Yoren, head swimming with the ache of battle and fatigue, rested his chin against Aguang's spare helmet. When he finally answered, he pushed the helmet up and let the wind hit his face.
"I wasn't fighting them. I was interviewing them."
"What?! Interviewing? I don't get it!"
"I joined the Freddo Chamber of Commerce today. Richie was in that car you saw. He personally approved it."
"No way, really?"
"Dead serious. I put down their top guy. You think Richie wouldn't let me join?"
"Brother Feng, you're badass!"
"Huh? Too windy, I can't hear you!"
"I said YOU'RE BADASS!"
Aguang's house wasn't in the Kilt neighborhood, but it was nearby. As the motorcycle zigzagged through intersections, a quiet residential area came into view.
According to Aguang, this area was called Uda Street, just under a kilometer from Kilt. Unlike Kilt Street, it wasn't bustling, and there weren't any infected. All the residents here were ordinary folk.
The bike finally rumbled to a stop in front of a small courtyard.
"Brother Feng, here we are. This is my place."
The house was modest, clearly not the kind of place you'd expect from someone nicknamed the tyrant of the Kilt neighborhood. But really, for a guy like Aguang—simple-minded, all brawn, few words—this kind of life was already a blessing. He had brothers, too, who were all doing better than your run-of-the-mill street thug.
As they entered, Yoren glanced at the messy bedroom.
"You live alone?"
"Most of the time, yeah. Sometimes my brothers crash here if they don't wanna go home. It's a bit messy, sorry about that."
Yoren smiled.
"It's fine. I'm no noble. This actually makes me feel at home."
Thinking on it, Yoren found himself genuinely liking Aguang. They didn't know each other well, and yet Aguang had shown such loyalty. Most people would have fled after seeing Yoren pick a fight with the strongest force in the area. But Aguang had stayed, waited for the convoy to leave, then brought him back and even offered his home without a second thought.
It was as if Aguang already saw him as a brother. That kind of warmth wasn't common, and it meant something.
Aguang quickly tidied up the spare bed and waved at Yoren.
"You can sleep here tonight."
"Alright."
"You want some anti-inflammatory medicine for your injuries?"
"No, thanks. Can I use the shower?"
"Of course."
Under the stream of cold water, the blood and grime washed from Yoren's body. Each droplet that touched his wounds felt like fire ants biting into his skin. When he emerged from the bathroom, his face was pale, but he was calm.
He wasn't worried. These were just surface wounds. With the healing power of the Black and White Twins, he'd start regenerating by tomorrow, and in three days, he'd be good as new.
The next morning, Yoren awoke surprisingly refreshed, even in an unfamiliar place. Maybe the relief of accomplishing the first step had eased something in his heart. But he knew it wouldn't last. Greater challenges lay ahead.
While Yoren had slept soundly, Aguang had been so wired from last night's events that he barely closed his eyes.
"Brother Feng! Come eat some steamed buns!"
Aguang set the buns down on the table, eyes dark-circled but full of energy.
Yoren picked one up and bit into it, sitting cross-legged on the bed.
"What are you doing today, Aguang?"
"Gotta go check on a brother who got hurt in a fight a few days back. He's on the east side of the city."
"Got it."
"Want me to drop you off at the barbecue spot?"
"Nah. I'm heading to the Golden Buddha Casino around noon."
It was already 10 a.m. when Yoren stepped out. He politely declined Aguang's offer for a ride. They weren't headed the same way, and Yoren didn't want to take advantage of his kindness.
He stood quietly at the edge of the road, thinking.
He couldn't have ACE drive him—not yet. He didn't want Richie knowing about any other members of Black Feather. A mysterious new recruit like himself would absolutely be under scrutiny.
But it was fine. He had already prepared a solid backstory. Whether Richie believed it or not didn't matter—he wouldn't be able to find fault in it.
Besides, Yoren wasn't worried Richie would sideline him. Time was short, and if that old fox wanted to play slow and steady, then Yoren would just become the duck on the rack, forcing Richie to place him right where he needed to be.
Come hell or high water, Yoren was ready.