Shinji limped home, his clothes ripped and his face covered in blood. He stumbled through the doorway, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Painless Shinji," he muttered bitterly, wiping the tears from his eyes. "What a crock."
He glanced around the empty house, the lack of warmth and life only adding to his sense of despair. His father's legacy, the supposed gift of being "painless," had done him no favors against the ruthless gang. If anything, it had made him vulnerable.
Shinji made his way to the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator. He grabbed a bag of frozen peas and pressed it against his swollen face, wincing at the contact.
As he sank down onto the cold, tiled floor, Shinji finally allowed the weight of what had happened to sink in. He had never felt so powerless, so humiliated. The sting of failure and the fear of what the future held for him now that he was in the gang's clutches overwhelmed him.
Silent sobs wracked his body as he curled up on the kitchen floor, the frozen peas still pressed against his face. In this moment, he felt nothing like the confident, "painless" persona he had tried so hard to cultivate. He was just a scared, wounded young man, realizing the harsh realities of the world he now found himself in.
He had always taken pride in his supposed immunity to pain, using it as a shield against the hardships of life. It had made him reckless, overconfident - and now, it had betrayed him. The gang's brutal assault had shattered that illusion, exposing his vulnerability in the most humiliating way.
Shinji squeezed his eyes shut, trying to wash away the memory of their jeering faces, the searing cigarette burn on his skin. He had never felt so powerless, so utterly defeated. The weight of his father's legacy now seemed more like a burden than a blessing.
"Dad, what do I do?" he whispered into the empty house, wishing his father's indomitable spirit could somehow reach him in this moment of despair. But there was no answer, only the echoing silence that served as a constant reminder of his father's absence.
Meanwhile, in a restaurant with the logo of a fish on top of a foot called Dragon's Den Bistro, people were eating and talking amongst themselves. The aroma of savory dishes and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, creating a lively atmosphere.
At a secluded table in the corner, a small group of individuals sat in hushed conversation. Their clothing and demeanor suggested they were not your typical patrons - there was an air of danger and purpose about them.
Daichi, the leader of the Purple Dragons gang, sat at the head of the table, a self-satisfied grin on his face. He took a sip of his drink, savoring the burn of the alcohol as it went down.
"The 'painless' Shinji Takanashi is officially part of the Purple Dragons now," he announced, his voice low but dripping with triumph. "We showed that little punk who's in charge around here."
One of the other gang members, a burly man with a prominent scar on his face, nodded in agreement.
Goro: "Yeah, boss. That kid didn't stand a chance against us. Looks like the great Shinbo Takanashi's legacy ain't worth shit."
The group erupted in laughter, basking in their perceived victory over the son of the legendary MMA champion.
"Oh, it's worth plenty to us," Daichi said, his eyes gleaming. "The Purple Dragons are about to take this city by storm."
Another member, a woman with a sharp, calculating gaze, leaned forward, her interest piqued.
Aiko: "Forget about that little dweeb. What are you gonna do about that scouter that saw you fight and gave you the opportunity to join his mma gym? Aren't you planning on joining the "VCL" (Valor Combat League)"
Daichi took another sip of his drink, savoring the moment. "Yeah I wanna join it, but if that gym sucks then I'll just find another one, not that hard when I'm the strongest." He chuckled and raised his glass.
As Daichi finished speaking, the whole group erupted in laughter and cheers, their voices rising above the general din of the restaurant.
Suddenly, a brown skinned chef, donned in a white apron that read 'Kick the Chef' and a red chef's hat, approached their table, carrying a tray of drinks. With a friendly smile, he handed out the drinks one by one.
"You youngsters are being a little loud," he said in a calm, even tone. "I gotta ask if you could lower your voice just a little." He maintained his smile, but there was a subtle firmness in his eyes that hinted at the importance of his request.
The gang sneered at the chef, and Daichi set his drink down with a smirk. "Lower our voices? Don't you know who we are? We're the Purple Dragons." With a swift kick, he sent the plates of food crashing to the ground. "Pick it up, Chef."
The chef's expression hardened, his glare unwavering. "Well, this is a bit of a problem." As he rolled up his sleeves, the gang members stood up, cracking their knuckles in anticipation.
"A cleaning problem, of course." The chef snapped his fingers, and a teenage girl emerged from the back. She had a striking blue and pink afro, an apron over her white shirt, and sharp brown eyes.
"Goddamn it, I have to clean after a bunch of people?" she said with an annoyed smirk, starting to mop up the spilled food.
One of the gang members looked puzzled and gritted their teeth. "Who the hell does she think she is?!"
The girl glanced up and glared at them. "Would you wish to find out?!" She stood up and stood in front of the gang, unfazed by them.
The gang exchanged confused glances and flinched as the chef reached into his pocket. "Now it's time for you kids to pay," he said, a dangerous glint in his eye. The gang stood up, bracing themselves for whatever was coming next.
To their surprise, the chef pulled out a pen and paper from his pocket. "Your meal comes to 260 yen. Would you like to pay in cash or card? We also accept Cashbank. You can send the money to $kissdachef_22." With a calm demeanor, the chef placed the bill on the table, his eyes never leaving theirs.
The gang members stared at the bill, taken aback by the unexpected turn of events.
Moments later, the Purple Dragons strolled down the streets with Daichi leading the way.
Goro scratched his beard, adorned with a kitty sticker, still taken aback by the chef. "Was that guy really just a normal chef?"
Daichi grumbled as he walked, a kitty sticker stuck to his forehead. "That bastard offered us free dessert and slapped these ridiculous stickers on each of us."
Aiko grumbled in agreement as they walked. "That damn girl with her 'television girl' hair! She looked down on us all!"
Meanwhile, Shinji stirred awake from his sobbing slumber and slowly rose from the ground. He stretched his back with a groan of relief. "Naps always know how to calm a guy down after he just got beaten up," he muttered to himself, shuffling towards the kitchen while still holding the bag of peas.
Returning the peas to the freezer, he closed the door with a sigh. Suddenly, a frantic knock at the door made him jolt in fear. "This can't be. No way the Purple Dragons came to my house!" he thought, standing frozen in place, heart racing.
Moments later, an envelope fell through the mail slot, followed by footsteps running away. "It was just the mailman," Shinji muttered, trying to steady his breathing. He grabbed the envelope and tore it open, finding a picture of his father inside. Turning it around, he read the chilling words: "The chef killed him."
Back at Dragon's Den Bistro, the restaurant now closed for the night, Harumi Mizuki (Pink and blue haired girl) and the chef were busy cleaning up. "I've been working for you for 4 years, and still don't get paid!" she complained, while the chef shook his head in annoyance.
Suddenly, a knock at the door interrupted their cleaning. "Harumi, get the door," the chef instructed, to which Harumi grumbled but complied. "I swear, I'll hit you with the door," she mumbled under her breath as she approached.
Opening the door, she saw a van speeding away and noticed an envelope on the doorstep. Picking it up, she carried it back to the chef. "Mail," she said curtly, handing him the envelope.
The chef used a kitchen knife to open it, and what he saw inside sent a shiver down his spine. His heart raced, sweat beading on his forehead. The envelope contained a gruesome picture of Shinbo Takanashi, his face bloodied and mutilated. On the back, written in what appeared to be blood, were the words: "I want my revenge."
"What the hell!?" both the chef and Shinji exclaimed in shock and horror.