The early morning light painted the city in muted hues as Krist stepped out of his mansion, the towering Black's Manor, locking the grand doors behind him. Dressed in a plain blue shirt, black jeans, and a black coat, he felt ready for the day. His sleek bicycle, a personal favorite for discreet travel, was prepped and waiting. Hidden in plain sight was a telescopic staff cleverly slotted into the frame, camouflaged as part of the bike's structure. His pocket baton, snugly hooked onto his belt, was concealed beneath his coat.
After a quick breakfast of cerelac and milk—an odd yet comforting choice—Krist set off. The streets of the developed city passed by in a blur of activity, but as he pedaled closer to the slum, the vibrancy gave way to shadows. The slum was a different world—a forgotten place where streetlights stood as skeletal reminders of a system that had abandoned its people. The air here felt heavy, a mix of neglect and silent desperation.
Krist moved with purpose, but as he crossed into the darker alleys, a prickling sensation crawled up his spine. Someone was watching him. He kept his eyes forward, his pace steady, but his senses sharpened. The broken streets and crumbling buildings loomed around him like silent sentinels, hiding unknown threats.
The feeling grew stronger with every pedal stroke. When the distant glow of Uncle Blake's estate finally came into view, Krist stopped at the edge of the light. Resting his bike on its stand, he turned to face the darkness.
"How long are you planning to watch me?" Krist called out, his voice steady. "You know once I step into that light, there's nothing you can do, right?"
A low chuckle echoed from the shadows. Slowly, three figures stepped into view ahead, followed by five more emerging from the gloom behind him. A final figure appeared from a nearby alley, clapping mockingly as he walked into the dim light.
The leader grinned, his features partially illuminated. "As sharp as ever, Krist. I was starting to think I had the wrong guy."
Krist frowned, studying the young man's face. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn't quite place it. "Do I know you?" he asked, tilting his head.
The boy's grin vanished, replaced by a flicker of rage. "Don't play dumb!" he spat. "You don't remember me?"
Krist squinted as if trying to recall. "Hmm… no, can't say I do. Should I? Maybe you're one of those slum kids who got caught stealing once or twice? Or did I throw your father in jail?"
The boy's face turned red with fury. "You bastard!" he shouted. "I'm Billy! You ruined my life when you sent my father to prison!"
Krist snapped his fingers mockingly. "Ah, Billy! That's right. Your dad was a corrupt businessman, wasn't he? Fraud, embezzlement, bribery… The list was impressive. You should be thanking me—he deserved it."
Billy snarled, his fists clenching. "Enough talk! Guys, take him down!"
The eight attackers advanced, their weapons glinting in the faint light. Baseball bats, daggers, and makeshift clubs—it was clear they weren't here to talk.
Krist sighed, stepping away from his bike. "You'd think after two years, he would stop trying this nonsense," he muttered, reaching for the telescopic staff hidden on his bicycle.
The first attacker swung a bat at his back, but Krist moved like lightning. In one fluid motion, he pulled the staff free, pressing a button to extend it. With a quick twist, he blocked the strike, then jabbed the staff into the chest of another attacker holding a dagger. The man dropped instantly, convulsing as the electric charge knocked him unconscious.
The others hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Krist didn't. He spun the staff in a wide arc, sweeping three attackers off their feet. Cries of pain echoed as they hit the ground. Another man lunged at Krist with a bat, only to be met with a sharp strike to the ribs, sending him sprawling.
Billy watched in shock as his men fell one by one. "You idiots! He's just one guy!" he shouted.
Krist turned to face him, his expression calm. "They really should have sent more people," he said, stepping over the groaning bodies.
Billy growled, grabbing a baseball bat from the ground. "I've changed, Krist. I'm not the weakling you beat last time!"
Krist raised an eyebrow. "I knocked you out with one punch back then. Let's see if you've actually improved."
With a roar, Billy charged. Krist met him head-on, their weapons clashing. To Krist's surprise, Billy was faster and stronger than before. Their fight was fierce, the sounds of metal striking metal echoing through the empty street.
Krist's staff locked with Billy's bat, pushing him against a wall. For a moment, Billy seemed to have the upper hand, but Krist was far from finished. He released the staff, sidestepping Billy's next swing, and reached for the pocket baton at his belt. With a press of a button, it extended to full length, and Krist struck Billy's wrist, forcing him to drop the bat.
The final blow came swiftly—a strike to Billy's temple that left him unconscious. Krist took a deep breath, stepping back. "Not bad, Billy," he muttered. "But still not good enough."
He glanced at the fallen thugs, shaking his head. "This proves it—I'm getting rusty."
Retrieving his staff, Krist mounted his bike and pedaled toward Uncle Blake's estate, leaving the chaos behind. As the estate's gates opened to welcome him, he couldn't help but wonder what new challenges awaited him beyond its walls.