Richard's POV
"Let's go be a hero for once," I muttered under my breath, stepping toward the dark alley. But a sudden thought made me pause. Before diving headfirst into danger, I should call the police. This wasn't some fantasy world where a hero or the police miraculously shows up to save the day.
Quickly, I pulled out my phone and dialed. After explaining the situation to the dispatcher, they assured me help was on the way—but I knew it would take time. Time the girl might not have. The thought of her in danger made my blood boil. I couldn't just stand there and wait.
Before charging in, I forced myself to think. I can't fight them both at once. They're armed—this could be my death sentence.
I had to force them to attack me one at a time. A rough plan began to take shape.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I gripped the metal rod tightly and moved toward the alley.
The scene hit me like a gut punch. One of the thugs was gripping the girl's wrist, pulling her close as she struggled to break free. The other stood nearby, blocking her escape. As I stepped closer, the second thug noticed me, his eyes narrowing.
His gaze flicked to the rod in my hands, and his lips curled into a sneer.
"Oh, what do we have here? Looks like a hero has come to save the princess," he jeered, his tone dripping with mockery.
"Let her go," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady despite the fear clawing at my chest.
Don't let them see you're scared, I told myself. If they sense even a hint of weakness, it's over.
The senior thug—the one holding a knife—laughed darkly. "Kid, you've got no idea what you're getting yourself into. Walk away before I get angry. I don't have time to waste on punks like you."
I swallowed hard. My mind raced with doubts. If they have a gun, I'm dead. But if they don't… I can buy time. Five or ten minutes, maybe. Long enough for the police to get here.
I gritted my teeth. "Focus," I whispered to myself.
With that, I lunged toward the thug holding the girl. He released her wrist in shock and shifted into a defensive stance, but I had anticipated it. Feinting toward him, I quickly redirected my momentum, darting toward the senior thug instead.
Surprised by the sudden change, the knife-wielding thug swung wildly, but his strikes lacked precision. He's underestimating me, I realized. Years of Kendo training kicked in as I dodged his attacks, my movements instinctive.
With a swift counter, I drove the metal rod into his abdomen. The force of the blow made him collapse to his knees, gasping. Without hesitation, I grabbed the girl's hand and pulled her behind me.
Third-Person POV
Seeing his partner fall, the second thug's face twisted with rage. "You little shit! You're dead!" he snarled, charging at Richard with blind fury.
His attacks came fast and relentless, but Richard's training allowed him to evade most of the wild swings. However, years of juggling college and part-time jobs had dulled his edge, and a few hits landed, leaving him bruised and battered.
Richard gritted his teeth, waiting for an opening. When the thug overcommitted to a wild swing, his stance faltered. Seizing the moment, Richard struck with precision.
The rod whistled through the air and connected squarely with the thug's ribcage. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Richard's POV
I exhaled, my chest heaving as relief washed over me. But the feeling was short-lived.
The senior thug, recovering from my earlier strike, rose to his feet. His eyes burned with rage, and his expression made my stomach twist.
"You little prick," he hissed. "Playtime's over. you are dead now."
My hands were trembling" Stay calm. Don't let them see." i thought to myself
I swallowed hard. "Can't we resolve this like civilized people?" I asked, forcing a faint smile even as fear coursed through me.
"You should've thought of that before you attacked us," he snarled, his voice icy.
I gripped the rod tighter. The only reason I landed the first blow was because he underestimated me. That's not going to happen again.
He dashed toward me, his knife gleaming under the dim streetlights. His strikes were faster, sharper, and deadly precise. Every swing was aimed to kill.
I barely dodged the first slash, my heart hammering in my chest. Adrenaline surged through me as I raised the rod to block his attacks.
This wasn't about being a hero anymore—it was about survival.