Hell's Actor-Chapter 103: Yakuza

"You rounded every wrong corner but ignored this road," the man said. "How did you know we were waiting in ambush?"

’You were?’ Averie looked composed, but inside, he was applauding his luck. ’So, stupidity saved me?

"I’m just that good," Averie answered in the snobbiest fashion possible.

"Well then, you won’t mind a little test of how good you are, right?"

’I would, actually.’

"It’s impolite not to introduce yourselves." Averie crossed his arms. "I’m a big deal; haven’t you heard?"

The man took out a card from his wallet and threw it at Averie’s feet.

’Walter Dean, Head of Management Team 1, Loret Entertainment.’

Averie shook his head. "You are not from Loret."

"We are not."

"Isshin, then?"

"You know us." A spark of interest shone in the man’s eyes. "Were you expecting us?"

"Sort of."

"You are ballsy."

"Isn’t this below the Yakuza code?"

He was genuinely curious.

"What’s left of the Yakuza anymore? The young generation has killed honor. What can we do about it, right? Can’t cry over it forever. At least, loyalty is intact."

"What if we come to a gentleman’s agreement?" Averie joined the tips of his fingers in a triangle. "We can find something other than this brutal way of solving things."

"What do you suggest?"

"I will promise to be a good boy from now on, and you will get out of here with smiles on your faces."

"Sounds... naïve."

"Alright, that was the last straw. Let’s settle it then." He removed his coat and unbuttoned his suit. "How should we do it? Rock, paper, scissors?"

"What?"

"Thumb Wrestling?"

When no one answered, Averie let out a groan.

"Fine." He rolled up his sleeves. "The lady should not be involved, right?"

His gaze turned to Celli, who was frozen in place beside him, her face painted in fear.

"Your honor hasn’t fallen that low yet, yeah?"

The man gritted his teeth and nodded.

Averie loosened his tie and handed the girl his clothes after retrieving his gloves.

"Please don’t drop them. I am not planning on returning them."

She looked at him with a horrified face that seemed to scream, ’Don’t!’

"Oh, come on, I can keep them. Everyone takes home something once filming is over. Asking is useless; you have to take them when you can take them."

The girl kept staring at him.

"It’s not stealing," Averie laughed nervously. "Really, it’s very common in the industry."

He was missing every signal she was giving him.

’Run away,’ she was thinking. ’They won’t stop beating you once they start.’

"Stay away, and don’t get involved," Averie said, hoping to look cool.

But in Celli’s eyes, he looked overconfident.

He was most definitely not getting out with some stern words, that much she knew.

She wondered if she should run away to seek help. But some of the guys had their eyes on her. They would not let her escape if she tried to.

Her heart was beating fast.

’This is dangerous,’ she thought.

With her fake leg, there was no way she could run fast enough.

Without another word, the man gestured for his underlings to take action.

Half a dozen of them surrounded Averie.

As they leisurely closed in on him, underneath Averie’s shirt, the second Peccatum tattoo ignited.

Shadows in his eyes stirred, and something inside him snapped.

His demeanour changed.

Movement, time, and everything else slowed down.

One of the six men rushed the man frozen in time and swung a baseball bat at his head.

Without so much as batting an eye, Averie dodged with a single step.

His clenched fist connected with the man’s fat face.

The sound of snapping bones pierced the air as blood splattered.

The strength of his punch was astounding. It felt heavy as if it were made of iron.

Over the unconscious man, Averie stood confidently. But his wrist was in agony.

’Don’t wreck my body, you lunatic!’

Averie’s leg moved on its own and kicked the face of the second man rushing at him.

He picked up the fallen baseball bat and smashed it into the third man.

Something flew at his head, and Averie dodged.

It was a bicycle.

’Are you serious? Are they really throwing cycles at me?’

His arms moved before he could think; they grabbed the bicycle midair and smashed it into the remaining three men.

’I get it now! I get why Yakuza beat others with bicycles!’ His face twisted in confusion. ’Why did they bring their own, though? Don’t they usually find these things lying around?’

Their boss stretched his neck and ordered the rest of his men to rush the diabolical actor.

About seventeen men rushed Averie, who picked up a nearby wooden broom and held it like a polearm.

He spun it behind his back and cracked the closest man in the forehead.

He fell down, wincing.

Averie’s foot traced a half circle to retreat a step behind.

He spun the broom again and hit the neck of the next man.

He, too, embraced the ground.

Two more fell similarly. But the rest had already reached Averie.

A close-distance scramble erupted.

Averie snapped his broom to the left, then to the right.

He hit them in the stomach, kicked them in the face, dodged with a spin, and did all sorts of harrowing things.

"What is this?" their boss wondered.

It was unbelievable to see an actor take on an entire mob and continue to survive.

Averie’s brutality could not be stopped. He didn’t mind kicking the faces of those wailing on the floor in pain.

When the broom snapped in half, he used the splintered end as a spear point.

"My face! My face!" screamed one of the men, splinters sticking out of his lips and right cheek.

The actor picked up whatever he could get his hands on and threw it at them. He bashed their heads against the wall repeatedly.

Unable to watch, Celli closed her eyes. This was too much violence for her.

This tendering of meat lasted for fifteen minutes.

When Averie regained a sense of his surroundings, more than twenty men were lying on the floor, and their boss had disappeared.

He hadn’t gained a single injury, and there wasn’t a single stain of blood on his clothes.

’What a monster,’ he thought. ’If he were to—’

Suddenly, his hands moved towards his face.

’Stop!’

Having lost control over them, his fingers clawed at his skin, trying to rip his face apart.

With infernal screams raging in his head, Averie banged his forehead against the wall.

He bit his pinkie finger, and after a long moment of pain, his hands finally stopped.

His tattoo went cold.

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