Chapter 94: New Breathing Method [Eighth Update, Requesting Subscriptions and Monthly Tickets]

“So he’s been standing on another Hollow all along—that’s why he didn’t move. I thought he’d been scared stiff…” Rukia Kuchiki glanced down at Motohara Yosuke’s condition and realized he had only recently transformed from an ordinary soul into a Hollow.

“With that man’s strength, this Hollow should’ve been destroyed long ago. The fact he’s held on this long means they must know each other.”

Rukia Kuchiki formed a hypothesis and immediately turned to Kurosaki Ichigo.

“Hey! Itachi know this Hollow, right?”

“Hollow?” Kurosaki Ichigo didn’t understand what Rukia meant—he only saw her pointing at Motohara Yosuke with her sword. He nodded. “Itachi mean Uncle Yosuke? Yeah, we know him.”

Then Kurosaki Ichigo recounted everything about Motohara Yosuke—from the cause of his death and his final wish to how Chu Yang helped him recover the compensation money.

“Didn’t think that guy had any kindness in him,” Rukia muttered inwardly, glancing at Chu Yang, who looked like a humanoid monster.

“Is this state called a Hollow?” Kurosaki Ichigo asked anxiously. “Why did Uncle Yosuke turn into this? Is there any way to bring him back?”

“The best course is to send him to the afterlife. His final wish has been fulfilled—he shouldn’t linger. Otherwise, he’ll gradually lose his sanity and become a monster.”

Rukia briefly explained the nature of souls and Hollows, considering how to perform the Soul Burial for Motohara Yosuke.

Chu Yang had already crippled him; Rukia could do whatever she wished—he had no capacity to resist.

But Soul Burial for a Hollow is far more complex than for an ordinary soul—it requires extensive preparation.

To complete Motohara Yosuke’s Soul Burial, Rukia needed to ensure the surrounding environment remained stable and free from external interference.

First, she had to deal with this Hollow, which was on the verge of evolution.

“Damn it! As a Shinigami, how can I just stand here watching? This is my duty!”

The close-range battle between Chu Yang and the Hollow was ferocious; Rukia’s zanpakutō had no opening to strike—she could only watch helplessly.

If this area hadn’t been so sparsely populated and lacked many buildings, it would’ve been another massive disaster.

Almost no intact ground remained—only deep, jagged craters surrounded them.

Had she not seen it with her own eyes, Rukia would never have believed what she was witnessing.

In the Soul Society, if someone told her a human could suppress a Hollow using only physical strength—without a zanpakutō—she’d have thought them insane.

After prolonged struggle, Chu Yang leapt high into the air and smashed the Hollow’s mask with a single punch.

BOOM! The massive Hollow collapsed, its shattered mask scattering in the wind, revealing a human face.

“Your turn!” Chu Yang rubbed his neck, looking exhausted as he jumped off the Hollow.

Purely in terms of combat power, Shinigami are undoubtedly far superior to characters from Naruto or One Piece—both of which, no matter how exaggerated, mostly remain within human limits.

Of course, the Sage of Six Paths is an exception.

In a world where Shinigami are so powerful, even an ordinary Hollow is no easy foe—let alone this one Rukia had drawn, which was already evolving toward a Menos.

Without using Wood Release or other techniques, Chu Yang had exerted tremendous effort to defeat this Hollow.

Even so, the result left Rukia speechless.

She’d been a Shinigami for years, yet she’d never witnessed anything like this.

At Kurosaki Ichigo and Chu Yang’s request, Rukia performed the Soul Burial for Motohara Yosuke first, though she should’ve dealt with the more dangerous Hollow first.

At the final moment of the Soul Burial, Motohara Yosuke regained his original consciousness. Upon hearing that Azawa had delivered the compensation money to his family, he finally let go of his last attachment to the living world.

Before departing, this honest, hardworking laborer sincerely thanked Chu Yang and Kurosaki Ichigo for all they’d done for him.

After sending Motohara Yosuke away, Rukia began purifying the other Hollow, plunging her zanpakutō into the gaping hole in its chest.

From the sweat tracing her temples, Chu Yang could tell this wasn’t an easy task—far more difficult than handling Motohara Yosuke.

“Itachi’re really something!”

Kurosaki Ichigo walked silently beside Chu Yang and sighed. “Itachi actually held your own against that monster.”

“What do Itachi mean ‘held your own’?” Chu Yang grumbled. “Didn’t Itachi see how badly I beat it? I didn’t even dirty my clothes.”

Kurosaki Ichigo turned to look at Chu Yang.

His school uniform was spotless—not a single stain or tear.

Of course Chu Yang’s uniform was untouched—he was wrapped in Haki. To break through his Haki, Itachi’d need at least Menos-level power.

Kurosaki Ichigo scratched his head. “That girl just said she’s a Shinigami… so are Itachi one too?”

Chu Yang shot him a withering look. “I’m the King of Hell.”

Japan’s Buddhist culture originated in China, so the concept of the King of Hell exists here too—though it’s not as widely known as the Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha.

Kurosaki Ichigo paused, then realized Chu Yang was teasing him. He scratched his head and chuckled awkwardly.

“Unfortunately, there’s no King of Hell in Hell—only souls guilty of grave sins, like this Hollow!”

As Rukia spoke, a strange, terrifying gate slowly materialized in midair.

Ancient incantations were carved into its surface; in the center, a pair of gnarled white bones gripped the gate’s edge, straining to force it open.

At the sight of the Hell Gate, both Chu Yang and Kurosaki Ichigo felt a chill crawl up their spines.

“My zanpakutō purifies a Hollow’s sins, but the crimes it committed in life will still be judged by Hell. Motohara Yosuke wasn’t dragged down because he became a Hollow too recently—and he carried no sins at all.”

Rukia explained calmly.

She’d seen this countless times—it held no surprise for her.

The Hell Gate fully opened, slowly dragging the Hollow inside. Within, chaos swirled—Chu Yang couldn’t make out what lay beyond.

But.

He felt something inside watching him.

This stirred his caution.

Moments later, the Hell Gate closed again, gradually turning transparent and vanishing—as if it had never existed.

Having delivered the Hollow to Hell, Rukia had completed her task. She didn’t leave—instead, she walked straight to Chu Yang and asked: “Are Itachi a Fullbringer?”

Only a Fullbringer could possess such extraordinary power. Rukia couldn’t think of any other explanation.

Fullbringers can extract souls from objects and reinforce them with their own spiritual energy, enhancing mobility and altering the shape of their favored items.

Fullbringers come in many forms—some, like Kurosaki Ichigo’s friend Chad, specialize in enhancing their own bodies.

“What’s a Fullbringer?” Kurosaki Ichigo looked utterly confused again—today had flooded him with too many unfamiliar terms.

Rukia sighed and began to explain.

“So that’s what it means!”

After understanding, Kurosaki Ichigo turned and stared intently at Chu Yang, waiting for confirmation.

To avoid complications, Chu Yang said nothing in response to Rukia’s question—he simply remained silent, tacitly accepting it.

Rukia studied Chu Yang deeply.

She’d originally planned to use a memory-altering device to erase their memories of tonight—but his power gave her pause. If she forced it, she might not succeed.

Moreover, Shinigami couldn’t harm ordinary humans without cause. If the Soul Society found out, she’d face severe punishment.

So Rukia subtly left special marks on Chu Yang and Kurosaki Ichigo—so she could find them later—then issued a warning before leaving.

“I hope I never see this girl again…”

Kurosaki Ichigo rubbed his head. “Tonight’s been the most intense night of my fifteen years.”

Chu Yang smiled. “It might get even more intense.”

Kurosaki Ichigo waved his hands frantically. “No way! I just want to live a quiet life—go to school, take exams, graduate, get a job—like a normal person.”

“Then good luck,” Chu Yang yawned, stepping onto the path home beneath the moonlight.

“He talks in such a weird tone,” Kurosaki Ichigo muttered, rubbing his chin—then suddenly bolted off in panic.

“Shit! If I don’t get home soon, my dad’s gonna freak out!”

…

Demon Slayer world.

Kanao and the others were eating ramen at a noodle shop—the owner was none other than Inosuke and Mitsuri.

“Chu Yang’s still training. Gyutaro is dead—why’s he still obsessed with surpassing the limits of Sun Breathing?”

Chu Yang had promised Kanao and the others he’d join them for a meal today—but he’d canceled last minute, sparking Kanao’s irritation. She was venting about him to the Butterfly House staff.

Shinobu and Kanao exchanged glances, then buried their heads in their noodles, too afraid to join Kanao in criticizing Chu Yang.

To every member of the Demon Slayer Corps, Chu Yang was an untouchable hero—he ended a war that had lasted a thousand years.

Kanao gently stroked Kanao’s hair. “Precisely because he’s so relentless, he was able to defeat Gyutaro at his age—and let us live like ordinary people.”

“I know that!” Kanao pouted. “We’ve suffered enough. We’ve endured enough. Why keep punishing himself? Can’t he just stop, rest, treat himself?”

Kanao soothed her sister’s mood, smiling as she fed her more food.

In truth, Kanao didn’t understand Chu Yang’s mindset either.

Gyutaro was dead. He was the strongest human alive. What was the point of growing stronger still?

Butterfly House.

Golden flames encircled Chu Yang as he completed another round of Breathing—but the improvement was barely noticeable.

Chu Yang clearly felt Sun Breathing had hit a bottleneck.

“How can I break through?”

He’d already mastered the Demon Slayer Mark and Transparent World. Whether refining his technique further or steadily strengthening his body, Breathing seemed incapable of evolving further.

This left him discouraged. He decided to step outside, ending this isolated training.

When Kanao and the others returned to the Butterfly House and found Chu Yang gone, the usually gentle Kanao stood at the door and erupted in fury.

“If he shows up again, slam the door in his face! That bastard!”

But Chu Yang was already far away—he couldn’t hear Kanao’s furious shouts.

For his first destination, Chu Yang hadn’t decided where to go. After much thought, he chose to follow his mood and wander freely.

If he met a mountain, he’d climb it. If he met water, he’d cross it.

The chirping insects and birds in the woods, the roaring rivers and streams—all became medicine for his inner turmoil.

During this process, Chu Yang gradually became more relaxed, and the occurrences of Sun Breathing in his mind grew increasingly rare.

In the end, he fully released the state of Full Concentration: Constant that he had deliberately maintained each day.

Chu Yang continued his journey like an ordinary person.

Unconsciously, he arrived at a remote small town, where everything felt familiar to him.

This was the same town where he had first met Tengen Tanjiro.

Come to think of it, Chu Yang hadn’t seen that warm father-and-son pair, like the sun itself, in a very long time.

He wondered whether Tanjiro’s health had improved at all.

Chu Yang planned to climb the mountain to visit Tanjiro, but halfway up a cliff, he spotted someone gathering herbs.

“Such a steep cliff—if one slips…”

No sooner had he thought this than a violent wind suddenly surged around him; he looked up and saw a dark mass approaching in the distance.

A typhoon.

The herb gatherer on the cliff also sensed the typhoon’s approach and froze in place, uncertain whether to go on or retreat.

It was too late to call out a warning; Chu Yang dashed toward the cliff where the man stood.

The herb gatherer swayed like a willow fluff, tossed wildly by the gale.

CRACK—suddenly, the rock beneath his foot shattered; his body lurched backward, his grip slipped, and he plummeted straight down.

“Aaaahhhhh!!!”

Just as the herb gatherer thought he would be crushed into pulp, his body jerked to a sudden stop—as if seized by an unseen hand.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing safely on the ground, unharmed.

Right before him stood a sturdy young man, smiling at him.

To express his gratitude for being saved, the herb gatherer insisted on taking Chu Yang home to properly entertain him.

The storm was growing fiercer, and the man’s hospitality was too sincere to refuse.

Chu Yang reluctantly agreed and followed the herb gatherer deep into the mountains.

When they reached their destination, Chu Yang saw two houses—one of which he recognized instantly.

Tanjiro’s home.

The house beside Tanjiro’s belonged to the herb gatherer.

So they were neighbors! The last time Chu Yang had come, only Tanjiro’s family lived here.

Tanjiro was chopping firewood outside when he heard the noise and guessed his neighbor had returned; he looked up to greet him.

“Master Tengen, Itachi’re back—did Itachi have good luck gathering herbs today…”

Tanjiro’s voice cut off abruptly—he saw a familiar figure and burst into tears.

Firewood crackled in the flames as Chu Yang, Tanjiro, and his several children sat around the hearth.

Tanjiro’s wife busied herself preparing dinner; this man had saved her husband and son—she could not afford to be careless.

A few days ago, Tanjiro, still in decent health, had hunted a fat wild boar; hundreds of pounds of pork had been pickled and now were ready to be cooked.

The aroma of food filled the air, making the children cheer and leap with joy.

Aside from Tanjiro, all the other children chased and played around the fire.

Tanjiro leaned against his father, his big round eyes fixed on Chu Yang, filled with delight.

He remembered that ever since the big brother had visited their home last time, his father’s health had improved greatly.

“Master Yang, the world outside seems much better now—recently, we haven’t heard of any demons harming people,” Tanjiro said, stirring the fire with a smile. “The children should be able to live in peace from now on.”

Chu Yang nodded; Tanjiro knew a little of the truth, so he spoke of these matters without much restraint.

“How is your health?” Chu Yang asked, noting Tanjiro’s still somewhat jaundiced complexion.

“Much better,” Tanjiro replied immediately. The terminal illness still slowly consumed his life; though Chu Yang had given him vast amounts of vitality, it only treated the symptoms, not the root cause.

Chu Yang glanced at Tanjiro and saw fear in his eyes—he knew Tanjiro was lying. “In a few days, I’ll bring a friend to treat Itachi.”

“No, no, my illness can’t be cured,” Tanjiro hurriedly waved his hands, not wanting to trouble Chu Yang or burden him with a debt of gratitude.

“I’m informing Itachi, not asking for your permission,” Chu Yang frowned. “If Itachi truly feel guilty, then dance the Kagura Dance for me again.”

Tanjiro nodded in agreement.

Knock, knock, knock—someone knocked on the door.

“It must be Master Tengen,” Tanjiro rose to open it; the children immediately followed him, thinking their father was leaving again.

“Master Tengen?” Chu Yang had felt the surname sounded familiar.

The door opened, cold wind rushed in, and the temperature dropped sharply; Tanjiro quickly ushered the Tengen family inside and shut the door tightly.

The Tengen family had come to thank Chu Yang for his earlier rescue.

“Greetings, sir. I am Tengen Ichiro, and these are my two children: Tengen Yuichiro and Tengen Muichiro.”

Tengen Ichiro placed his hands on his children’s shoulders and pressed gently; they instantly understood.

Together, they bowed deeply in gratitude.

Tengen Muichiro? Chu Yang’s gaze fixed on the youngest child—he never expected that his decision to leave seclusion would lead him to meet Tengen Muichiro, the very boy destined to become the “Mist Pillar.”

Too bad… the Demon Slayer Corps had disbanded; this child’s terrifying talent would likely remain unknown his entire life.

But perhaps that’s for the best. Muichiro probably preferred a quiet, safe life with his family over becoming a legendary genius of the Demon Slayer Corps.

Seeing Chu Yang’s prolonged silence, the Tengen family grew anxious.

Tanjiro, puzzled, broke the silence with a laugh: “Master Yang, isn’t the Tengen family name interesting? The father is Ichiro, and the two sons are Yuichiro and Muichiro.”

Chu Yang smiled. “Indeed, quite interesting.”

Seeing Chu Yang smile, Tengen Ichiro sighed in relief. “My wife wished to come personally to thank Itachi, but she is bedridden…”

“No need,” Chu Yang suddenly recalled—Muichiro’s mother suffered from severe lung disease, just like Tanjiro, and had little time left.

Because they still had a sick person to care for, the Tengen family exchanged only brief pleasantries before leaving.

They had brought gifts—precious wild game they’d saved for special occasions—but Chu Yang accepted only a small portion; life in seclusion was hard, and he didn’t want to deplete their meager food supplies.

After they left, Chu Yang gave the wild game to Tanjiro’s wife, Kuei-zhi; with the Tengens’ gift, dinner became even more abundant.

After dinner, Tanjiro began preparing his Kagura Dance attire and props. Just then, Tengen Ichiro returned, bringing back the gifts he had taken home.

“My wife insisted these must be delivered into Master Yang’s hands,” Tengen Ichiro scratched his head, his cheeks red from the cold.

Chu Yang feared he might fall ill from traveling in such bitter weather, so he finally accepted the gifts. “A friend of mine will come in a few days to treat Tanjiro. Bring your wife along—she can be treated too.”

Tengen Ichiro’s lips trembled with emotion; he wanted to pour out his gratitude but couldn’t find the words.

At that moment, Tanjiro began his Kagura Dance in the courtyard. The torch in his hand flickered like stars blinking in the sky, his graceful movements entrancing all who watched.

Even after seeing it again, Chu Yang was easily lost in its beauty.

The others were the same.

Tengen Ichiro had never seen the Kagura Dance before, yet it felt strangely familiar to him.

Tengen Ichiro had never told anyone he was a swordsman.

Since his wife fell gravely ill, he had spent every day searching for medicine, abandoning his sword entirely.

The Kagura Dance stirred memories of his days as a swordsman.

Some movements in his ancestral, incomplete sword techniques bore striking resemblance to the dance.

As he watched, he compared them in his mind, and a sudden clarity dawned upon him.

When Tanjiro finished the Kagura Dance, everyone was left yearning for more.

After a moment’s hesitation, Tengen Ichiro voiced his thoughts to Chu Yang and Tanjiro.

“Actually, your family doesn’t bear the surname Tengen—it’s Tsugikuni,” Chu Yang told Tengen Ichiro, recounting the story of Tsugikuni Ena and Tsugikuni Iwa. He also explained the origin of Breathing Techniques.

Throughout, he omitted all details concerning demons.

With Muzan Kibutsuji dead, there was no need to cause unnecessary panic.

“The sword technique passed down in your family should be called Moon Breathing—the first Breathing Technique derived from Sun Breathing. It holds profound significance.”

To each other, the Tsugikuni brothers were uniquely important.

Because his forehead mark was seen as an omen of misfortune, Tsugikuni Ena’s childhood was unhappy; his father showed him no affection whatsoever—until he revealed his extraordinary talent.

Aside from his mother, only his elder brother, Tsugikuni Iwa, offered him rare warmth and light.

Even at the moment of his death, he carried the flute Iwa had given him.

Even though Iwa had become a demon, he still called him “Elder Brother.”

Such deep emotion, Chu Yang firmly believed, meant that Tsugikuni Ena’s Moon Breathing—crafted especially for Iwa—must possess qualities no other Breathing Technique could match.

“Master Tengen, could Itachi demonstrate your sword technique for me?”

Chu Yang had a profound interest in Moon Breathing.

His battle with Kokushibo had been fleeting; he had crushed the opponent with absolute power and never witnessed the technique’s true essence—a lingering regret.

“Of course, Master Yang!” Tengen Ichiro beamed and hurried home to fetch a rusted katana.

Normally, even if unused, a swordsman’s blade would be regularly maintained to prevent corrosion.

Seeing the sword’s condition, Chu Yang understood: over the years, Tengen Ichiro had devoted himself entirely to his wife’s illness, leaving no time for anything else.

“My blade is in poor condition, Master Yang—I apologize.”

As he drew his beloved katana, Tengen Ichiro looked embarrassed, but quickly composed himself and began to move slowly.

At first, his motions were stiff, but as he grew more focused, the stiffness melted away, replaced by fluidity and grace.

Tengen Ichiro’s sword technique bore similarities to Tanjiro’s Kagura Dance, but its aura of lethal intensity was far more pronounced.

Chu Yang observed intently, attempting to reconstruct a complete Moon Breathing in his mind using his knowledge of Sun Breathing.

He sensed faintly—this might be the key to his own breakthrough.

Chu Yang didn’t call a stop, and Tokitō Ichirō kept practicing over and over again, the starting point merging with the endpoint, as if forming a perfect circle.

Exactly like the Kagura Dance.

Chu Yang’s spirit trembled! The two breathing techniques in his mind merged continuously—the sun contained the moon; the addition of Moon Breathing perfected Sun Breathing.

Chu Yang took a deep breath, and the new breathing technique circulated through his body, granting him a completely renewed experience.

When the white qi exhaled from his mouth and nose, it was no longer the golden flame-like form, but a brilliant ribbon of light, like a galaxy.

“This is the new Sun Breathing…” Chu Yang paused, feeling this name was inappropriate, then immediately shook his head: “No, this is no longer Sun Breathing—it is… Origin Breathing.”

“It can break through all constraints, continuously ascend, and carry me into a new level of existence.”

Meanwhile, the Chu Yangs from other worlds all felt the power of Origin Breathing.

Since the death of Muzan Kibutsuji, Chu Yang of Demon Slayer had grown increasingly close to the Soul Palace, allowing other Chu Yangs to share his transformations in real time.

…………………

Marvel Universe.

New York City, Brooklyn.

As the sole hope of his village, Chu Yang had come from a rural town to New York City—the metropolis most people dreamed of.

He was here to attend school.

At first, Chu Yang assumed it would be an excellent public school; only when he arrived did he learn the school was in the poorest, most chaotic part of all New York—Brooklyn.

Historically a minority enclave dominated by Black residents, Brooklyn has long suffered regional discrimination; those born here struggle to find jobs elsewhere.

It was New York’s most unwanted district—populous, with persistently high crime rates.

When others heard he was from Brooklyn, they all instinctively covered their mouths, expressing shock.

As if he were born a criminal.

Under such conditions, Brooklyn’s schools were mere decorations; Chu Yang wasn’t here to study—he was here to kill time.

Even so, his rural neighbors still threw him a heartfelt send-off.

Living in a big city—even the worst district—was the lifelong dream of someone among them.

The high school Chu Yang attended wasn’t large; in fact, it was shabbier than any high school depicted in movies.

“Studying here is a complete waste of time!”

Chu Yang stood at the school gate, hesitating for a long while.

Finally, he walked away without looking back.

With less than a hundred dollars in his pocket, Chu Yang couldn’t find anywhere to stay once he left Brooklyn.

So he spent fifty dollars on a room at a nearby motel.

“The problem now is how to earn some money—I can’t just slink back home in shame.”

Chu Yang suddenly realized…

He had so many clones, yet none possessed a skill related to earning money.

“Obeying the law or making money—Itachi can only pick one…”

“Fuck it, I’m not an American—I don’t give a damn about American laws!”

“I’ll hit the streets tonight!”

Inspired by Magic Chu Yang’s example of collecting tuition from street thugs in London, Chu Yang decided he should also extract some living expenses from those bastards—and improve local public order along the way.

After waiting until nightfall at the motel, Chu Yang stepped out wearing a black trench coat.

Though Brooklyn’s economy lagged behind other areas, its vices were just as vibrant.

Neon lights, liquor, decadence, indulgence.

Not long after stepping out, Chu Yang encountered several addicts standing on the street, wildly high, surrounded by laughter, curses, and shouts.

A few blocks further, bars multiplied; drunken men and women stumbled past each other, spewing profanities and vomiting everywhere.

Chu Yang waved his hand in disgust and sneered: “Tsk, everywhere Itachi look—the smell of freedom.”

Male drunks, whether men or women, usually collapsed on the street unnoticed, while pickpockets in the shadows stole from them.

Female drunks fared differently—surrounded by a crowd of “upstanding youths” offering false concern, then immediately hoisted onto shoulders the moment they couldn’t walk.

If a wealthy gentleman was around, he’d simply toss her into his car and drive off, the vehicle rocking violently as he vanished.

Seeing this, Chu Yang sighed: “America really has a lot of good people…”

Just as he was about to cross this corrupt street, a shout rang in his ear—a group of tall, muscular Black men blocked his path.

“Hey, yellow monkey, never seen Itachi before—new here? Know the rules?”

As they spoke, five or six Black men surrounded Chu Yang; two with dreadlocks pressed folding knives against his lower back.

Chu Yang smiled: “What rules? Tell me.”

The leader froze—Chu Yang’s reaction was completely unexpected. Normally, regardless of skin color, people begged for mercy.

This was the first time someone had seriously asked him back.

The Black man sneered: “Be smart. Hand over your valuables.”

“I’ve got fifty dollars on me—if Itachi want it, take it,” Chu Yang shrugged, raising his hands. “Don’t believe me? Search me yourself.”

The Black man, skeptical, ordered his men to search him.

They patted Chu Yang’s pockets and found only scattered fifty-dollar bills.

Many passersby chose to ignore the scene.

They lowered their heads and hurried past.

The leader exploded in rage: “Damn broke-ass bastard! Itachi’ve got less than I make in a day!”

Chu Yang looked at him with sincere curiosity: “What job? Picking cotton?”

“FUCK!!!”

The Black men flew into a rage and charged!

CRACK—sound of steel snapping.

The two dreadlocked Black men looked down at their broken folding knives, stunned.

How could a knife break when stabbing someone? As they looked up, they saw Chu Yang’s friendly smile—and two fists the size of sandbags.

THUD! THUD! Two Black men flew backward, crashing onto cold concrete with dull, painful thuds.

Chu Yang punched one kid after another.

In an instant, only the leader remained, clutching a tiny switchblade, frozen in place.

A cold wind blew; he shivered, looking utterly helpless and pitiful.

“Itachi planning to use that knife to trim my nails?” Chu Yang chuckled. “I’ll pay Itachi fifty dollars—clean them up nice, how about it?”

The Black man instantly dropped the knife and crouched down, arms over his head.

“Tsk, new guy, Itachi don’t know the rules?”

Chu Yang repeated his own words from earlier—the Black man reacted instantly, dumping all his valuables onto the ground.

“Get lost!”

The Black man felt like he’d been granted amnesty, dragging his minions away in a flash.

Chu Yang picked up the money, counted it—over nine hundred dollars.

On the ground were some powdery substances; Chu Yang ground them under his foot several times.

As he turned, a man blocked his path—massive, dressed in a sharp black suit.

“Nice work, kid. Ever trained as a professional boxer?”

Chu Yang had assumed this was another troublemaker—yet the man’s first reaction was praise?

He didn’t look like a bad guy.

Chu Yang grinned: “Sir, I’ve had no training—these guys are just weak.”

“No training?” The suited man was surprised, then extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Happy Hogan. Interested in becoming a pro boxer? I’ll train Itachi!”

Happy?

Tony Stark’s bodyguard? Chu Yang studied him more closely—he looked exactly like it. No wonder he was so rugged.

Before meeting Tony Stark, Happy had been a boxer himself; even after retiring, he still followed the sport.

He still carried the dream of the boxing ring—if he couldn’t fulfill it himself, he wanted his trainee to do it for him.

“Mr. Hogan, thank Itachi for the offer, but I have no interest in boxing.”

Chu Yang declined Happy’s proposal.

Come on—if he stepped into the ring, how many men would he kill?

“That’s a shame,” Happy sighed. In his eyes, Chu Yang was a once-in-a-million prospect—wasting him on the streets was a tragedy.

Chu Yang reminded him: “Isn’t now a strange time to be recruiting boxers? Isn’t Mr. Stark still missing?”

Happy asked, surprised: “Itachi know who I am?”

“Saw Itachi in the papers,” Chu Yang gestured. “Itachi’re always standing beside Mr. Stark…”

“Ah!” Happy realized, impressed. “Your observation and memory are excellent—Itachi’d make a great bodyguard.”

Then he asked suddenly: “Do Itachi have a job? If not, come work for Stark Industries as a bodyguard.”

Happy figured he could keep Chu Yang close for now, and later convince him to become a boxer.

“I can make over nine hundred dollars in a day right here,” Chu Yang waved the cash he’d taken from the Black men.

“Ha! Don’t worry, kid—Itachi’ll earn more!” Happy winked at him.

Come on!

Was there any place in the world with better pay than Stark Industries? “Then I’m in!”

"I knew Itachi'd agree! But wait a moment—I have something urgent to take care of here."

"No problem, I'm free. I'll come with Itachi."

"I like your attitude, young man. If Tony comes back, he'll like Itachi too."

The two chatted and laughed as they disappeared around the corner of the street.

After chatting for a while, Chu Yang learned that Happy had come here to the black market to gather information about Tony Stark.

The military had been searching for Tony Stark’s whereabouts.

The two people closest to him—his assistant Pepper and his bodyguard Happy—had received no confirmed news.

They decided to stop relying on military channels and try their luck at the black market.

"Watch my cues, don’t do anything reckless—Itachi have no idea how dangerous the black market is!" Happy repeatedly warned him, then led Chu Yang to the entrance of a bar.

The bouncer at the door looked down at them with arrogance and said coldly, "Show your invitation."

Happy was caught off guard. "Last time I came, they didn’t ask for an invitation!"

"Rules have changed, sir," the bouncer replied impatiently. "Either show your invitation, or leave!"

"Itachi rude bastard!"

Happy stormed forward, ready to argue—but something dark pressed against his forehead.

Staring at the Desert Eagle pressed to his skull, Happy swallowed hard. "Alright, I was just joking! Don’t get nervous—this thing going off would be a disaster!"

The bouncer stared at him with a faint smirk, not even considering lowering the gun.

The scene froze.

"Hey, do Itachi really have to go in?"

Chu Yang’s indifferent voice came from behind. Happy, fearing a misunderstanding, quickly explained, "Gustav is the most well-connected man in New York’s underworld. Only he might have news about Tony."

"Understood." Chu Yang nodded, then slowly walked up to the bouncer, who immediately aimed the gun at him.

Suddenly.

Chu Yang’s hand moved like a phantom across the bouncer’s vision. The bouncer instinctively pulled the trigger—only to find his Desert Eagle reduced to scattered parts.

"Whoa!!!" Happy screamed in shock, feeling like he was watching a movie.

Realizing he’d been mocked, the bouncer swung a punch straight at Chu Yang’s face.

Chu Yang caught the fist with his palm.

His fingers clamped tightly around the joints of the bouncer’s knuckles.

"Thud!" The bouncer knelt helplessly before Chu Yang, his face twisted in agony, as if his fist were about to be crushed.

Chu Yang kicked him hard in the chest. The bouncer flew backward, smashing through the bar’s front door and sliding all the way to the center of the dance floor.

The wild writhing figures froze instantly. The loud music cut off.

*Clatter-clatter-clatter!* A synchronized rush of footsteps replaced the music as countless figures in suits poured out of the bar.

Happy tried to run, but Chu Yang grabbed him by the tie.

"Time to show Itachi real skill, Happy!"

"Huh?"

(End of Chapter)