Morrin eventually closed the gap, his bumper grazing dangerously close to Bryokun's fender. For a heartbeat, it looked like he might force a mistake, until Bryokun swerved at the perfect instant, sliding out clean. The Corolla clipped a rusted drum instead; metal crashed, sparks flew, and a side mirror snapped off. The car rattled violently before Morrin wrestled it back under control.

The final stretch loomed ahead... one long strip of blacktop, two flaming barrels marking the finish line. Morrin floored it, his engine screaming as if it might tear itself apart, the distance between them shrinking to a single car length.

For one suspended moment, the crowd held its breath.

Then Bryokun shifted gears, smooth as silk, his Silvia surging forward with effortless power. He cut through the air and crossed the barrels first, sealing victory in a storm of cheers and jeers.

Morrin skidded to a halt, smoke coughing from the Corolla's hood. Bryokun slowed beside him, windows half-down, grin smug and satisfied as the noise of the crowd washed over him.

He stepped out of his car, basking in the noise. Eryoma ran up to him, smiling widely, and before anyone could react, she kissed him.

The roar from the crowd grew louder, a mix of laughter and howls, and Morrin froze behind his cracked windshield. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until the leather tore beneath his fingers.

Bryokun collected his reward, scanning his phone before strolling toward Morrin's battered Corolla. "Told you, didn't I?" he taunted, smirk wide. "All that talk... turns out you're just strong on paper. Nothing more."

Eryoma tugged at Bryokun's arm. "Come on, Babe, leave it. Let's go... we've got other things to do."

That hurt more than the loss itself. Morrin watched as she brushed him off, her attention fixed entirely on the man who'd just humiliated him. He stared down at his shaking hands.

After everything… after all that effort… she wouldn't even look his way.

She was someone he admired deeply, someone he'd once shed tears for just to see her smile, and now that same smile belonged to another man. The thought twisted something inside him.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, voice low at first. "They think I'm weak, huh?"

He stepped out of the car, face twisted, his voice rising. "Morrin, the spitting champion, right? That's it? That's all I am to you?"

The noise died down. All eyes turned to him.

"Yes, I spit when I talk," he went on, chest heaving, "It's how I've always been! But I'll fix it. I'll get better. This is Hell... we've got eternity, don't we?"

He jabbed a finger toward the crowd, eyes burning. "But don't you ever forget... I am Morrin Omekro! The strongest demon in Grade Two! And from this moment on…" he clenched his fists, teeth bared in defiance, "…I'll take no slander on my name!"

Morrin's shift took Renny aback. Had the whole event shaken him that much? He wasn't spitting recklessly anymore; instead, he spoke with an unusual focus... each word weighed, deliberate, as if he wanted to make sure every sentence carried exactly the message he meant. Was this the same Morrin? Renny wondered.

Then Morrin continued, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise. "To show there are consequences for mocking me… I'll start with Bryokun here. Let it be a lesson to those in my grade."

"Start with me?" Bryokun barked out a laugh, stepping forward with a cocky grin. "If losing the race wasn't enough to prove you're only strong on paper, fine... let's settle it again, right here. No demon spells, no demon seeds. Just hands."

Morrin nodded once. "Agreed."

Eryoma tried to hold Bryo back, "Don't..."

He brushed her off with a grin. "Nah, babe, I got this. Let me put this spit champion in his..."

He never finished. Morrin yanked him in mid-sentence and slammed him into the ground with bone-rattling force, the concrete cracking beneath the impact. Bryokun tried to rise, dazed, but Morrin was already on him again... his knee crashed into Bryokun's skull, followed by two rapid jabs that blurred in motion.

Bryokun's eyes flared red as he tried to say something, but Morrin stomped down on his mouth before he could utter a sound. He hauled him up by the head with one hand and began driving fists into his face with the other, again and again, relentless, merciless.

The crowd fell silent. They just watched as the so-called spit champion unleashed a side of himself none of them had ever seen.

Some of the bystanders tried to step in, but Renny blocked them all off, including Eryoma, who stormed forward with fury in her eyes. She tried to shove him aside, her aura flaring with higher-grade power, but Renny didn't budge.

"You'd have to kill me to get through," he said evenly. "And that'd be unpleasant for both of us. There's already a fight going on... no need to start another one just yet."

Eryoma's glare sharpened. "You're nothing but a sorry Ezraphor who couldn't even climb grades. Why's someone like you hanging around Morrin anyway? What do you even offer, failure? Maybe it's your bad luck rubbing off on him."

Renny's expression didn't change. "Say what you want," he replied. "Insults aren't new to me. There's nothing you can tell me I haven't told myself, or heard in Hell or on Earth. So unless you plan to put me down right here, I'd suggest you just… enjoy the show."

On the ground, Bryokun had regained his footing, wiping blood from his mouth with a twisted grin. He lunged back at Morrin, fists cracking through the air. Morrin met him blow for blow, the sound of impact echoing through the street.

It was raw, savage... neither willing to yield. The longer the fight dragged on, the wilder they became. Renny couldn't help but mutter under his breath, eyes locked on the chaos.

"This… this is the power of the Omekros," he said. "Dangerous demons to fight, especially when their mark starts to take effect." that alone was enough to make the battle a close one.

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