The bruised thug, still reeling from Ethan's beating at the café, limped into a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts of Hanoi. His lip was split, his ribs ached, and his pride was shattered.
His older brother, Hải "The Butcher," sat at a wooden table, sharpening a wicked-looking machete. Around him, a dozen men stood in the shadows, armed with batons, knives, and even steel pipes. They weren't just street thugs—this was a real gang, and they had no patience for humiliation.
"That bastard beat you up?" Hải asked, his voice dangerously calm.
The younger brother spat blood onto the floor. "He's fast. Knows how to fight. But he ain't invincible. If we come at him all at once, he's dead."
Hải nodded slowly, then stood up, gripping his machete. "Alright. Get everyone. Tonight, we end this."
⸻
Ethan didn't know he was being hunted.
After the fight at the café, he had spent the evening walking through Hanoi's backstreets, his thoughts consumed by his mission. He was getting closer—he could feel it. But trouble had found him before he could find the truth.
The first attack came fast.
As he stepped into a dark alley near West Lake, shadows moved. A gang of men—at least ten—emerged from the darkness, surrounding him. The moonlight glinted off their weapons: knives, batons, even a chain.
Hải stepped forward, gripping his machete. "You should've stayed down, foreign boy."
Ethan exhaled slowly. He had fought groups before, but not like this. These men were killers. He could take down a few, but all of them?
Not tonight.
They charged.
Ethan dodged the first swing, twisting to avoid the machete's deadly arc. He countered with a sharp elbow to one attacker's face, then spun, kicking another in the ribs. The gang fought back viciously, swarming him. A baton struck his shoulder, a blade sliced across his side. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving.
A fist slammed into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled, barely blocking another strike. Blood dripped onto the pavement. He was fast, but they were too many.
Then, like lightning, she arrived.
A blur of motion.
A high kick sent a thug flying backward. A spinning elbow cracked another's jaw. The girl moved like a phantom—fluid, precise, deadly. Her fists struck with bone-breaking force, her legs whipped through the air like blades.
For a moment, the gang froze, stunned by her speed.
Then, she smiled.
"Alright, boys," she said, rolling her shoulders. "Let's have some fun."
And then all hell broke loose.
Ethan barely had time to process what was happening before she was tearing through the gang like a storm. A man swung a chain at her—she caught it mid-air, yanked him forward, and dropped him with a knee to the face. Another came at her with a knife—she weaved past it, twisted his wrist, and disarmed him in a single motion before sending him crashing into the alley wall.
Ethan pushed through his pain and rejoined the fight. Side by side, they fought in perfect sync, their movements complementing each other. He blocked a baton strike, she countered with a flying kick. He ducked under a machete swing, she flipped over him, taking down two men in one flawless motion.
The gang panicked.
One by one, they fell, groaning, broken. Hải, seeing his men collapse, cursed and lunged at the girl with his machete.
She caught his wrist mid-swing.
For a split second, their eyes met. Then, with brutal efficiency, she twisted his arm, slammed her palm into his elbow, and dislocated it with a sickening pop.
Hải screamed, dropping the blade.
The fight was over.
Ethan, breathing heavily, leaned against the alley wall, blood dripping down his arm. He turned to the girl, still catching his breath. "Who the hell are you?"
She smirked, wiping a streak of blood from her cheek. "The girl who just saved your life."
Then, she turned and walked away, leaving Ethan with more questions than answers.