Cat's Rule the world.... since when?!

The Wild Side of me.

The moment I step out of the shadows, I know there's no turning back. The adrenaline pulses through my veins, making everything sharper—the sound of footsteps, the distant shouts, the clink of weapons being readied. My heart hammers in my chest, but my mind is clear. The time for hesitation is over. I'm not here to negotiate or play by the rules anymore.

I'm here to end this.

The first guy comes at me fast, a burly man with a scar down his cheek, swinging a metal pipe like it's an extension of his arm. I sidestep, letting the swing sail past my head, and immediately drive my elbow into his ribs. The impact makes him grunt in pain, and before he can recover, I grab his arm, twist, and use his own momentum to throw him to the ground. He hits the dirt hard, and I stomp down on his wrist, forcing him to release the pipe.

One down.

But there's no time to dwell on it. Two more are coming from the side, one of them drawing a gun while the other charges with a knife. I don't think—I just move. The gun clicks as the guy takes aim, but I'm already in motion, diving low to the ground. The bullet whizzes overhead, and I roll back to my feet, driving my fist into the guy's stomach. He doubles over, gasping for breath, and I yank the gun from his grip, tossing it aside.

The other one, the knife-wielder, is right on me. He slashes wildly, trying to cut me down, but his movements are sloppy. I dodge to the side, weaving through his attacks with ease. A quick jab to his arm makes him lose his grip, and the knife clatters to the ground. He lunges at me again, desperate, but I grab him by the collar and slam him into the nearest wall. His head snaps back, and his eyes roll as he crumples to the floor.

Two more down.

It's almost too easy. My body moves on instinct, every strike, every dodge, like a second nature. The hero training drilled into me by UA is kicking in, and I feel almost detached, like I'm watching myself from a distance. These guys... they don't stand a chance.

A shout from behind catches my attention, and I spin just in time to see a group of four rushing at me. Their faces are twisted in anger, but there's something else there—fear. They're starting to realize what they're up against. Good.

I dash forward to meet them head-on.

The first guy swings a bat at me. I duck under it, sweep his legs out from under him, and plant my knee in his chest, knocking the wind out of him. I'm back on my feet before he can even groan in pain. The second guy tries to grab me from behind, but I slam my head back into his nose. He stumbles, clutching his face, and I elbow him in the throat for good measure.

The third and fourth guys hesitate, clearly rethinking their decision to come at me. I don't give them the chance to back out. I rush them, delivering a swift punch to the side of one's jaw, sending him sprawling. The last one swings at me with a knife, but I grab his wrist mid-swing and twist it, forcing the blade from his hand. A quick knee to his gut, and he's down too.

I'm breathing heavily now, but I can't stop. More are coming. I see them converging on me from all sides, and something inside me just snaps. My mind goes blank, replaced with pure instinct and muscle memory. I don't care how many there are. I'm taking them all down.

I leap into the fray, knocking out the first guy with a brutal uppercut. His body slumps before hitting the ground, and I spin to face the next one. My fist connects with his face, and I feel his nose crunch under the force of the blow. He stumbles, dazed, and I shove him into the path of the guy behind him. They both go down in a heap.

I hear someone coming up from behind me, but I don't even turn. I throw my elbow back, catching him in the throat, and he drops instantly, gasping for air.

It's chaos. Bodies are piling up, groaning and unconscious, and I'm the only one still standing. The rush of adrenaline makes me feel invincible, like I could take on the whole world right now.

But I'm not trying to kill them. That's not me.

My movements are precise—enough force to incapacitate, to stop them from getting back up, but nothing fatal. This isn't about revenge or bloodlust. This is about survival. It's about protecting what's mine.

More men come at me, and I take them down one by one. A punch here, a kick there, each blow knocking them out cold. Some of them barely get a chance to swing before they're on the ground. I don't let up, don't slow down.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it's over.

I'm standing in the middle of the chaos, panting heavily, blood pounding in my ears. The last guy is down, sprawled out unconscious on the floor, and I'm the only one still on my feet. My knuckles are bruised, and there's a dull ache in my side where I took a hit earlier, but it doesn't matter. I won.

I look around at the mess I've made—at the bodies scattered across the ground, groaning in pain or knocked out cold—and I feel something stir inside me. Satisfaction.

But also... fear.

I've never gone this far before. Not in a real fight. The training at UA was tough, sure, but this? This was survival. And I won. But part of me wonders what would've happened if I didn't pull my punches. If I'd let go completely, would I have killed them?

I shake my head, pushing the thought away. It doesn't matter. What matters is that they're down, and I'm still standing.

I wipe the sweat from my brow, looking around. There's no time to rest. More will come, and I need to be ready. I pick up a discarded weapon—a metal baton—and twirl it in my hand. It feels good. Solid.

This isn't over. Not by a long shot. But for now, I've got the upper hand.

And I'm not backing down.

Not until this fight is over. Not until Kacchan is safe.