What the hell is wrong with this girl?

“Boros, would it kill you to be more on guard? I shouldn’t have to tell you just how important this delivery is.”
“Relax, old man. I’ve seen the paycheck I’m getting for this, so I know exactly what this is worth to your people. I’ll getcha there safely, don’t you worry. And keep quiet.”
The old Yakuza man behind me doesn’t particularly look reassured, but they’re not hiring me for my people skills.

The pouring rain eases my heart as I take point. The conditions would seem dreary to most, but this is the way I prefer to work. The darkness of the night cloaks us from prying eyes, and the rain drowns out our footsteps. These backstreets aren’t exactly a common place for these smuggling jobs to take, so rival Yakuza are unlikely to guess we’re here. So long as the traffickers I’m escorting don’t get too loud, we shouldn’t find too much trouble.

“I know your skills speak for themselves, but you can’t be so cavalier about these things. To be caught unprepared would be a death sentence.”
“We won’t be caught unprepared if you keep it down. Sound is easier to follow than sight in conditions like these, y’know. You yakuza should know how to keep a low profile.”

It’s not as if I don’t understand why these three are on edge. The drug we’re moving has a street value that makes ecstasy pills look like tic tacs. Frankly, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t want anything to do with it. But so long as they keep it down, we should be fine.

“Halt there, miscreants.”

Point proven.

I look towards the source of the noise, and see a girl standing on a low rooftop in front of us. She’s dressed in a full black tracksuit, with a face mask covering everything below her eyes. It’s difficult to make out any other details of her appearance in the rain, but judging by her strange speech she’s probably not Yakuza.

“Whaddyou want, girl? This isn’t the sort of business you should be getting involved in.”
“I know that much. I heard you refer to the man behind you as Yakuza just now.”

If she knows this is a Yakuza operation, why the hell is she trying to stop us? Doesn’t she know this is the worst group of people in Japan to get on the bad side of.
“Stay out of our way, kid. I don’t wanna have to beat you down.”
“Beat me down? Ha! You’re naught but an upjumped bodyguard, and you dare to threaten me? How adorable.”

What the hell is with this girl? Does she not understand the situation she’s in at all? And why is she talking so… chuuni?
Fuck it, she’s not worth wasting our time with.

“You three, stick tight to m-”

I turn around to see the three men I was escorting bolt away in the other direction. It’s not long before they’re completely out of sight. Just what the hell is going on here?

“You there, Yakuza boy. Still care to take that fight you were so confident about?”

The girl hops down from the low roof and stands in front of me, taunting me to approach. Now that she’s closer, I see she’s roughly my height, and I think I make out a long black ponytail behind her. The strangest thing about her, however, is the gloves on her hands. MMA gloves. Why would some wannabe vigilante wear gloves that prevent injury to the people they’re fighting? It makes no sense.

“Hey, I ain’t no Yakuza. I just get paid to make sure other Yakuza and do-gooders like you don’t cause ‘em hassle. Which means you just cost me a job.”

I adopt my fighting stance. Left foot back, left hand chambered, right hand low enough to not block my vision. Southpaw, the preferred stance for left handed kickboxers

“If I’m causing problems for those ne'er do well Yakuza, that’s good by me. But if you’re not one of them I have no need to fight you. That being said, you seem awful confident about your chances. I’d enjoy seeing just what skills you have that make you believe your victory is assured.” As she says this, she also assumes a stance. Feet closer together. Both hands near head height. Standing square to the opponent. Muay Thai.

Under different circumstances, I would simply walk away. The possibility of injury would prevent me from picking up more jobs for a while, which is something I can’t afford. But if this girl is gonna keep causing me trouble, might be best to teach her a lesson now instead of having to hurt her seriously in the future.

The rain still pouring on both of our heads, we slowly inch towards each other. The backstreet is only wide enough for very limited sideways movement, so this might get scrappy very fast.

When we’re just a little further than a leg’s reach away, we both stop. I try to look for openings in her stance, but it’s clean. I’m not dealing with an amateur.

Thump

Before I even have time to think, she takes a blindingly fast step in and unleashes a low kick into my right leg. I instinctively brace, but before I even have time to process it she throws a straight right at my face. I narrowly dodge backwards, but my leg throbs in pain. She’s fast.

Not content to let me regain my composure, she continues pushing me, a barrage of blisteringly fast strikes aimed at every part of my body. A left hook to the liver, which I block with my right elbow. Immediately followed by a right low kick, which makes contact with the inside of my right leg. As I stumble backwards, she throws two jabs with her left as a rangefinder, before unleashing another straight right at my face.

I predict it.

Ignoring the burning pain in my right leg, I step hard and slip the punch to my right, putting me right in her blindspot. I chamber my leg and slam a kick into her gut, which should send her reeling backwards. It doesn’t.

She holds her stance strong as the kick makes contact just below her abdomen, barely moving an inch. Before I have time to retract my leg, she grabs it with her left hand and rolls her body underneath it, throwing us both to the ground, her on top.

I try to scramble to my feet, but she holds me in a leg lock that’s difficult to get out from. She could use the opportunity to ground and pound me into submission, but she doesn’t, instead releasing my leg and getting to her feet.

The message is clear. I lost.

“I would suggest you get out of this business, boy. You have talent, but you’ll get yourself hurt.”

She turns and slinks away into the darkness without another word, her soft steps so quiet they’re completely drowned out by the pouring rain.

…what the hell was that?