Max’s allies were continuously engaging with the Black hound members; they weren’t just any gang members allowing them to come up again and again. These were also the members that were close to Jett, so they had two things, relatively good fighting experience as well as hardened and tough bodies.
Even for someone like Na who was used to taking down his opponents in one or two hits, he was seeing that they were still fighting and slugging away, and more and more members were coming. It wasn’t going to get easier for the group as time went on, it was going to get harder.
"A single person really thinks that they have the power to stop me?" Jett said. "Believe me, if you knew my strength, I don’t think you would be saying those words."
Max didn’t run off just yet, because he knew that if he sprinted straight ahead, Jett would try to stop him. After all, Jett’s target was him. The intent was obvious in the way Jett stood, feet set, shoulders loose, hands ready, eyes never leaving Max for even a second. It was the kind of attention that made the air feel thinner.
So rather than running straight ahead, Max looked to his side and readied himself. He glanced at Jett, and instinctively Jett knew what Max was going to do. The tension between the two of them tightened like a drawn bowstring.
Max dashed, kicking off the ground, and Jett himself moved for the first time.
"No you don’t!" Jett shouted as he went to reach out.
Surprisingly for Jett’s muscular frame, he was quite fast as well, but Max didn’t expect any less from someone who was the enforcer of a large group like the Black Hounds. Speed rode under the surface of Jett’s size; it was the kind of speed that made decisions matter. A step too slow and you were caught. A step too quick and you were bait.
Max trusted one thing: the evaluation from Wolf.
Swinging upward, an arm hit Jett’s, whacking it up and high above. Even Jett’s eyes widened as he saw his arm flung into the air.
"This power from such a small body, what is this!" Jett said.
Darno stood in front of Jett with one hand above, the one he had just used to knock Jett’s arm away. His other hand had turned in, almost corked upright by his side, his whole frame coiled and steady. He looked like a loaded spring.
Then Darno flung it out as fast as he could, spinning his fist and digging it right into Jett’s body.
When Darno’s fist hit, he felt the hardened, well-toned muscle under Jett’s shirt. For many, that would have been like hitting a brick wall. The shock would have traveled up their wrist, numbing fingers, stealing breath, breaking rhythm.
For Darno, even if it was a brick wall, his hands had no problem bashing right through it.
The punch dug deep. Jett was lifted off his feet and pushed back, flung right onto the floor. Concrete scraped. Air rushed out of him. For a heartbeat, even the gulls above seemed to pause mid-cry.
The other Black Hound members, those in the middle of engaging with the others, and those who had yet to engage and were only just arriving at the area, were stunned. Eyes widened. Feet halted. A circle that had been closing suddenly stopped tightening.
"I’ve never seen Jett get knocked down, who is that guy, is he from a syndicate-level group?"
"In Notting Hill, we should know all those who would be considered dangerous to us!"
Darno took one long breath out as he slid his leg, standing straight, and brought both hands by his waist. His chest rose and fell once, slow and even, as if he were settling a blade back into its sheath.
"I should tell you, I’ve never lost a fight before, apart from against my teacher, and I don’t think I’ll be losing today."
Silence held for a second, tight and full.
"It looks like my evaluation was right about him," Wolf said. "As I guessed, he’s definitely above A-rank... could he be the third S-rank I’ve ever seen?"
There was a pause before Wolf finished his sentence, because there was a tingling sensation, another thought going through his head at the same time. It buzzed along his skin like a warning and wouldn’t go away. The dock felt colder, though the sun still clung to the edges of the sky.
The moment he arrived, he’d had a strange feeling. It was faint at first, then stronger now, a pressure that didn’t come from noise or movement, but from presence. Standing up from his knelt position, Jett had a smile on his face as he looked ahead at everyone. Dust clung to his clothes; the imprint of Darno’s strike seemed to have been swallowed by the sheer density of him.
"I think this is the first time I’m going to have some fun in a really long time," Jett stated.
"This might be the first time in a while that I’m going to have some fun holding onto a few things."
The tone of his voice didn’t rush. It didn’t spike. It slid through the space, confident, level, unbothered by the fact that he had just been knocked down. That steadiness sent a ripple through the men around him, a reminder that the first fall didn’t mean the last.
There was a reason why Wolf said three S-ranks. Aron was the first he had seen, giving him that ranking. Then there was a chance that Darno was an S-rank as well, although he hadn’t seen everything yet. Wolf’s judgment wasn’t just about single strikes; it was about consistency under pressure, about what people did when the fight expanded beyond one exchange.
However, for Jett, the moment Wolf had arrived, there was no doubt in his mind that this individual was at least an S-rank, and there was a good chance that Wolf might even see something higher than that today.