My Girlfriends Are Hardcore Yanderes

Asher's team stood frozen, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Did… did that just happen?" one of them stammered.

"Man, he didn't even break a sweat," another whispered in awe.

"That was insane! He took them all out like it was nothing," a younger member added, a mix of admiration and fear in his voice. "I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of that."

Their respect for him had been high, but now they knew they were with someone leagues ahead of the average fighter.

Meanwhile, Asher checked on the people he had taken down. They might be knocked out, but it was only because he had targeted their weak spots.

He actually made sure not to hurt them too badly; his goal was to incapacitate, not to leave permanent injuries. 

Still, there was a heaviness in his chest. Every time he fought, he felt empty. He could have walked away, could have chosen a different life, but here he was again, entangled in this violent world. 

Why?

Because he wanted to earn money for his mother's hospital bills, wanted to keep going to school and finish high school because of a promise he made, and, among many things, wanted to survive. 

He did try to become a professional fighter, but in the end, even that was taken from him because of an accident that happened years ago, which led to his ban.

It was a story that ultimately ended his career, and what was worse was that he was framed for it by someone who didn't want him to succeed.

While he was lost in thought, a walkie-talkie crackled to life, cutting through the moment.

[Team , Report]

It was James, coordinating from the safety of the school.

While they were in the field, he was directing and coordinating their moves from behind the scenes.

One of the lackeys quickly grabbed the radio. "Asher took care of them, no problem. They're all down."

There was a brief pause before James's voice came through again, laced with a chuckle.

[Of course he did.] 

[Head to the park; our guys are getting ambushed there.]

Asher started walking again, ignoring the chatter on the radio.

There was only one park in the area, and it was close—just a twenty-minute walk away.

He quickened his pace, driven by the thought of making more money.

Every second counted, and he knew opportunities didn't wait for anyone.

As he hurried toward the park, his team struggled to keep up with him. 

"Please slow down!" one of them called, trying to match his pace.

But Asher didn't even look back. 

They soon realized they might not be needed at all. He could handle everything on his own, and could probably take on an entire gang.

In just a matter of seconds, they lost sight of his back so they began to walk slower. 

Arriving at the park, Asher paused, scanning the area.

Trees lined the paths, benches dotted the landscape, and a small playground loomed in the distance.

There weren't many people around this time, likely due to the commotion.

He spotted James's men in a fight, badly outnumbered, struggling against the rival gang.

The rival members swarmed like a pack of wolves, their shouts filling the air as they dominate their opponents with their sheer number. 

Asher sprang into action. He might be strong, but he knew he couldn't handle this many opponents on his own.

His priority was to save the other members and reduce the load he had to bear in the fight.

The rival gang quickly noticed him, but he didn't slow down. He weaved through their ranks, ducking under wild swings and sidestepping their grabs.

His punches landed with precision, targeting jaws and vulnerable spots.

With each strike, another hit the ground, groaning and unable to continue.

They kept attacking him, but no matter how many came at him, the number of thugs he took down continued to pile up.

"Damn it, that's Asher!" one gang member yelled, fear flashing across his face.

They recognized him because his reputation was just as famous as their best fighter.

"Get Blackhound!" another shouted.

Asher heard them but shrugged it off.

Facing Blackhound meant more money, and if the notorious figure showed up, it would save him the trouble of tracking him down later.

For now, he decided to deal with the remaining thugs quickly before they became a distraction.

His strikes became even sharper, targeting weak points and knocking them down with minimal effort.

While others would struggle to imitate this , Asher's reaction time made it look effortless.

In the end, he took down 25 of them, leaving them lying on the ground, groaning in defeat.

"Let's go before Blackhound arrives," one of James's men suggested, glancing nervously around the park.

"Why?" Asher asked, completely puzzled by their reaction. It was just a high school kid; how strong could their opponent really be?

If anyone other than Asher had said that, they would have thought he

was crazy. But after witnessing his effortless victory, they began to question why they had ever been afraid of Blackhound.

Sure, he might look scary, but Asher was no pushover. In fact, he might even be stronger.

"Yeah, let's take on Blackhound together when he comes!" they cheered, feeling empowered by his presence.

"You don't have to do anything," he cautioned, concerned that James might withhold payment if he didn't defeat his target alone.

It wasn't just about winning; it was about the money.

"But we can help!" they insisted.

"I said you don't have to," Asher warned firmly, leaving no room for argument.