When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 71: Fair(?) Fight

Chapter 71: Fair(?) Fight

The door to the kitchen opening interrupted the clamor.

"I could hear your hostility all the way from the kitchen," Mrs. Shin reprimanded, bringing the food out. "We dine together so little, I would hope you could get along for a few hours."

Hunter straightened, reluctantly acting like a human being.

"Come to the table, Kant," the elderly lady called out as she set a plate of healthy variety on the table. "I prepared a proper meal this time."

Jones slapped Kant on the back as he made his way to the table. "Special treatment again? Aren’t you going to invite me to the table too?"

Mrs. Shin chuckled. "There’s no need to invite you, you’ll come on your own." When she noticed Kant’s slight limp, her easygoing demeanor hardened, directed at the most likely man to be the culprit.

Hunter habitually drew back, raising a hand in defense. "That wasn’t my doing."

Being the oldest nurse in the poor clinic situated near the organization back in the day, Mrs. Shin had seen Kant sustain all types of injuries in his early youth—a bunch were from petty squabbles with Hunter once the latter had trained enough to rival Kant.

"You’d best hope that’s true." Mrs. Shin set a bowl of rice in front of Hunter, not taking her eyes off him.

"Is this really necessary?" Hunter asked, feeling wronged. "I was in far worse state the first time he sent me to the clinic than whatever happened later, but you still defend him. He’s a killing machine, not a helpless lamb."

Kant and Jones settled in their seats, dodging the frustrated gestures.

"That’s because I know Kant never fights without a reason," Mrs. Shin said, purposefully setting Hunter’s favorite side dishes far away from him.

"Do I look like I do?"

"Yes, you jolly well look like it."

Jones snickered, grabbing a rice bowl for himself. "Can’t argue with the person who had to fix up your victims."

When Mrs. Shin went back to the kitchen to bring out the drinks, Kant swapped the side dishes around, letting the silence stretch. Feeling Hunter’s fuming glare on him, he glanced up and raised an eyebrow.

"If you keep staring, you’ll prove her point."

"Don’t act like you would beat me. You can’t even walk," Hunter fired back with a derisive smirk.

"Just like you couldn’t walk eleven years ago?" Jones interjected, lazily sprinkling hot chili flakes onto his rice.

Hunter’s smirk turned upside down. "That didn’t count."

Jones clapped him on the shoulder. "C’mon, friend, nobody likes a sore loser."

"I said it didn’t bloody count—"

. . .

[FLASHBACK]

Shortly after the Bears finished the mourning period over Cole, the recruitment of new men took place. On one of those days, Kant entered the base to find a crowd forming around Silas and an unfamiliar face.

Everyone gathered up to watch another trial fight. The last two had been unsuccessful, so they were itching for a good show.

The new guy looked a little older than Kant, with a strong build and large presence.

As usual, Silas nodded at their strongest members and told the new guy to choose, but the latter scoffed. "You expect me to beat them?"

Jones, who had been lingering near Kant in the back of the crowd, clapped to draw attention. "Come on, you’re not even giving him a chance to win! How about you let the guy choose an opponent himself? We’re all trained, aren’t we?"

The sly fox always knew to bring good entertainment to the table, so the crowd played along.

"Yeah, let it be a fair fight!"

"Pick someone his size!"

Kant sent Jones an unimpressed look. The trial fights were never about winning or losing. It was a test of courage. If you could hold your ground against an opponent much more powerful than you, you passed. No newbie had ever "won" against their opponent.

Between the eager shouts, Silas raised his hand and gestured the new guy towards the crowd. "Fair enough. Choose your opponent."

The arrogant eyes scanned the men. Jones waved eagerly, pointing at Kant, who elbowed him in the ribs, irritated with the thought of being involved in this.

The guy narrowed his eyes at Kant with a look that clearly called him an easily beatable loser. "That one."

Silas observed his choice with a small smirk. "Kant, get in the ring," he called out.

Kant didn’t move immediately. He heard the low hum of interest from the crowd, but fighting an arrogant ass wasn’t in his interest. Silas’ callout didn’t sound like an order either, so technically he could refuse.

"You think I got nothing better to do?" Kant muttered to Jones.

Jones’ amused gaze burned into his side. "Someone’s gotta fill Cole’s shoes in training the newbies. You’re skilled enough, aren’t you?"

Kant frowned, about to say something, but the arrogant guy opened his mouth. "You scared? If you’re chickening out, I can pick someone else."

Originally, Kant was going to back out and go do something better with his time, but the bastard kept talking.

"The blondie was pointing at you like you’re some challenge, but I wouldn’t want to pick on the weakest."

"Ooooh!" the crowd buzzed, half-annoyed to have one of their own blatantly disrespected, half-excited to see what Kant would do.

It wasn’t easy to rile him up, and even harder to hurt his pride. But this prick had managed to hit both targets within the first two minutes of showing his face. Kant’s fingers curled into fists, and he pushed through the crowd.

Encouragements and chuckles rippled around him. A couple of guys nudged each other, amused at how quickly the newbie had gotten under his skin.

"That pissed you off?" Jones asked, threading after him to get to the front of the crowd for a better view. "Was Cole keeping your patience in check? You seem to have none now that he’s gone."

"He started it," Kant bit out, climbing through the ropes.