The force of this strike was far more powerful than anything Michael could muster with all his strength, directly shattering the cartilage in the rhinoceros man’s knee and tearing the nerves around the joint.

  The rhinoceros man dropped to one knee, his heavy frame crashing to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

  His other leg tried to support him, but Yang Chen stomped on his ankle.

  The muscles in the werewolf’s foot contracted violently, releasing force several times greater than Michael’s.

  With another dull thud, the rhinoceros man’s ankle bent at a grotesque angle.

  Excruciating pain shot up his nerves, instantly robbing him of all strength to resist.

  All of this happened in no more than ten seconds.

  The once arrogant rhinoceros man now lay completely limp on the ground.

  Blood oozed from the wounds on his neck and knee.

  His heavy breathing sounded like a tattered bellows, each inhale bringing tearing agony, yet he lacked even the strength to raise a hand.

  His body was visibly shrinking.

  The gray keratin layer receded, revealing his originally burly human form, though now his face was deathly pale, his breath feeble, clearly suffering from severe injuries.

  Yang Chen, controlling Michael’s body, slowly retracted his claws.

  He looked down at the rhinoceros man sprawled on the ground.

  His silver pupils held not a single ripple of emotion, even showing a trace of faint disdain, as if he had merely squashed an annoying insect.

  [How utterly boring.]

  Yang Chen’s tone was laced with a hint of laziness.

  [Is this trash worthy of dominating No Man’s Alley?]

  Michael’s consciousness was imprisoned deep within the body, forced to watch everything unfold.

  He could keenly feel the fluidity and precision with which Yang Chen controlled the body, that extreme mastery over muscles and nerves, something he could never hope to match.

  The same body, in Yang Chen’s hands, was like a perfectly honed blade, while in his hands, it was merely a crude lump of iron relying on brute force.

  An indescribable fear also grew wildly in his heart—the existence within this body was far more terrifying than he had imagined.

  In the shadows of the alley.

  Elena’s eyes narrowed slightly as she watched the change on the field, the corner of her mouth curling into a faint arc.

  This was the effect she wanted.

  Yang Chen’s power, Yang Chen’s consciousness, was awakening.

  Meanwhile, Kurt, hiding behind the corner of a sheet-metal hut, was already petrified with fear.

  The paper package in his hand slipped to the ground with a soft thud.

  He stared at the werewolf standing in the night, at those cold silver pupils, a chill shooting from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, forgetting even to breathe.

  A deathly silence fell over the alley.

  The members of the Black Bone Gang stared at their boss, limp and barely alive on the ground, then at the werewolf standing in the night.

  Their faces drained of color, and not one of them had the courage to flee. They could only stand frozen, trembling uncontrollably.

  Yang Chen, controlling Michael’s body, slowly raised his head.

  His gaze swept past the trembling gang members, landing on Elena’s face atop the distant iron shed.

  Elena met his gaze, murmuring to herself:

  “Old man, you’re only good at fighting. That’s why you were ousted by that group of elders, and you even lost your own life for it.”

  When Yang Chen had first taken control, Michael had indeed felt a wave of relief.

  But now, genuine panic was setting in because he had been completely reduced to a spectator.

  To put it bluntly, the dangerous fight was over, but he couldn’t regain control of his own body.

  Fear surged through his thoughts like a tide.

  However, this terror of losing control was abruptly cut short by an extreme wave of fatigue.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Michael’s consciousness rapidly blurred, even as his body continued to move...

  ......

  “Michael! Are you just going to keep ignoring me forever?”

  A voice tinged with grievance struck his eardrums. Michael’s eyes snapped open.

  The harsh glare of fluorescent lights made him squint.

  The familiar scent of printer ink and cheap coffee filled his nostrils.

  Before him were the office cubicles of Ivy Corp’s Western District sales department, stacks of files piled waist-high, and Mia sitting at the desk opposite, her eyes slightly red-rimmed.

  She twisted the hem of her shirt, her eyes, usually so lively, now misty. Her voice was full of pent-up grievance:

  “What’s been wrong with you these past couple of days? It’s like you’re a different person.”

  Michael was completely stunned.

  Just a moment ago, he had been in the bloody chaos of No Man’s Alley, locked in a life-or-death struggle with the rhinoceros man, the bite of rusty key edges still fresh in his palm.

  How could he open his eyes and be back in the office?

  Instinctively, he touched his chest.

  The burning sensation of the ivy mark was still faintly there, but all the wounds on his body had miraculously vanished.

  He wasn’t wearing the torn jacket, but his usual, slightly faded white shirt.

  “I called you to go to the cafeteria, and you didn’t even look up; yesterday I asked you how to fill out the form, you just glanced at me and turned away, wouldn’t even say a word…”

  Mia’s voice grew softer, carrying a note of uncertain dread.

  “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you? Or… did something happen?”

  Michael opened his mouth, his throat painfully dry.

  He had no memory of any of this.

  His gaze snapped to the freight slip on the corner of his desk.

  The date printed on it was glaringly obvious:

  March 3, 2126. The “Delivered” red stamp in the lower right corner stood out starkly.

  His whole body stiffened, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk until they turned white—he clearly remembered that the day he’d rushed into the alley was March 1st.

  Two days.

  For two full days, his body had been controlled by Yang Chen, appearing in the office as “Michael,” acting consciously, working, and treating Mia with the utmost indifference.

  “I…” He wanted to say it wasn’t her fault, but the words got stuck in his throat, choked by a profound sense of absurdity.

  Seeing his complicated expression, Mia’s eyes grew redder. But she forced her emotions down and said softly:

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. Just… please don’t keep ignoring people like this. I was really worried.”

  Michael instinctively felt in his pants pocket. The rusty key he’d taken from the mohawked man was gone.

  In these two days, what exactly had Yang Chen done using his body, here at the company?

  Michael’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Suppressing the turmoil churning in his heart, he softened his voice:

  “Mia, it’s not you. It’s my head, something’s off with it.”

  Seeing the redness in Mia’s eyes, he added, his tone carrying a rare gentleness:

  “I’m sorry for the last two days. Don’t worry, I’m… back to normal now.”

  With that, Michael reached out and placed a hand on Mia’s in an attempt to comfort her, completely forgetting for a moment that they were still in the middle of the office.

  Mia was taken aback, her eyes reddening further, but she nodded and whispered,

  “If you’re having any trouble, remember you can tell me.”

  Michael gave a vague sound of acknowledgment, then suddenly thought of something. He stood up and stormed out into the aisle.

  Other employees looked on, startled. No one had ever seen the usually subdued Michael with such a frantic, aggressive look on his face.

  His steps were swift, covering the distance toward Elena’s private office in a few strides.

  He skidded to a halt in front of the door, raised his hand, and pounded on it heavily.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!