Omni Gamer in Streetball Rumble (KnB Fanfic)

"In the depths of despair, even the faintest glimmer of hope can be a lifeline—or a trap." — Anonymous

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Shibuya never truly slept. Its streets pulsed with neon lights and restless souls, a city caught between dreams and disillusionment. Towering screens flashed advertisements of things Belial would never afford, while the scent of sizzling street food taunted his empty stomach. The crowds moved like ocean currents, people brushing past him without a second glance, as if he were just another shadow lost in the chaos.

Tonight, the air was colder than usual, laced with the distant hum of a subway train rumbling beneath the streets. Belial pulled his hoodie tighter over his head, his body aching from another day of hunger. He knew he couldn't last like this much longer. The streets were unforgiving, and the longer he remained, the closer he edged toward becoming one of the countless ghosts of Shibuya—those who simply vanished, swallowed whole by the city's darkness.

Suddenly, a gruff voice cut through his thoughts.

"Hey, kid! What are you doing in my territory?"

A loud clang echoed from the dumpster.

Belial flinched, his heart hammering. His gaze darted toward the source of the sound—a hulking figure looming against the flickering lamplight. The man was draped in tattered clothes, arms covered in inked symbols that twisted with his movements. But it was his eyes—cold, calculating, and full of cruel amusement—that sent a shiver down Belial's spine.

He had seen this man before. A fixture in the backstreets, a thug with a reputation for taking what he wanted.

The man's lips curled into a sneer. "This road was paved by me, this patch grown by me! If you wanna pass, leave behind the road fees."

Belial barely stopped himself from scoffing. What kind of thug has a catchphrase?

The absurdity almost made him laugh—almost. But there was no mistaking the glint of the rusted pipe in the man's hand.

"I'm not doing anything," Belial forced out, his voice steady despite the fear creeping into his bones. "Just resting."

The man took a step closer, his presence suffocating. "Resting in my territory?" His grip tightened around the pipe, the metallic clink echoing in the still alley. "So… you better get out of here before I make you rest for good."

Belial's mind raced. This guy wasn't some crime boss. He was just another low-tier thug acting like he owned the place. The amount of trash talk he'd heard in his life had numbed him to threats, but that pipe? That was real.

And the way the man watched him—like a predator toying with its prey—Belial knew there was no talking his way out of this.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, surprising even himself with how firm his voice was. "This is a public alley. You don't own it."

The thug's grin widened, flashing yellowed teeth. "Brave little rat, aren't you?"

Then he moved.

Belial barely had time to react before a rough hand seized his hoodie and yanked him up. His feet dangled for a second before his back slammed into the alley wall. Pain flared through his ribs, stealing his breath.

"I'm gonna teach you a lesson, kid," the man growled. "You don't mess with me."

Panic surged through Belial, but so did something else—something raw, something untamed. He wasn't going down without a fight.

His eyes darted around—searching, calculating. A rusty pipe lay discarded near the dumpster. His fingers twitched, mind racing.

The thug must've sensed his shift. "What are you looking at, kid? Trying to get smart?"

Belial didn't answer. He shifted his weight—just slightly. Enough to catch the thug off guard. Then, with everything he had, he drove his knee up.

The man grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough. Belial twisted free and lunged, grabbing the pipe. His fingers barely closed around the rough metal before he swung.

CRACK.

The impact sent a shock through his arms. The thug staggered, clutching his arm where the pipe had struck.

But he wasn't down.

With a roar of rage, he swung his fist. Belial ducked, the strike grazing his cheek, but he didn't stop. He rolled, ignoring the burn in his muscles, and bolted toward the alley's exit.

"GET BACK HERE!"

The thug's furious shouts chased him, but Belial didn't dare look back. His only focus was escape—dodging through the narrow streets, slipping between people, vanishing into the neon-lit chaos of the city.

Only when he was far—breath ragged, hands shaking—did he finally stop. He pressed against a cold brick wall, chest rising and falling in heavy gasps.

He had won.

Barely.

The city had tried to swallow him whole tonight. And he knew—it wouldn't be the last time.

But then—

A strange tingling sensation.

A prickling warmth spread through his fingertips, like static dancing over his skin.

Belial froze, staring at his hands.

It felt familiar.

Like a whisper of something he'd forgotten.