Tokyo: My Superpower Refreshes Every Week

Unlike the special task force that needed transportation to reach the scene, Aozawa could get there in an instant with just a thought.

Thus, he had already arrived and watched Stein conduct a one-sided slaughter of the Matsumoto Group, with no intention of stopping him.

He also had no intention of stopping Mohammed's actions.

To Aozawa, the CIA was no good thing either.

He watched from the sidelines with a detached attitude, observing the clash between two Martial Arts monsters.

Only after the victor was decided did Aozawa decide to show himself and wrap things up.

"Dio, I've finally met you."

Hearing the string of English spewed from Mohammed's mouth, Aozawa remained silent. He had never slacked in his English studies, working very hard, and his grades were not bad.

However, a high school student's English proficiency was far from sufficient to converse with foreigners effortlessly.

He could understand individual English words if they were separated and spoken slowly, grasping their meaning. But when strung together at such a rapid pace…

He pondered for a moment, then gave up trying to decipher what the man was saying. He raised his right hand, and a black fog emerged from his fingertips.

This was late-stage osteoporosis.

"Dio, I bear you no hostility. On the contrary, we should have a common goal. You also detest those corrupt people in power, right? If we want to change this world, overthrowing countless puppets is useless! As long as the rotten order at the top doesn't collapse, this world will never change!"

Mohammed loudly shared his thoughts with Dio, believing there was room for cooperation between them. They both had common enemies; there was no need for them to fight.

"Your appearance, your existence is no coincidence; everything is the guidance of Allah!"

He tried to convince the other party, but on Dio's face, Mohammed saw only coldness; his eyes were devoid of any human emotion.

The black fog spilled out from pale fingertips.

A feeling of danger surged in his heart. Mohammed stopped speaking and quickly dodged to the side to evade the black fog.

Unexpectedly, the black fog seemed to possess a life of its own, actively pursuing him.

Mohammed did not know what the black fog was, only that it was definitely not something good. He jabbed his toes downward, like a knife plunging into soft tofu, kicking up a large chunk of earth.

A mass of soil and grass flew up, falling like rain into the black fog, then passed through it without any pause, drifting to the ground.

The black fog was truly just mist, without physical form.

Mohammed glimpsed this, retreated further, and called out, "Dio, are you content with these petty squabbles? With your power, you could overturn the rules of the entire world. Why are you willing to stay on this small island? The wide world is the grand stage worthy of your talents! Answer me, Dio, what do you truly want?"

His words sank like mud into the sea, receiving no response.

This was the first time in Mohammed's life that he felt such a surge of impatience, his arguments, which he had believed to be persuasive, utterly disdained by the other party.

Strange. Judging by Dio's actions, he should want to change the world. Or did he consider me too weak, unworthy of cooperation?

At this thought, a gleam flashed in Mohammed's eyes, and he stopped dodging the black fog.

He was nine meters away from Dio. His eyes wide, Mohammed let out a low roar, leaping into the air. He drew in his body and spread his arms like a soaring hawk, then, with hands shaped like eagle claws, lunged at the most formidable enemy before him.

His speed was as swift as riding the wind and breaking waves; the black fog could not catch up from behind.

Aozawa saw only a figure flash before him. His opponent, wrapped in a ferocious wind, swooped down with the true likeness of a peregrine falcon hunting prey.

The sound of tearing air hissed by his ears. Mohammed's hands gripped Aozawa's shoulders with a force sufficient to deform steel—and that was his downfall.

In the state of Schrödinger's Cat, any attack that could threaten Aozawa's body would simply vanish.

Suddenly, Mohammed's ten fingers disappeared before his eyes.

"What?!" he cried in shock, looking at his own hands, now missing their fingers. The stumps were extraordinarily smooth, as if cleanly severed by a guillotine.

Blood spurted out but, under Aozawa's Telekinesis, flowed back onto Mohammed.

Meanwhile, the black fog quickly penetrated Mohammed's body. When his feet hit the ground, there was a crisp CRACK. His shinbones had unexpectedly broken, sending him crashing directly to the ground.

CRACK. CRACK. The sound of bones shattering, like potato chips being crushed, resounded again, and intense pain shot rapidly to his brain.

"What's happening?" Mohammed's face was etched with shock; his body had become so fragile.

Aozawa lifted his hand, and the black fog of late-stage diabetes descended from his fingertips onto Mohammed. A tightness suddenly gripped Mohammed's chest, followed by a profound fatigue.

This was a sensation Mohammed had long forgotten.

Ever since he was five, he had never felt tired. Even when his assassination attempt on the official in The White House failed and he was pursued by various forces for over a month, his mind and body had remained vigorous, never once succumbing to fatigue.

"Dio, what have you done?"

Aozawa did not respond, instead inflicting Mohammed with late-stage heart disease.

"COUGH. COUGH." Mohammed coughed violently, clutching his chest. Even breathing became difficult, making the pain from his fractured bones even more unbearable.

"AH!" he could not help but cry out in pain. "Dio, why?"

"In my eyes, you're just another mortal," Aozawa understood and replied in English, his body transforming into a breeze and blowing away.

BUZZ.

A drone flew in the sky, its camera capturing the scene within the courtyard. The scene showed rocks, a pond, and low bushes. Near the bushes, the huge man who had previously thrown stones at the drone lay on the ground. His throat was gouged out, and his pupils were dilated.

Next to the hulking figure sat a man drenched in sweat.

"I've found Mohammed, right behind the wall. He seems to be badly injured," Iwaki Kususuke's voice came through the walkie-talkie.

Okayama Buji slammed on the brakes.

The van door flew open, and Katerina dashed out, nimbly scaling the wall.

Kitanotake and Morimoto Chiyoda also vaulted over the barrier.

Emily looked at the wall in front of her and silently closed the van door. "Drive," she said.

Damn it, she wanted to scale the wall elegantly too. Unfortunately, for a normal human like her, such a preposterous feat was only possible in dreams.

Morimoto Chiyoda landed and swept her gaze over the scene.

Beside her, Kitanotake shouted, "Did he and that other person fight until both were injured?"

"Probably not." Katerina shook her head. She found no severed fingers on the ground, nor could she sense any danger from Mohammed. This Nomura Shimba now resembled a man in his seventies or eighties, posing no danger at all.

"Mohammed, you are under arrest."

"Ha. Ha." Mohammed gasped for breath, his face contorted with pain, but he endured it and said, "I wasn't taken down by that fellow Stein. It was Dio. I saw Dio."

Hearing this name, a look of surprise crossed Morimoto Chiyoda's face. Unlike someone whose English was poor, Morimoto Chiyoda was perfectly capable of communicating with foreigners in English.

She thought about it. First the lab, and now Mohammed—Dio had gotten ahead of her in dealing with the adversaries the special task force wanted to handle. The misdeeds at the biological research lab, along with the Yakuza's actions, certainly fit the profile of what would draw Dio to the scene. Was this just a coincidence?

"What did you say to Dio?" Morimoto Chiyoda wanted to gather more information.

Mohammed sneered, "I won't speak to CIA dogs like you."

He hadn't gotten anything from Dio, only a taunt. How could he admit such a thing?

"There are some things we can find out even if you don't tell us." Morimoto Chiyoda walked around him, observing his current state, and guessed aloud, "You must have been afflicted with some kind of disease by Dio. Poor thing. The Nomura Shimba, whom the CIA regarded as a formidable enemy, the king who reigned in the Middle East. Reduced to this by the very person you were so desperate to find. As the saying goes, 'You wouldn't take the path to Paradise when it was open to you, yet you came knocking on Hell's door when it was closed.'"

Mohammed's forehead was beaded with cold sweat from the pain of his illness, yet his face remained expressionless. He was no longer a hot-headed youth and completely dismissed the goading.

Seeing his impervious attitude, a glint appeared in Morimoto Chiyoda's eyes. Smiling, she said, "How about we make a deal? I'll reveal Dio's information to you, so you can understand him better before you die. And his purpose for being in Tokyo."

The last sentence made Mohammed's expression stir.

He indeed wanted to know: what did this madman, who saw him as a mere mortal and himself as a god, intend to do? In his view, only by joining forces with him could Dio change this world faster.

"It seems you're quite curious about Dio's purpose. Tell us what happened earlier."

"No. Not unless you tell me Dio's information first," Mohammed conceded, but he would not reveal his situation prematurely.

Morimoto Chiyoda shrugged. "No deal. Someone like you, once I tell you everything, you won't say a word. You have to speak first, then I can disclose Dio's information."

Mohammed thought for a moment and then said, "Dio rejected my invitation, saying that in his eyes, I was merely a mortal. He shot a black mist from his fingertips, and when it landed on me, I became like this."

"What about your fingers?"

"They disappeared the moment they touched him."

Mohammed answered truthfully, then gasped wearily, "Your turn."

"Disease is truly fearsome. The Nomura Shimba's willpower and judgment have been weakened by illness. If you just thought about it for a moment, how could I possibly tell you the real answer? Die with your doubts." Morimoto Chiyoda spread her hands.

"'Devil,'" Kitanotake muttered, earning a sidelong glance from her, at which he immediately straightened up, as obedient as a student caught by the dean of discipline. Morimoto Chiyoda withdrew her gaze, an expression on her face that said she appreciated his quick understanding.

Mohammed did not roar in outrage. To continue berating the other party for being unscrupulous after being tricked would undoubtedly be very unseemly.

"To think you'd exploit my curiosity to fool me. Little girl, what's your name?"

"Morimoto Chiyoda."

"Is that so." Mohammed closed his eyes, intending to say no more.

He had no thoughts of suicide. A warrior does not give up on life until the very last moment.