Protagonist! Please Stay Away from Me 2!-Chapter 17: Teaching a Lesson to the Puppets

The shaved-head man barely had time to blink before my hand clamped around his throat. I slammed him against the cold, grime-stained wall so hard that the sound cracked through the air like a whip. My grip tightened, my pulse thundering through my palm.

If I want, I could crush his throat in a single go.

"I dare you," I hissed through my teeth, my eyes locking onto his trembling ones. "I dare you to complete your words."

My voice became quieter, sharper—the kind that sliced through arrogance faster than a blade. "Go on," I leaned closer, close enough to smell the cheap alcohol on his breath, "I want to hear you finish your sentence. Because if you don’t," I pressed my thumb against his windpipe, "I will break your throat."

For a moment, all I saw in his eyes was defiance—flickering, desperate, like a candle trembling in the wind. Then the fear surfaced.

Behind him, his gang stirred. Boots scraped the ground. A growl echoed from someone’s throat. The sound of knives flicking open followed, sharp and metallic. The smell of sweat and gun oil thickened the air as they began to circle around me.

"So, this is it?" I muttered under my breath, releasing the man’s throat just enough for him to gasp for air. "This is your grand army?"

Their leader — still coughing — tried to speak, but I cut him short by shoving him backward. His skull smacked against the brick with a dull thud. "You should’ve walked away," I told him, eyes narrowing.

And then they charged.

Pathetic. That’s the first word that came to mind as their cries filled the alley. Do these miserable scums really see themselves as warriors? Their movements lacked discipline, bluster without bite. I smirked, stepping into the first attacker’s swing.

He swung a rusted pipe; I ducked under, grabbed his wrist, and twisted. The crack of bone was followed by his shriek, echoing off the walls. I pivoted, yanking the shaved-head man by the collar and hurling him into his comrade. Both crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses.

Someone grabbed me from behind—a rookie mistake. If someone is this confident, never grab them from their back.

I drove my elbow into his ribs, once, twice, until I felt the air rush out of him. I spun, landing a sharp kick to his knee; he collapsed with a grunt.

Three down. More to go.

They faltered then, hesitation flickering across their faces. It’s one thing to chase violence, another to stand knee-deep in it.

"Run," I warned them, rolling my shoulders as if shaking off the dust. My breathing was steady — calm, in contrast to their ragged panting. "Or stay... if you want to learn the cost of arrogance."

None moved. Perhaps they couldn’t. Perhaps fear had already built its cage around them.

The shaved-head man was still groaning on the floor, clutching his gut, his earlier bravado long gone. I crouched beside him, tilting his chin up so he had no choice but to meet my gaze.

"What was it you were saying to me earlier?" I asked softly, though there was nothing gentle in my tone. "Go on, I’m still waiting."

He swallowed hard, eyes wide with the realization that tonight, words had consequences.

Out of twenty, seventeen are left now.

A man, who felt extremely brave, swung his fist at me. I caught his fist with my left hand, and crushed it. A painful scream pierced the air, increasing his comrades fear in an exponential manner.

"You know what? I changed my mind," I smirked. My eyes washed over everyone’s form. "I know extremely well that whatever I am going to say now... will just go above your head. You people are just brawn, but no brains. A perfect condition for being a puppet."

They looked at me with a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear—probably thinking that I am a madwoman. But I ignored them, and continued. My smirk widened as I looked at the shaved-head man. "You are just puppets, played by someone else. But there is something that I shouldn’t ignore—you people also have the innate desire to do these pathetic things, right?"

"What are you saying?" he hissed at me.

"Me? I am sorry, but I can’t spoon-feed you this—because you can’t understand my words. So, why don’t I teach you this by another method? It will be easy for the all of you."

I smashed a man’s face on the wall, taking his steel pipe. His blood dyed the wall as he slowly slid down.

Turning the pipe, I swung it at another man. He tried to grab it, but before he could, I hit him right across his face.

Then I swung again, sending another one of them flying into the air. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

"Fourteen remaining. Why don’t come at me all at one?" I looked at them, with a provocative gaze.

The men looked at one another before rushing towards me. What a bunch of fools!

Man 3 barely had time to react as his companion’s body hurtled toward him. He tried to sidestep, but the collision threw him off balance, his shoulder slamming against the wall.

Before he could regain footing, I darted forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and driving my knee into his ribs. I felt the air force out of him like a punctured balloon. He swung wildly—panic overtaking sense—but I deflected the blow and smashed my forehead against his nose. Something crunched.

Blood spattered across my knuckles as he crumpled at my feet.

Man 4 lunged from behind with a gleaming switchblade, shouting something incoherent. I shifted just as the blade whistled past my ribs, catching my jacket instead of flesh. My hand snapped out, catching his wrist mid-swing.

With a hard twist and a single solid punch to the throat, I disarmed him and sent him to the ground, gasping like a fish pulled from water. I stomped on his hand for good measure, hearing the bone crack.

Man 5 and 6 advanced together, a rare show of coordination from these street rats. One swung a chain, the other came low with a crowbar. I rolled forward, letting the chain whistle above me, and swept the crowbar wielder’s leg from under him.

He slammed down—right into the path of his partner’s chain, which wrapped painfully around his neck. I yanked the chain from the confused man’s hands and used it to fling him into the dumpster behind me. The sound was wet and final.

Man 7 yelled, charging like a bull. His size should have been intimidating, but all that muscle meant speed was not on his side. I sidestepped easily and kicked his knee out from under him. He went down on one leg, and my elbow found the back of his skull. He didn’t get up.

By the time Man 8 came forward, the air was thick with sweat and blood. He tried to circle me cautiously, learning from the others’ mistakes. Smart. But not smart enough. He reached for a bottle from the ground, breaking it into a jagged weapon.

I feinted left, then slammed his wrist into the wall until he dropped it, glass scattering like ice. My palm crashed up into his chin, snapping his head back. He stumbled and collapsed, groaning.

Man 9 and 10 exchanged a look—hesitation creeping in. I could smell their fear. "You still want to play?" I asked, wiping a streak of blood from my face. They tried anyway. The first swung, wide and desperate. I caught his arm, dragging him forward and flipping him over my shoulder into his friend. Both landed hard. A swift kick to the ribs silenced them.

Man 11 grabbed a metal rod. He twirled it with practiced ease; maybe he had some real training. He came fast, precise, aiming for the head. I ducked, blocked with my forearm, and slammed a fist into his sternum. He staggered — I hooked his ankle and toppled him.

Before he could recover, I smashed the rod down beside his ear, letting the impact vibrate through the concrete. That was enough — he didn’t move again.

Man 12 screamed something about revenge for his brothers and lunged barehanded. His fury burned bright and blind.

I sidestepped, kicked his side, and hooked my arm around his neck, choking out his words until they were just wheezing noises. I dropped him in a heap.

Man 13 was shaking. He held a small knife but lacked conviction. "Don’t," I warned, voice low, calm. But fear makes fools of men. He thrust the knife weakly. I caught his wrist, yanked him forward, and drove my knee up into his gut. The knife clattered away. A hook to the temple ended it.

By the time Man 14 stepped forward, silence fell. He didn’t rush. He didn’t shake. His eyes were calm—calculating. I tilted my head in confusion.

Was he thinking that he could last longer than them?

A puppet like him thinks that he can defeat me?

He cracked his knuckles, smirking. "You’re good," he said.

I smiled faintly. "You’ll wish you hadn’t found out." Before he could say something more, I picked up a rock and smashed his face with it. "Pathetic." I shook my head at his unconscious figure.

A bunch of puppets couldn’t do a thing to me.

I looked at the shaved-head man, who was acting unconscious. "This is your lesson. I hope you puppets understood it very well." With those words, I walked away.