"Yuki!"
The scream didn't come from Giyu. It came from Seri. She was still on her knees, her hair disheveled, but her green eyes were burning with a regal, stubborn light.
"It's not your fault!" she yelled, her voice cracking with emotion. "You were ten! You were a child pushed into hell! No one is going to hurt you anymore, Yuki! Luna loves you... I love you! So please, for once in your life, learn to love yourself!"
Yuki's fingers twitched.
"You made a mistake," Seri continued, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "But you're a Royal! A Kinatarou! If he killed your friends, don't you think you should be the one to avenge them?! Don't let him own your past!"
The words hit Yuki like a physical impact. The "static" in his brain cleared. The guilt didn't vanish—it never would—but for the first time, it wasn't the only thing he felt. He felt the warmth of the soap he'd bought for Luna. He felt the weight of Seri's gaze.
In an instant, the world turned to a standstill.
To the forty men watching, Yuki simply disappeared. There was a crack of displaced air, a sound like a whip snapping, and a blur of silver-blue light.
Before Giyu could even blink his ember eyes, Yuki was standing on the throne. In one fluid motion, he snatched Luna's battered form and sliced through Seri's binds with a sliver of black ice.
Another crack of air.
Yuki was back at his original spot, thirty feet away. He gently placed Luna on the ground behind him and helped Seri to her feet. The mercenaries scrambled, their rifles clicking as they tried to find a target that had already moved.
Yuki looked at Seri, his face pale but his expression shifting. A small, lopsided grin—the one she knew so well—tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You know," he murmured, his voice regaining its boyish charm, "that was officially the worst motivational speech you've ever given, Seri-chan."
Seri stared at him, her breath hitching. Then, she let out a watery laugh, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Shut up. It worked, didn't it?"
She smiled back, relieved to see the "Zero" return. But as she looked at the icy, vacant depth behind his blue eyes, she knew the truth. The boy who had walked into this warehouse was gone. The man standing there now was something much more dangerous.
Giyu didn't move from his throne. He slowly turned his head to look at the empty space where his captives had been, then looked back at Yuki. His ember eyes gleamed.
"Impressive," Giyu whispered, the sound carrying easily through the warehouse. "That wasn't the speed of an Acolyte. That was the flicker of a King. But speed doesn't save you from a flood, little wolf." He gestured to the two unconscious guards near Seri's original position. "That gas made from your darling Luna's blood is quite effective, isn't it, Kyorin Princess? You'll find your pretty Ki is quite... dormant for a while."
Seri gasped, trying to summon the green Ki that usually hummed in her veins, but found nothing. Her hands were empty.
Yuki didn't flinch. His pale face was a mask of grim resolve. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper from the cafeteria—the one with everyone's ranks on it. He let the wind catch it, watching it flutter away into the dark, a final farewell to the triviality of his old life.
"Seri," Yuki said, his voice dropping an octave, a new, colder authority in it. "Keep Luna behind you. Stay within the sphere."
Before Seri could respond, jagged, obsidian shards of Black Ice erupted from the floor around them, forming a perfectly smooth, impenetrable pyramid. It hummed with dark energy, a fortress in miniature, encasing both girls in a chilling, protective bubble.
Then, the Black Ice began to weave around Yuki. It didn't form a gauntlet this time; it molded itself into a full suit of Spartan-style armor—sleek, dark, and utterly lethal. His helmet had no visible visor, only twin glowing blue slits where his eyes were, the rest a seamless, terrifying mask.
"Kill the Kyorin, I need the little girl alive. I'd still like to play with Yuki as well." Giyu commanded, his voice echoing through the warehouse.
The thirty gunmen roared, leveling their assault rifles. A cacophony of gunfire erupted, tearing through the air. Bullets rained down on Yuki, hammering against his Black Ice armor. They ricocheted with metallic shrieks, some embedding themselves in the corrugated walls, others whining as they struck the legs and arms of the surprised mercenaries themselves.
Yuki moved. He was a silver-blue blur, a wraith amongst the hail of bullets. He weaved and dodged, each movement precise and efficient. He didn't kill. Instead, he disarmed with terrifying speed, snapping rifles in half, twisting wrists, and delivering precise, bone-jarring blows to the solar plexus or temple. A punch to one man's gut sent him flying into another; a swift kick to a knee capsized a third.
Inside the chilling silence of the ice pyramid, Seri held the unconscious Luna close. She could hear the rapid-fire thumps and cracks of Yuki's methodical work, mixed with the terrified grunts of the mercenaries. Her hands burned, a phantom ache for the Ki she couldn't summon. She watched the blue slits of Yuki's armor flash past the pyramid, a silent guardian in a storm of chaos, praying for her power to return. She could feel the pyramid and Yuki's armor vibrating, a subtle drain on his precious Ki.
Giyu and the ten Kizo users watched. Giyu's smile, once amused, widened into a predatory grin. "Ah, there you are, Yuki," he whispered. "Let's see how long you can hold on, little wolf."
The last of the thirty mercenaries hit the concrete with a dull thud. Yuki stood in the center of the wreckage, his Spartan armor hairline-fractured and dull. With a sound like breaking glass, the pitch-black plates shattered into mist, and simultaneously, the protective pyramid around Seri and Luna evaporated.
Yuki dropped to one knee, his chest heaving, steam rising from his overheated body into the cold warehouse air. The cost of maintaining an absolute defense while moving at god-speed had burned through his reserves in seconds.
"Yuki!" Seri scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering. She could see the tremors in his hands. He was empty.
Giyu didn't look disappointed that his men were unconscious. He looked satisfied. He reached into the folds of his coat and pulled out a weapon. It wasn't a standard blade. It was a dagger made of translucent, jagged Black Ice—a weapon that pulsed with a familiar, sickening cold.
"Do you remember this, Yuki?" Giyu asked, his voice a low purr. "The masterpiece you left in that cabin. It was born from such beautiful, pure hatred that it refused to melt. It's been my favorite souvenir for years."
Yuki's breath hitched. The sight of the dagger brought back the smell of the cabin—the iron tang of blood and the sound of screaming. Yuki's blood ran cold. He didn't just remember it; he felt it. That was the blade he had forged in the blind madness of his childhood—the jagged shard of ice he had used to butcher twenty-three men.
Giyu tossed the dagger to the man on his right. This was a warrior unlike the others: mid-twenties, short grey hair, and eyes that held the flat, glassy stare of a shark.
"This is my prodigy. My finest student," Giyu introduced. "His Kizo enhances his flesh. But he isn't afraid to use every advantage. Yuki, you have amazing physical strength and speed that has nothing to do with kizo or anything of that. It's a natural feat, and he is your perfect opponent."
The Prodigy produced a small, ornate wooden box. With a flick of his thumb, he revealed a row of crimson pills that seemed to glow with a sickly internal light. He swallowed one dry, and the effect was instantaneous. His veins turned a dark, bruised purple, bulging against his skin, and his Ki flared outward in a violent, jagged aura that smelled of ozone and chemicals.
"Enhancement drugs," Giyu explained, leaning back. "Illegal, addictive, and absolutely devastating. It's a forbidden stimulant, highly addictive and lethal in high doses. It burns the user's life force to fuel their power. They turn a spark into a sun. If you beat him, you walk. If you lose... the Kyorin dies, and you and the little one come back with me, where you belong."
The Prodigy stepped forward, Yuki's ice dagger spinning effortlessly in his grip. He settled into a low, aggressive stance, the red pill already making his pupils dilate with a manic high.
Yuki forced himself to stand. His legs felt like lead, and his Ki felt like a dry well, but he squared his shoulders. He looked back at Seri, who was watching him with wide, terrified eyes. She couldn't understand how he was standing, let alone how he was smiling.
"You're empty, Yuki! You can't!" she cried out.
Yuki just gave her that lopsided, effortless grin—the mask that protected everyone from his pain.
"Don't worry, Seri-chan," he whispered, his voice steady despite the exhaustion. "This is gonna be one hell of a story to tell."