Midnight falls over Guarly. Zafiro runs at top speed, determined to reach Liz Tower on time to meet her teammates. As she moves, she imagines once again that heavy atmosphere where no one speaks naturally anymore—ever since their companion seemed to abandon them. She leaps from rooftop to rooftop, smiling when she realizes the next jump will take her to her destination. She begins concentrating a cold sensation in her legs, pushing harder, channeling energy into the soles of her feet, and runs straight up the building wall toward the summit.
A few minutes later, she arrives to find the girl in blue standing alone, staring into the void. Francesca slightly turns her head when she senses the green-eyed girl, then returns her gaze to the city without much interest. Zafiro walks to the opposite side and sits on the ledge, looking down. She wonders silently, That's strange… Emily is usually already here to patrol. Confused by the brown-haired girl's absence, she checks her phone to see if Emily had said she'd be late or wouldn't come—but there's nothing. So she stays quiet.
Half an hour passes. Neither of the two girls says a word. Feeling the tension thickening, Alexa decides to try to ease things between herself and the blonde. With a soft laugh, she says, "Heh… looks like Emily decided to rest too, just like Ty."
There's no response.
Francesca stands, checks her phone, puts on her scarf and hood, and says, "Let's go."
"What happened? Is Emily in trouble?" Alexa asks.
"No. There's a robbery at a jewelry store a couple of streets away. Move," Francesca replies as she jumps into the void.
Alexa sighs in annoyance, covers her face, and follows her partner into free fall.
Three masked people hurriedly stuff bags with jewelry, watches, and accessories. One of them decides they already have enough, remembering that forcing the back door likely triggered a silent alarm. He positions himself behind a wall to watch for police or vigilantes. The biggest of the thieves snaps, "Matt, what the hell are you doing?"
"Making sure the vigilantes don't show up out of nowhere," Matt replies.
The woman emptying the register laughs and points to the window. "Come on, we planned this for weeks. You can't be scared of some second-rate heroes now!"
"Exactly," the leader adds. "Besides, word on the street is they lost one of their own and there are only three now. Think about it—this probably isn't even the only robbery in the cit—"
The front door is ripped open by a kick. A shadow stands there, palm faintly glowing. The door slams into Matt, hurling him into the wall and knocking him unconscious. Before the bulky man can even draw his pistol, the girl in blue charges him. She leaps and drives a left knee into his chin, sending him staggering into the counter. Without giving him time to recover, she unleashes a right roundhouse kick midair that smashes into his face, cracking the marble counter and splattering it with blood.
Two criminals are down. Only the woman remains. Trembling at the sight of the blue-clad shadow, she shakily raises her .45 and fires. Francesca calmly tilts her head, grips her katana's hilt, and the metal gleams brighter as it slides from its sheath. She releases a Flying Edge that cleanly slices the gun in half—but the attack keeps going. Something invisible tears through the woman's right sleeve and into her flesh, carving off part of her bicep. She screams as a chunk of meat falls to the floor, blood pouring out.
That still isn't enough to stop Francesca. With a single leap, she lands a left punch that breaks the woman's nose and sends her crashing into a wall, where she slides down unconscious.
Alexa watches the entire scene in shock. All the criminals are bleeding, but the level of force Francesca used feels personal—especially the fact that she left one of them mutilated and bleeding out, possibly to death.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Alexa shouts. "This was excessive! These people didn't need that kind of force!"
Francesca doesn't answer. She simply pockets her phone and heads for the exit. Alexa steps into her path, angry. "I know you don't like me, but this time you're going to answer me."
Francesca tilts her head toward her left shoulder and fixes Alexa with a murderous stare. "Or else what will you do?"
That only fuels Alexa's rage. With a darkened gaze, she concentrates cold energy into her right palm and strikes toward Francesca's face. Francesca anticipates it, dodges her head aside, grabs Alexa's wrist with her left hand and her elbow with her right, and twists in opposite directions, dislocating her arm. Before Alexa can even scream, Francesca drives a left knee into her stomach, then shifts her weight and slams a full-power elbow strike that sends Zafiro crashing through a shop window.
Francesca walks up, staring into Alexa's eyes as she clutches her arm in pain. "You're the one with the least right to demand honesty from me." She grabs Alexa's arm and snaps it back into place, provoking a scream so loud that lights begin turning on in nearby houses.
Francesca leaves the scene, while Alexa rises with fury. She sprints after her, Francesca's back completely exposed, channels Fiu into her right leg, and unleashes a sweeping kick. Francesca barely manages to turn in time; unable to dodge, she hardens her neck and head muscles and takes the kick square on her cheek, skidding several steps into the street.
Using the momentum, Francesca widens the distance and draws her katana. Both girls prepare to fight for real now—no holding back, no one to intervene—until headlights from a black car illuminate them. Swallowing their anger, they disengage, leap away, and retreat.
Back atop Liz Tower, the two girls glare at each other, hands on their sword hilts, the wind howling. Both look ready to give everything in a fight. Alexa wants to make Francesca pay for using such brutal force on weak enemies—but Francesca's words echo in her mind: You're the one with the least right to demand honesty from me.
Alexa exhales sharply and steps away from her weapon. She knows Francesca is right. Worse for her pride, she realizes she herself is hiding things again—even if Francesca doesn't know it. She turns her back, conceding the argument. Francesca doesn't act on impulse; she always has a reason, a plan.
Still, one doubt won't leave Alexa's mind: the sheer violence Francesca used against simple criminals. Remembering the vision of a figure wreathed in dark lightning, gray cloak and hood, Alexa makes a decision—even if it goes against her master's wishes. If it helps repair her relationship with Francesca, it's worth it.
"Hey, Blondie," Alexa calls. "I've got a proposal."
Francesca turns, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"
Alexa bites her lip. What she's about to do could bring cruel consequences if her master finds out—but letting things get worse with Francesca would mean repeating past mistakes.
"I'll tell you something the Master asked me not to tell you," Alexa says, "and you tell me why you attacked those people with so much force. Deal?"
Francesca removes her hood and scarf, looks up at the sky, and nods. She's intrigued—especially by the idea that the warrior and Alexa have been hiding something important.
"Fine," Francesca says. "You first."
"Why should I go first?" Alexa asks.
"Because you like lying and hiding things," Francesca replies coolly. "Don't expect me to trust you if I have to give you something first."
Alexa sighs. "Alright… This is going to sound strange, but… I can see the future."
Francesca arches a brow. "Okay. And?"
"Wait—you're not even surprised?" Alexa asks.
"With what we do every day?" Francesca snaps. "Do you really think I'm in a position to doubt something like that?"
Alexa nods. "Fair enough. What happened is… I saw a future where you, Emily, and I arrive at the Master's cabin. He's not there, and a hooded figure comes out. One of us says something, draws its attention—and it attacks us."
"So someone breaks into the Master's cabin," Francesca says calmly. "That's just a future corpse waiting to happen. Thanks for the warning—I'll dodge the stranger."
"No!" Alexa blurts out. "That's not the real problem. The attack used lightning."
"Lightning?" Francesca's eyes widen.
"Dark lightning," Alexa says, clenching her fists. "I know it sounds like I'm accusing our friend, but remember Tyron when he was consumed by rage against the machete guy? His lightning is yellow—but the violence I felt then was the same as in my vision."
Francesca stares, shocked. She doesn't trust Alexa easily, but the concern on her face is genuine. "Where does the Master fit into this?" she asks.
"He told me there was no point in telling you," Alexa answers. "Because it may or may not happen."
Francesca closes her eyes and nods, processing it. "How did you even develop this ability?"
Alexa chuckles. "I didn't. It's a trait of my clan—my family. Supposedly, the more information you have, the clearer and more controllable the visions become. Some even say you can see the past of someone close to you… but without my grandmother, there's no way to know for sure."
Francesca nods, slightly blushing. "Either you're being sincere—or you spent a long time crafting this lie. So now it's my turn."
She exhales. "I used that much force because I'm angry. Not at the criminals—at Tyron. He always wavered but never quit. He always came back smiling. And now he just left. He gave up after losing his best friend. I understand it's hard—but while the Director's forces are playing with explosives in the city, he's not even fighting criminals."
Alexa looks surprised. "I didn't think you cared that much."
"I do," Francesca says quietly, cheeks red. "When Emily didn't show up today… I thought she gave up too. And it makes me furious to think that people I admire would abandon thousands just to avoid their own pain."
"I get it," Alexa says softly. "I didn't realize you held them in such high regard."
"Of course I do," Francesca replies. "They're my friends."
An awkward silence follows. Francesca blushes again, worried she offended Alexa by not calling her a friend too. Alexa smiles, looks over Guarly, and raises her pinky.
"If I tell the others that," she says, "you'll die of embarrassment. So I promise not to say anything—if you promise not to tell anyone what I revealed."
Francesca nods, confused by the pinky. Alexa grumbles, grabs her finger, and links pinkies to seal the promise. When they release, there's a newfound respect between them.
Francesca checks her phone. "High-speed vehicle reported a few streets away. Let's go."
They pull up their hoods and scarves and leap into the night.
At the same time, in the Forcer house, a very disheveled Emily jolts awake, falls out of bed, and checks her phone. Her face pales. "No way—I fell asleep! Those two alone… they're going to kill each other!" She hurriedly sends a message to the group chat at two in the morning.
Deep in a forest about 125 kilometers from Guarly, a vast lake stretches beneath the stars. A car stops, and an adult and a teenage boy with brown hair tipped in yellow step out. Smiling, they unload fishing rods and a small bucket full of worms. Wearing long pants, boots, short-sleeved shirts, life vests, and hats, they walk to a small boat tied to a dock.
Once aboard, Logan Elkin rows them toward the lake's center while his son prepares the bait. The anchor drops. Lines are cast. Neither speaks, not wanting to scare the fish.
Two quiet hours pass before Logan remembers his wife asked him to talk to their son about the red-haired boy. He scratches the back of his neck, unsure how to start.
Tyron sighs, absorbed in the peace around him. Hearing his father cough, he turns. Logan stares at the bobber and asks, "Tell me, Ty—are things okay between you and your friends?"
Tyron blinks. "Yeah, I guess. Why?"
Logan laughs nervously. "Your mom's worried. You seem… dim since Antonio's death."
Tyron looks back at the water. "She's exaggerating. I'm fine."
Logan places a firm hand on his shoulder. "If something's wrong, you can tell us. You don't have to carry the pain of those who are gone."
Tyron violently shrugs his hand off, eyes glassy. "How could I not carry it?! What happened to him was my fault!"
Logan pulls him into a hug. "Your fault? Did you tell him to go there? Did you stab him? Did you force him to fight? He made his own choice, son. You can't bear the consequences for him."
Tyron breaks down in tears. "You're right—but he needed my help, and I couldn't do anything! Antonio died because I wasn't there!"
"Sometimes we can't stop bad things from happening," Logan says gently. "When my father died, I felt empty too. But I had you. We can't abandon the living for the dead. Cry. Let it out. Don't chain yourself to what might have been."
"I'm going to miss him so much," Tyron sobs. "I failed him."
"Then honor him," Logan replies. "Do what you loved together. Go where you were happy. But don't abandon your responsibilities—or the people who still need you."
On Sunday, Tyron walks toward his master's cabin, nervous about how his teammates will react after a week away. The birds sing; the wind is gentle. At the clearing, he hesitates—then remembers his father's words and steps forward.
"Ty? Is that you?" a gentle voice asks.
He turns to find all three girls. He laughs awkwardly to ease the tension—then Emily rushes forward and hugs him tightly.
"I'm so glad you're back!" she says.
Alexa ruffles his hair. "Glad our impulsive teammate finally returned."
Tyron's eyes fill with tears as he smiles. They're not angry.
He looks for Francesca—but she's already at the cabin, whistling. "Hey! Let's go—we have to train!"
Jayden finishes hanging a third gray sandbag marked with a circular symbol of a bird. He smirks. "So the idiot finally came back? Let's hope the princess doesn't disappear again without permission."
The girls set their bags under a tree. Tyron bows deeply. "FORGIVE MY IMPUDENCE, MASTER! IT WON'T HAPPEN AGAIN!"
Jayden points the girls toward the sandbags, then fixes Tyron with a chilling stare. "And I'll make sure of it. Hope you're a masochist—because I'll make it very clear who decides whether you come or go."
Tyron swallows hard and drops to his knees, imagining a monster grinning behind his master.
"Now," Jayden says, "hit the bags."
The girls punch the sandbags, barely moving them.
"Harder."
Again.
"Harder!"
The symbol glows faintly.
"I want everything!" Jayden roars. "Your frustration, rage, sadness, fear! A known ally died while you could do nothing—now release it!"
They inhale deeply and strike. The bags swing violently; the symbols blaze. Emily cries softly. Alexa stares at the ground in disappointment. Francesca clenches her fists, haunted by the fight with Reyik.
Jayden nods and gestures for them to sit.
"You did well," he says. "On the warrior's path, there are no great victories—only survival. You survived. When grief comes, don't stop training. Practice will never abandon you. Return to the basics. Let every movement release what words cannot."
All four bow. "Yes, Master!"
Jayden smiles faintly. "Good. Trust your master. Now—let's train."
Night falls over a tiered city far away. A hooded figure runs in panic, chased by red-skinned beings in blue armor with backward spines, faceless, clawed, wielding strange staves. At the city's edge, the hooded man leaps into a long drop—ripping planks from a roof mid-fall to fashion a crude glider and escape.
One of the creatures—silver-armored, with three white lines where a face should be—fires a wave from its fingers, slamming the hooded man to the ground. He flees, bleeding, until he hits a dead end.
"Please," he begs. "I won't tell anyone! I have a wife—two kids!"
The creature doesn't care. An orange eye opens at the staff's tip. A pulse erupts, and the hooded man explodes into blood and flesh.
From afar, a slimmer blue-skinned creature watches, horrified. I need help… What is the King hiding, to kill even his servants?
It cloaks itself in dark robes and disappears into the shadows.