The afternoon felt heavy, the sun pressing down on the city like a weight. Somewhere inside an office building, within a cramped cabin, tension coiled thick in the air.
The manager sat behind his desk, a cup of coffee trembling slightly on its saucer as his voice exploded.
"You are so useless! I gave you chances, but you failed again!" He yelled, furious eyes locked onto the employee standing 4 to 5 steps away from the manager.
The employee tried to explain, his voice shaking. "Sir, I tried, but they didn't exc—"
"You're fired!" the manager snapped. "Now don't show me your face again."
The words pierced like needles. The employee stood frozen for a second, his throat tight, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
Boom.
A small explosion erupted behind the manager's table. Dust and debris burst into the room, shards of wood and glass scattering across the floor. The manager cried out as a fragment scraped his face, leaving a shallow cut.
As both the manager and the employee struggled to process what had happened, the dust slowly settled.
A figure was crouched low on the table.
It was Mike.
His clothes were soaked in blood, raw scars carved across his skin. He held Aki in his arms—unconscious, yet completely unharmed, not a single scratch on her.
"What are you looking at?" Mike said calmly.
The manager's face drained of color, his body locked in place, eyes unable to move away from Mike and Aki in his arms.
Mike raised his hand.
Burst!
With a single one-inch punch, the manager's head shattered like glass. Blood exploded outward, painting the walls, the chair, and the table in red.
The employee let out a strangled gasp, his eyes bulging as he staggered backward, silently begging for his life. His foot pressed down on something soft.
Something that wasn't his.
Slowly, trembling, he turned his head.
Behind him stood Ghost.
Dark circles sank beneath his eyes, his empty gaze locked onto the employee.
The employee tried to scream.
Click. Slash. Click.
Ghost calmly sheathed his chokuto back into its scabbard.
For a split second, nothing happened. Time itself seemed to pause.
Then the employee's body slid apart, falling in clean, horizontal pieces. The cut was mechanical—too precise, too perfect. Even as his body separated, his heart continued to beat, his mind still conscious, as if his body had not yet realized it was already dead.
Mike gently lowered Aki onto the table. His movements were slow, careful. Exhaustion dragged at his body, dizziness blurring the edges of his vision, but he forced himself to stay upright.
Silence pressed down on the room.
It wasn't peaceful—it screamed. The concrete walls trapped the heavy smell of dust, blood, and metal, making the air feel thick in his lungs.
In the blink of an eye, Mike vanished.
He reappeared directly in front of Ghost, his fist tearing through the air in a blur, aimed straight for Ghost's face.
Shing!
Ghost's chokuto moved first.
A single vertical swing—clean, merciless.
Mike's palm split into two halves.
His eyes widened in shock at Ghost's speed. Pain exploded through his arm, but instinct took over. He twisted his body and slammed a kick into Ghost's face.
The impact sent Ghost hurling backward, crashing into the building across the road from where Mike and Aki stood.
Mike staggered back, breathing hard. He ripped a strip of cloth from the cabin and wrapped it tightly around his mangled palm, blood seeping through almost instantly.
"He really is a monster," Mike thought, his gaze flicking back to Aki lying motionless on the table.
He clenched his teeth.
Mike couldn't give up.
He had no choice.
Mike's eyes widened as fear crawled through his body.
From the shattered building where Ghost had crashed, a figure stood at the edge of the broken wall. Ghost held a familiar stance—low, precise, lethal. Mike's nerves screamed at him to run.
He knew that stance.
It was the same move Ghost had used to cut an entire building in half.
But what truly terrified Mike wasn't the stance.
It was the fact that Ghost wasn't there anymore.
He was beside Mike.
Inside the cabin.
Close enough for death to breathe against his skin.
Ghost raised his chokuto, the blade slicing diagonally through the air, aimed straight at Mike's torso.
"Give it to me."
In the blink of an eye, the chokuto vanished from Ghost's hands.
Nothing but empty air remained.
Mike froze, shock flooding his face.
The attack never landed.
Behind Ghost stood a man, tall and relaxed.
His messy yellow hair caught the sunlight pouring in through the broken wall. He wore an all-white formal suit, the fabric gleaming unnaturally amid the destruction.
"You know," the man said calmly, "you shouldn't play with a blade like that."
Ghost snapped around instantly, his fist tearing forward in a blur—but the man was already gone.
He was now standing in front of Mike.
"What are you doing here, Mizuki?" Mike asked, his voice tight.
Mizuki smiled faintly, calm arrogance written across his face. "My, my… look how badly Ghost has beaten you."
Before Mike could ask anything more, Ghost turned again, launching a kick—
—but there was no one there.
No Mizuki.
No Mike.
No Aki.
Only the chokuto lay on the floor.
Ghost stepped forward, picked it up, and slid it back into its scabbard. He lifted his gaze toward the terrace of the building across the road.
There, bathed in sunlight, stood Mizuki.
He held Mike and Aki casually, as if they weighed nothing—like grocery bags slung over his arms.
Without another word, Mizuki turned and disappeared from the edge of the building, carrying them away.
Ghost stood there, showing no emotion, as if the entire incident hadn't bothered him in the slightest.
As the chaos finally settled, the scene shifted.
Elsewhere.
Inside an old, abandoned house.
Broken windows let in thin beams of light. Dust coated the shelves and tables, spider webs clung to the corners of the walls, and the air smelled of age and damp wood. On a worn bed lay Aki and Mike, both unconscious. A woman moved quietly beside them, tending to their wounds with practiced hands.
Mizuki stood near a broken window, looking outside. Tall trees surrounded the house on all sides—they were deep in the middle of the jungle. Leaves rustled softly in the wind, the only sound breaking the silence.
Mizuki turned and walked toward Mike.
"So," he said calmly, "how was the experience?"
Mike exhaled slowly. "He's a beast. The way he moves… the way he attacks… it's too unpredictable."
Mizuki nodded. "You two are the first people to escape from Ghost."
His tone shifted—still calm, but heavier.
"No one knows when or how Ghost entered the S.A.O. There are no records of him. No real name. No track of how many missions he's done. We only know he's a teenager—but not his exact age."
Each word pressed down harder.
"He appears rarely," Mizuki continued, his voice quiet but firm. "But when he does… the opponent prays they aren't the target."
Mike looked at Mizuki and asked calmly, "Hey… can you beat Ghost? Just asking."
Mizuki replied just as calmly, "No chance. The only reason I was able to interrupt Ghost was because my intention was clear—to escape, not to fight."
He continued, his tone steady. "Remember this: Ghost can't perceive speeds like ours with his naked eyes. But the moment you show fear, rage, bloodlust—or if Ghost feels even slightly threatened—he can pinpoint your exact location."
Mike listened carefully, understanding settling in.
"Now I get it," he said. "You didn't show any of those emotions, so Ghost couldn't detect you. And since he can't properly perceive movements as fast as yours, he noticed the motion but couldn't lock onto you. That's how you managed to save us."
His gaze shifted to Aki, lying on the bed in deep, exhausted sleep. Her breathing was slow, steady.
Mike clenched his jaw and spoke quietly, almost to himself.
"Next time… I will win."