Ryuji wondered what Physical Education meant in a ninja academy. Would it be an obstacle course? Scenario-based simulation of events? Or just simple sparring matches? More importantly, he couldn’t afford to stand out. There were likely future enemies here rivals, clan heirs, or anyone who might see him as a threat. The less they knew about his real capabilities, the better.

As he was changing into his gym clothes, a red-haired student approached him. “Hey, you. You’re the outsider, right?” He can feel hostility from him.

Ryuji notices some eyes are directed at them, still there nothing to worry about. “Yes I am, and is there something you need of me?”

“Yeah. Why did Asagi let someone like you into Gosha Village, much less this academy?” The red-haired student’s tone was sharp, each word edged with contempt as he practically spat Asagi’s name.

“I assisted the Taimanins during a mission in Yomihara.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.” His voice grew tighter, angrier.

Ryuji considered how much to reveal. It was better to downplay his involvement, and definitely avoid mentioning Shiranui’s former role. Who knew how people would react to learning the Phantom Taimanin used to work with the enemy?

The mage decides to end this conversation. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me,” Ryuji replied calmly, holding the other’s glare as he worked to keep the situation from escalating. “Nothing I say will satisfy you, so you’re better off asking Asagi herself.”

Then the redhead grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the locker. “Tell me what Asagi is planning by using you?!”

“Kuh—!” Ryuji choked, caught off guard by the sudden attack. Something was clear now: this guy hated Asagi. But why? A clan rivalry, maybe?

“If you don’t tell me…” The redhead pulled his hand back, fist clenched. “I’ll make you.”

Suddenly, his wrist was caught in a firm grip. Tatsurou stood beside them, eyes sharp. “Let go of him, Nisha.” His voice was low, but it carried clear authority as he tightened his hold.

“Gaiza,” another student warned, stepping forward to intervene. “If you don’t back off now, we’ll have to restrain you and report this to the teachers.”

“Kotaro…” the redhead spat the name like a curse, but he released Ryuji. “You don’t get to order me around. Once combat class starts, you and I will have a round. I’ll make sure you learn your place.”

Ryuji coughed, rubbing his neck. Great. I’ve already got a bully. What’s next on this unfortunate day?

“Senpai, are you all right?” Tatsurou knelt beside him, his expression concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” Ryuji pushed himself up, then glanced at Kotaro with a hint of worry. “Thanks, both of you. Though I’m more worried about you now.”

“It’s all right, senpai. I can handle Gaiza just fine.” Kotaro offered him a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure? The way he talks sounds personal, like he holds a grudge against you. But if you’re confident you can handle it, I won’t worry.”

Kotaro’s expression softened, but his assurance held steady. “We’ve known each other a long time. It’s complicated, but I know how to manage him.”

“If you said so. Say, what your name?”

“Fuuma Kotaro. And you senpai? ”

“Miyatake Ryuji. You can call me Ryuji if you want, Fuuma. We’d better get dressed, or we’ll be late.” After that, they parted, though Tatsurou remained at Ryuji’s side.

“Senpai,” Tatsurou began, his tone curious, “Why didn’t you fight back? You’re clearly skilled. Why take that from him?”

Ryuji wondered if Tatsurou would understand his reasoning. “Sometimes fighting back only makes things worse. This was one of those times. It’s better to keep your head down and take a hit than to escalate a situation.”

“But isn’t it better to stand your ground?” Tatsurou pressed. “If you don’t push back, he’ll just come after you again.”

“You’re not wrong.” Ryuji admitted. “But I’m an outsider here, Tatsurou. If I fight back, it won’t end well for me. Most people in this village would side with him, not with me.”

“I don’t think the village would be that biased,” Tatsurou said.

“Then you haven’t seen it in its darkest moments, Tatsurou.” Ryuji’s tone was weary. He might have been paranoid, but he’d seen the pattern before. A community built on powerful clans inevitably becomes a system where power gathers in fewer and fewer hands. Traditions turn rigid, tools to assert control. And in places like this… even children become assets. An outsider becomes a threat to the status quo. They challenge it, spread doubt, inspire those who wish for change.

He lowered his voice, leaning slightly closer. “Tatsurou, I want you to keep this between us. I don’t trust anyone here, not the other students, not even the teachers. But I trust you, Yukikaze, and Rinko. So don’t mention any of this to anyone else, all right?”

Tatsurou met his gaze, his expression serious, then gave a firm nod. “You can trust me, senpai.”

.

.

.

The gym was spacious, and everyone there was wearing a Taimanin suit, except for the mage, who the only one wearing gym clothes. It made him feel distinctly out of place, though he had no intention of wearing that. The tight suits were too embarrassing for him to consider. No teachers were present, and the period had been declared self-study until one arrived. Apparently, Murasaki-sensei was in a meeting.

With that news, some students went straight to training, swinging practice weapon or doing push-ups. Others simply sat and chatted, or even played on their phones.

So what was the mage doing with this free time? Helping Tatsurou train. He’d made a promise back in Yomihara, and he intended to keep it. Now, Ryuji stood with Rinko, Yukikaze, and Tatsurou. Rinko, in particular, kept her eyes on him, probably watching out for her younger brother.

“Well, I don’t know much about Ninja Arts,” Ryuji began, “but I know a fair bit about the sword. Let’s start with that.”

Tatsurou nodded and took his stance. He held his sword out front, his footing solid, his posture disciplined, the mark of someone well-trained. ‘Good foundation’, Ryuji noted.

“Alright. Attack me with everything you have, don’t hold back.” Time to test his skill.

Tatsurou rushed forward with a sharp downward slash. Ryuji met it with his own blade, the impact ringing through his arms. He shoved forward, making Tatsurou stagger, then pulled back and thrust.

Tatsurou recovered quickly, sidestepping the thrust and immediately launching another slash. Ryuji blocked again, impressed. ‘Fast recovery from a stagger. Good evasion and an immediate counterattack.’

Now to test his defence. Ryuji launched a sharp kick to Tatsurou’s abdomen, forcing him to roll back. ‘Not as strong against unexpected attacks.’ He pressed forward, but Tatsurou managed to recover and block the next strike. ‘Good pain tolerance, but can he weather sustained pressure?’

Ryuji began a rapid, relentless assault: downward, upward, horizontal, diagonal strikes in quick succession. He didn’t let up, giving Tatsurou no opening to breathe or counter. 

Ryuji continued the relentless barrage for half a minute before finally stopping. ‘Good stamina and dexterity. But he seems at a loss when pressed, just keeps blocking without trying to escape or create an opening.’

Tatsurou quickly took the opportunity to launch the attack with a thrust forward. Ryuji use his seizing the opening, Tatsurou launched a committed thrust forward. Instead of blocking, Ryuji shifted his blade at the last moment, redirecting the strike past his body. He positioned his sword close to Tatsurou’s guard, controlling the line of attack, and in the same motion, swept Tatsurou’s legs out from under him, sending him to the floor with a soft thud.

“Your swordsmanship is solid, your skill and stamina are there. What you’re lacking is experience. When an opponent does something unexpected, you freeze. When you’re under pressure, you default to blocking and evading instead of creating an opening or changing the tempo. Those faults can be fixed with just gaining experience.”

Ryuji lowered his practice sword, his tone matter-of-fact. “That said, this is just sword against sword. If you integrate your Ninja Arts, you could turn those moments of pressure into opportunities.”

“I see.” Tatsurou can’t help but be disappointed by this.

“Hey, what are you looking so down for?” Ryuji tilted his head slightly. “I just said your swordsmanship is good. You are just lacking experience.”

“Yeah, it’s just… Is there any way to improve faster?”

“No.” Ryuji’s answer was firm, leaving no room for doubt. “You need to face tougher, stronger opponents. Real experience doesn’t have shortcuts.”

He then lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing a lattice of faded scars across his torso and side. “You think I got this far just by being ‘good’ with a sword or magic? It took beating after beating before I could even hold my own against experienced fighters.” He let the fabric fall back into place, his gaze steady on Tatsurou’s. “We all start from somewhere. Even me.”

Ryuji then extended his hand to Tatsurou. “So be patient and work hard you’ll soon reach your goal than you realize.”

Tatsurou grabs Ryuji hand and stand up. “Thanks senpai.”

“No problem. For now, focus on your Ninja Arts.” An idea flickered in Ryuji’s mind, and he tilted his head slightly. “Actually… I might have a way to help with that.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I’ve used a method with trainees who still new to magic. If I adapt the approach, it might help improve your Ninja Arts.” Ryuji’s tone was thoughtful but grounded. “It’s not a shortcut, more like… furthering your understanding with your Ninja Arts.”

Tatsurou couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. "Oh, I see. Sure, let's try it."

Ryuji positioned himself behind Tatsurou. "Close your eyes and empty your mind." He moved closer, his chest lightly pressing against Tatsurou's back as he gently took Tatsurou's hands, guiding his fingers into a different alignment.

"S-Senpai?" Tatsurou stiffened, confusion and nervousness tightening his voice.

"Does this method actually work?" Rinko's question was calm but pointed. The position looked… unusually intimate.

"Y-yeah, it looks weird," Yukikaze added, her brow furrowed. "How is this supposed to help?"

"Huh? It's not working?" Ryuji murmured, more to himself. "My magic should be flowing into you by now… Oh." He paused, withdrawing his hands and stepping back. "Now I get it. It’s the Taima Particles. They’re rejecting my magic, treating it like a foreign contaminant."

"Eh? Does that mean it won’t work?" Tatsurou’s shoulders slumped, disappointment clear in his tone.

“No, there might still be a way,” Ryuji said, his expression shifting from disappointment to focus. “If I can mimic the properties of Taima Particles, or close to it.” He turned toward Yukikaze. “Yukikaze, shock me.”

“What?” She blinked, taken aback. Was he serious? Asking to be electrocuted out of nowhere? Still, she hadn’t forgotten her earlier promise to make him pay, and if this was her chance, she wasn’t about to refuse. “Fine, but don’t complain if you get hurt.”

“Give me a moment.” Ryuji closed his eyes and breathed slowly, his hands forming a triangle shape as if in prayer. ‘Empty the mind. Let thought become nothing.’ The steady, living current of his magic began to withdraw, leaving his body still and vacant. He was entering a state of pure nothingness. His body is the void itself.

“Senpai, you don’t have to do this.” Tatsurou said, his voice tight with worry. He didn’t want help if it meant watching Ryuji hurt himself.

“I understand you want to help him.” Rinko added, her own concern evident. “But this feels like it’s going too far.”

“Just be patient. You’ll understand.” Ryuji opened his eyes. Their usual sharpness had softened, grown almost hollow. “Now,” he said, his voice low and distant. “Do it.”

Yukikaze smirked, aiming her flintlock-shaped pistol and firing a bolt of lightning directly at the mage. The electricity surged into Ryuji, pain and shock coursing through his body. Yet despite the hit, he showed no outward reaction, a fact that visibly surprised them. Slowly, the energy absorbed within him.

“I can see it now… I can feel it,” Ryuji murmured, his mind wholly focused on the lingering sensation. “Taima Particles… down to their very atom, they’re chaotic. Unstable. Unlike magic, which is malleable, willing to be shaped.” His eyes remained distant, locked on some internal vision. “I understand. The particles themselves are disruptive by nature. They don’t flow willingly, requiring condition to fully control, the Ninja Arts. The demon blood.”

None of them fully understood what he was saying, but none dared to disrupt his concentration.

“I think I understand a little.” Now came the test. Ryuji began to mimic Taima Particles from within his own body. It hurts, ravaging pain that seared through his spiritual nerves, as if his very spirit were being torn apart and rewired. Still, he pressed on, forcing his system to adapt. His skin prickled, then glowed faintly with a shimmering, unstable aura. He was getting closer; his body was now covered in the volatile particles.

Now came the test. Ryuji extended his arm, forming a finger gun with his hand. ‘Yukikaze’s lightning, remember the feeling. The energy.’

Sparks crackled along his forearm, small at first, then gathering into arcs of pale yellow light. The three watching him, Yukikaze, Tatsurou, and Rinko stared, eyes widening in unison.

Then, with a sharp crack, a bolt of lightning shot from his fingertip and struck the floor, leaving a faint, scorched mark.

“W-what was that?!” Yukikaze’s voice broke the stunned silence. The colour, the spark, the familiar sensation, there was no mistaking it. “T-that was my Lightning Art! How?!”

“As long as I understand how something works, I can mimic it,” Ryuji explained, his voice a little strained. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the foreign energy dissipating from his form. He was no longer in the void state. “But it’s too slow to be useful in a real fight. Require deep concentration.”

He turned back to Tatsurou, his expression focused once more. “Now, let’s try this again. Close your eyes and empty your mind.” Ryuji positioned himself behind Tatsurou, taking his hands and aligning their fingers.

After a few seconds, Tatsurou felt something enter him—a foreign, warm energy that spread steadily through his body. “Ah… mmm,” he couldn’t help but let out a soft, involuntary sound.

“Hey, focus,” Ryuji murmured, his voice low and close to Tatsurou’s ear. “That’s just the tip. I haven’t entered all the way through.”

“What is this?” Yukikaze stared at them, her expression caught between confusion and discomfort. The whole scene felt… too intimate. “Is this how it’s supposed to work?”

“I don’t know, Yukikaze,” Rinko replied quietly, her gaze fixed on her brother’s flushed face and the subtle tension in his posture. “All I hope is that it ends soon.” She didn’t want to see Tatsurou like this.

Tatsurou could feel… everything.

His ears picked up distant footsteps, fragments of conversations three mats away. His eyes saw not just people, but the faint shimmer of energy around them, the subtle twitch of muscle, the shift of weight before movement. Scents flooded his nostrils: sweat, the sweet tang of someone’s shampoo, the faint ozone left by Yukikaze’s lightning. The taste in his mouth reminded him sharply of lunch, soy sauce and rice. His skin registered every slight change in temperature, every drift of air from the vents.

And beneath it all, a foreign, unnamed sensation flowed from Rinko and Yukikaze, a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. Worry? Protectiveness? It pressed against his awareness, sharp and unmistakable.

“Argh!” He collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed by the flood of input.

“Tatsurou!” Yukikaze rushed to his side.

“Ryuji!” Rinko turned sharply toward the mage, her voice edged with demand.

“He’s experiencing sensory overload. Don’t worry, it’ll fade in about five minutes.” Ryuji’s tone was calm but urgent. “But during those five minutes, you need to start channelling your Ninja Arts. Use the heightened senses to the fullest extent.”

He began moving toward a quieter corner of the gym. “I’ll be over there meditating. If you need me, call. And don’t tell anyone about this. Consider it our secret.”

Ryuji settled away from the others, assuming a meditative pose. Eyes closed, he turned his focus inward, tracing the volatile hum of Taima Particles still simmering beneath his skin.

.

.

.

Five minutes passed, and Tatsurou had already learned a great deal about his Ninja Art. He could feel the wind responding to him more easily, spreading through his body like a second breath. He’d test it properly later—in the simulation room, away from prying eyes. But first, there was that strange, overwhelming sensation. Was that… Ryuji’s Sixth Sense?

“So, Tatsurou-kun,” Yukikaze asked, “what was it like?”

“It was… intense. Like all five senses were dialled up at once sounds, smells, sights… everything. And there was this… other layer, almost like I could… I don’t know, feel emotions? Intentions? I think it might have been Ryuji’s Sixth Sense.”

“Sixth Sense?” Yukikaze tilted her head; she’d never heard of such a thing.

“I’m not sure how to explain it,” Tatsurou said, thinking back. “But back in UnderEden, before we even entered the building, he was able to locate both of you. He just… knew where you were.”

“That explains how he could see Shiranui’s invisibility and illusion. He could see through them.” Rinko stand up and approaches Ryuji. The two follow her as well.

Despite Ryuji entering meditation not wishing to be disturbed. Still she asked. “Ryuji do you have another ability different than you flames?”

“Yes.” He opened his eyes and stretched, the focused calm of meditation leaving his expression. “It’s called the Third Eye.”

Rinko’s eyes widened, surprised he would admit it so openly.

“I want the three of you to keep this secret, too.” Ryuji had now asked them twice to keep something hidden. But despite wanting to conceal his abilities, he also wanted to be honest with them, at least in part. They were becoming his allies, perhaps even friends.

“The Third Eye enhances all my senses and acts as a sixth sense.”

“And I assume this sixth sense allows you to… feel emotions?” Rinko pressed, the idea of having her inner feelings read like an open book feeling like an invasion of privacy.

“Yes, I can sense the emotions of those around me. But I can’t turn it off without risk. If I try, I could hurt myself, or worse, get killed.” He met her gaze steadily. “You saw what happened when I entered the classroom, I tripped and fell. That was the moment I shut my Third Eye off.”

Rinko couldn’t believe it was connected to his sense of balance. It was a flat surface, how could he possibly trip? “That was just a coincidence.”

Ryuji sighed and stood up. He tried to walk toward her, but after only a few steps, he tripped and fell flat on his face. “Uuugh.”

Rinko stared, her earlier scepticism dissolving into reluctant belief. "Okay. I believe you," she said, her voice quieter now. "Turn it back on. I don't think you have any malicious intention with it."

“Thanks.” He stood up, a trickle of blood coming from his nose. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.” Ryuji wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

“All right, everyone, let’s start class.” Murasaki had returned and now began leading the session.

.

.

.

Ryuji and Rinko stood in the center of the square arena, its perimeter shimmering with an invisible barrier meant to contain stray energy and projectiles. Ryuji couldn’t help but question, why him? When Murasaki declared that he and Rinko would spar, he had initially refused, until both Murasaki and Rinko fixed him with such stern, unyielding glares that he reluctantly accepted.

This was a good opportunity to learn from Rinko’s skill with the sword, despite his reluctance. Still, the outcome had already been decided.

Murasaki raised her hand to signal the start of the match. “Begin…”

He would lose.

Her hand fell. “Now!”

They both rushed forward, blades drawn, and the clash of steel rang through the arena. The moment their swords met, they pulled back in perfect unison, only to clash again, and again, their movements mirroring one another in a relentless, rhythmic exchange. For now, they were perfectly matched.

Still, despite being evenly matched at that moment, Ryuji was at a profound disadvantage. He possessed no innate talent for the sword, and had always relied on versatility shifting between weapons and tactics, to compensate. The only reason he could keep pace was a combination of hardened combat experience and his Third Eye, which allowed him to predict and react to her movements a fraction of a second before they fully unfolded.

Seeking to break the stalemate, Ryuji fell back, drew his sword to his shoulder, and hurled it forward with all his strength. The blade shot toward Rinko with startling speed. She deflected it, but in that split second, Ryuji was already upon her, having closed the distance the instant his sword left his hand.

The sword had been a distraction to draw her focus, while Ryuji closed in, intending to tackle. Rinko, however, read his intention almost as soon as he moved and began to retreat. Unwilling to let her regain footing or mount a counterattack, Ryuji abandoned the tackle and instead shot his hands forward, seizing both of her wrists in a firm, sudden grip. Making her unable to use her sword.

Rinko drove a sharp kick into his abdomen, but he refused to let go, his grip only tightened. He yanked her forward, off-balance, and drove his forehead into hers with a solid crack. Before she could recover, he delivered a swift, punishing kick to her midsection, staggering her balance.

Now at a clear disadvantage, trapped, unable to use her sword, and facing Ryuji’s high pain tolerance, Rinko had few options left. Then, suddenly, Ryuji’s grip loosened as she vanished from his sight. She teleported.

‘Where?’ His mind rang with warning. Instinctively, he ducked and rolled toward his sword, managing to avoid her slash. ‘Behind me. Predictable.’

Rinko couldn’t help but be impressed. Ryuji hadn’t used his fire or a gun, yet through sheer adaptability and unorthodox tactics, he’d cornered her. But she wanted more, needed more. She wanted him to go harder, to stop holding back. She wanted to see his flame.

To draw it out, she would use her Void Art. In an instant, she teleported again.

‘She teleported again, but where is this time?’ Ryuji’s senses flared. ‘Above!’ He dashed sideways just as Rinko’s blade plunged down where he had stood.

This was it, the turning point. The clash would no longer be just sword against sword. Now it would be Flame against Void Art. And here, Ryuji knew he would lose, as he had no desire to draw out his flame for a simple sparring match.

He rushed toward her, and their swords clashed once more. This time, Rinko ceased her teleportation, shifting to an aggressive offense. She channeled her Taima Particles into her blade, coating the steel in a shimmering, unstable energy. With a sharp slash, she didn’t meet Ryuji’s sword in a clash of steel as she cut clean through it. 

Butterfly Guillotine, that was the technique she had used. She hadn't sharpened her blade; instead, she had coated it with Void Art and fused it with her Itto Style. The result allowed her to cut through even the hardest steel, as the targeted material was forced to "leap" at the point of contact, bypassing durability entirely.

She pointed her blade at Ryuji. ‘What will you do? What is your mind planning this time?’ Her heart beat faster. ‘He’ll show me now. The power that defeated Shiranui. The power that beaten the Phantom Taimanin.’

Ryuji raised both of his hands.

Rinko tightened her grip, muscles coiling.

His lips moved, forming a single, clear sentence.

“I surrender.”

For a heartbeat, the arena was silent. Rinko’s blade didn’t waver, but something in her stance did, a minute drop of her shoulders, a slight loosening of her jaw. The anticipation that had tightened her chest dissolved into something hollow, then sharp.

'He… surrendered?'

“W-why?” she breathed, the word barely audible. Then, louder, “Why?” Was she not worthy of his flame? Did he see her as too weak to even draw it out? “WHY ARE YOU SURRENDERING?!”

Her voice rang across the training ground, edged with frustration and something raw. The tip of her blade trembled slightly, still pointed at him. Around them, the other students had fallen utterly silent.

“WHY WON’T YOU SHOW ME? THE POWER THAT BEAT THE PHANTOM TAIMANIN HERSELF!”

Her shout hung in the air, raw and stripped of its usual composure. Around them, students murmured, leaning in, eyes wide towards Rinko, the model student, who never lost her cool like this.

Ryuji met her gaze, his own calm and unflinching. “Why, you ask?” The arena fell silent again, all attention fixed on him. “Because I don’t want to.”

“Because you… don’t want to?” Rinko’s voice wavered between disbelief and anger. “What kind of reason is that?”

Ryuji sighed, the sound weary with a weight that went far beyond the match. “My flame isn’t something I can use on a whim. The backlash is… painful.” He turned and began to walk away. “I won’t use it lightly, and never in a spar. If you want to see it, you’d have to make me genuinely fear for my life.”

“I won’t accept this.” She went after him, grabbing his shoulder. “Our fight isn’t over. Use your flame.”

“No.”

“Use it.”

“NO!”

“USE IT!”

“I DON’T WANT TO, YOU MEATHEAD!”

The insult hung in the air, sharp and startling. Rinko’s grip on his shoulder tightened, then fell away. In the same fluid motion, she unsheathed her sword and leveled its edge at Ryuji’s throat.

“What,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “did you just say?”

Ryuji gulped, instinctively stepping back. A sudden, crushing bloodlust washed over him, cold and dense enough to choke the air from his lungs. His every instinct flared, screaming at him to run. “H-hey, what are you doing?” he stammered, genuine fear sharpening his voice. Now he was afraid for his life.

Rinko didn’t answer. Her blade flashed in a horizontal slash aimed to cut. Ryuji jerked backward, the tip slicing through the air just shy of his chest. He didn’t try to stand his ground, as he turned and bolted, putting distance between them.

She gave chase, her movements eerily silent and precise. Each slash was meant to seriously injured him. Ryuji wove and dodged, fueled by pure survival instinct. As Ryuji get closer to the edge, he felt relief that he finally get to escape, until he gets stop by the invisible barrier.

“Geh!” Ryuji slammed into the invisible barrier, rebounding back toward Rinko and quickly run in another direction. Panic tightened his voice. “Turn off the barrier! She’s seriously trying to kill me! I already forfeited!”

“I was not satisfied with your performance, Miyatake.” Murasaki stated coolly from the sidelines.

“W-what?!”

“If what Rinko says is true, that you are holding back your true strength. Then the match will continue. It continues until you show your true strength, or get cut.”

“You can’t do this!” Ryuji’s instincts screamed as he twisted away from another slash. “This is a violation of my rights as a student!”

“Your right is to train and get stronger. You can’t do that if you hold back, Miyatake.” Murasaki’s voice was stern, unwavering. “Everyone here is trying their best to grow stronger—to be ready for the worst. That includes you.”

Ryuji dodged again, putting a few more feet between himself and Rinko’s blade. He didn’t care about Murasaki’s opinion, or the whispers of the watching students. His resolve hardened: he would stand his ground and take the cut if he had to.

He stopped moving. Rinko halted as well, her sword held ready. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then Ryuji looked into her eyes. Past the anger, past the discipline, and saw it a flicker of raw, wounded sadness.

‘Why?’

A voice from the past echoed in his mind. For a moment, the gym seemed to warp. Overlapping Rinko’s form, he saw a vague, familiar figure, a man with twisted with despair and eyes full of sadness.

'Just… why? Are you looking down on me? Is that it? Resorting to cheap tricks…’

He had been an enemy, one who’d wanted nothing more than to fight Ryuji at his full strength. But Ryuji had denied him that honor. He’d used misdirection, called in allies, and cornered him. He remembered the man’s face in that final moment: the despair, the betrayal, the sadness of a warrior denied a clean end. Ryuji had pointed his gun, steady and unfeeling, and pulled the trigger.

Violence was never pretty, and he never took joy in it. That was precisely why he could use any dirty tactic or underhanded trick if it meant achieving a quick victory. Yet despite winning, he never enjoyed it. It always tasted like ash.

Still, that one moment stuck with him. He had killed many, but this particular memory held fast, a splinter in his mind that made his heart wrench. Ryuji had made a promise to himself: to respect any opponent, good or evil, by giving them a proper fight.

Isn't he breaking that promise right now?

With a sigh, he relented. "Fine. Stop making that face, you win." As he spoke, his eyes ignited, shifting to a simmering ember. "I'll give you the fight you want.”

On cue, flames burst to life around him, swirling in a controlled vortex. Across from him, Rinko’s heart leapt with a thrill of excitement, this was finally the fight she had wanted. A wave of dry heat washed over the training ground, and the watching students leaned forward, their earlier curiosity now alight with pure excitement.

Sadly for them, Ryuji had no intention of putting on a show.

In one fluid motion, he dropped into a crouch and planted his palm firmly on the ground. With a deep, rushing roar, flames erupted from him as it spread fast to every side of the arena. They surged upward in a brilliant, crackling wall, encircling the combatants and swallowing the field from view.

“No one else can see this,” Ryuji said, his voice cutting clearly through the inferno’s rumble. “Just the two of us. You get thirty seconds. Make them count.”

A fierce, grateful smile touched Rinko’s lips as she settled into her stance, her eyes locked on his. “Then I will cherish every one. Thank you, Ryuji-kun.”

Ryuji rushed forward, seizing the offensive. Rinko was ready, her sword flashing up to intercept his charge. She expertly used its longer reach, maintaining a defensive distance and forcing Ryuji into a series of evasive dodges. Each time he tried to close in, the threat of her blade drove him back, preventing him from launching a clean attack of his own.

Seeing he couldn’t breach her guard, Ryuji shifted tactics. ‘If I can’t get close, I’ll launch attack from the distance.’

He pulled back a step, gathering the swirling flames from the air into his palm. With a sharp, horizontal swipe, he launched a roaring wave of fire across the arena, cutting through the distance between them in an instant.

Rinko couldn’t dodge; the fire was too widespread. Instead, she teleported.

Anticipating her move, Ryuji was already spinning. He thrust out his other palm downward, and a defensive burst of flame erupted around him in a perfect, expanding sphere, a blazing shield against the attack he knew would come from behind.

It was not enough to stop her. Rinko teleported in a shimmer of air, appearing behind him. Her blade cut through the defensive flames and found only empty space.

Her eyes darted left, then right, then snapped upward. Nothing. A cold realization dawned. ‘That means…’

"Guh!" A precise, stunning blow landed at the base of her neck. Her body went rigid, then limp. Strength drained from her limbs like water, and the world faded into silent darkness.

Ryuji had planned this from the start. His fiery wave was never meant to hit her, it was a calculated move to force her to teleport. The defensive ring of flames around him? Nothing more than a distraction, obscuring his own movement the moment she vanished.

Using the very fire as a propellant, he kicked off the ground with explosive speed, launching himself in a high arc. He was already descending as she materialized, her attention utterly focused on cutting through the fiery decoy he had left behind. That single moment of distraction was all he needed. It gave him the time to perfectly position himself behind her and deliver a swift, precise strike to the base of her neck.

As she began to collapse, Ryuji quickly grabbed her. He slowly knelt, his head starting to pound. He had won, and yet he felt nothing from it. But he did feel happy that she had been excited about the fight; in that, he had gained something. The fight hadn't even lasted thirty seconds. He hoped this short exchange had been satisfying enough for her.