"W-Well, people—whatever we just witnessed, I hope we get to see it again in our next match…"
"SOSHIKABE ZAKOU VS. OGOSAWARA TATSUYA!"
Kiyoshi's voice rang through the stadium like a starting gun.
Back in the infirmary, I froze.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
I nearly fell out of my seat, Misaki still resting beside me on the cot. She stirred slightly but didn't wake. I glanced at her, then at the clock on the wall.
"No way… we actually jinxed it."
I bolted upright, heart racing as Kiyoshi's announcement echoed again from the coliseum. I sprinted through the hall, grabbing my jacket from a nearby hook.
As I burst back into the arena, breath ragged, I spotted Jonetsu leaning on the railing, looking like he'd expected this the whole time.
He raised an eyebrow. "Took you long enough."
"You've got to be kidding me," I hissed, half-laughing, half-panicking. "We literally said I'd die if I fought him first!"
Jonetsu smirked. "Well, consider this your funeral march."
I stared out at the stage as Tatsuya stepped forward, calm and unreadable.
"Great," I muttered. "I don't even have a weapon."
Jonetsu clapped me on the shoulder. "You've got instinct. Speed. One Wind Shot… and a hell of a survival streak."
"…Awesome. I'm dead."
And with that, I started down the stairs, trying not to look like I was walking toward the gallows.
"OKAY, PEOPLE! THE SECOND MATCH BEGINS NOW! I HOPE YOU'RE READY!" Kiyoshi roared.
"Pfft, that pale kid's gonna get destroyed."
"No, he made a multi-colored bottle… and teleported."
"Please. That bottle was a fluke."
"Still—he moved fast. Real fast."
I stepped into the center of the arena and faced Ogosawara.
He was calm.
Too calm.
Ogosawara Tatsuya stood like a mountain unmoved by wind, posture balanced, expression unreadable.
Beside him, the small dragon—Rin—let out a low, almost guttural hiss in my direction. A warning.
I shifted my stance.
Left foot forward. Arms loose. Hands precise and poised near my center line. Weight low.
Assassin Stance.
Michio-style.
The shift was small. Subtle. But Tatsuya's eyes sharpened the instant he saw it.
"…Interesting," he said, breaking the silence for the first time. "That stance."
I blinked. "Huh?"
His mouth curled into a half-smirk. "I've seen it before. Years ago—during one of my father's sparring matches."
He rolled his shoulders, circling me with lazy confidence.
"That's the Michio stance, isn't it?" he said, voice loud enough to echo.
The name hit the crowd like thunder.
Gasps exploded from every corner of the coliseum.
"W-Wait… did he just say Michio?!"
"The forbidden style?! That's… impossible!"
"That's the stance of the Ghost Blade—the world's greatest assassin!"
"No one even knows where Michio is anymore—let alone learned from him!"
Tatsuya let the buzz rise—unbothered.
He gestured lazily with one hand. "Didn't think I'd see it again, much less from some no-name applicant…"
He tilted his head with mock curiosity. "Unless—"
He looked me in the eye.
"You relate to him?"
"…Yeah," I muttered. "He's my dad."
The crowd exploded.
"Y-Y-YOUR DAAAAAAAD?!"
"NO WAY!"
"THAT'S THE SON OF MICHIO?!"
But Tatsuya didn't flinch.
His grin widened.
"Well then," he said, lifting one hand as molten claw-like energy began to curl around his knuckles. "This might actually be fun."
He raised his other hand toward the sky.
"Come on, Son of Michio. Let's see if the Ghost Blade taught you how to survive a dragon."
I shifted focus.
No long-range. My Wind Shot will barely scratch him. His fire breath and dragon claws… I couldn't trade with that.
If I stayed out, I'd burn. If I went in sloppy, I'd be torn apart.
That left me one path.
Form of the Silent Step. Slip through the fire. Get in close before he can track me.
Then—Form of the Broken Fang. Hit the joints, the veins, anywhere that slows the dragon down.
My chest tightened. Every nerve screamed at me that this was suicide.
But if I wanted to beat Ogosawara Tatsuya—
I'd have to risk everything and cut him down piece by piece.
"You're really stepping onto this stage with Wind?" Ogosawara broke the silence, cracking his neck with a smirk. "Didn't think they let applicants in with unstable Elements."
I kept still. Watching.
He circled lazily, like this was a warm-up stretch. "You can't control it. You're not guiding anything. Just throwing out air bursts and praying one hits."
He was mocking me.
My pulse slowed. My fingers curled.
"Let me guess," he smirked. "Wind Shot. Is that your master move?"
I raised my eyes. Slowly. My voice dropped to a tone I hadn't used in years—flat, sharp, and frigid.
"If you're trying to bait me, do better," I said coldly. "You're loud. Predictable. You act like this is your stage… but you haven't even noticed how open your guard is."
His grin flickered.
I stepped forward once—not rushed, not aggressive. Controlled. Deliberate.
"You think I need control to put you down? I don't need to guide the wind. I just need you to breathe it."
A hush fell over the crowd.
Ogosawara's eyes narrowed. Then—he laughed. Loud and sharp.
"Oh? You've got teeth after all," he said, cracking his knuckles. "I like that."
His dragon beside him hissed, matching his rising energy.
"You talk like your name means something," Tatsuya snapped. "Like that little assassin stance makes you dangerous."
He leaned forward, tone lowering to a growl.
"You're not your father. And you're not walking away from this."
A beat of silence.
A gust of wind brushed across the arena floor.
Then—
CRACK.
Tatsuya vanished.
I reacted on instinct.
My body dropped low as a scorching arc of heat tore above my head—Tatsuya's claws, blazing with residual dragon flame. He was fast. But I was faster when it mattered.
"Form of the Silent Step"
I turned, pivoted on the balls of my feet, and fired a Wind Shot—sharp, condensed. It ripped through the air, missing his face by inches.
He skidded to a stop, just before the barrier wall, his hair ruffling slightly from the blast.
He turned, grinning. "Cute trick."
His claws ignited again—this time brighter.
"You only get one miss."
My eyes narrowed.
"You're right," I said quietly, adjusting my stance. "I won't miss again."
FWOOOSH—
I launched forward, closing the distance in a flash. My feet barely touched the ground. The air behind me cracked from the sudden movement—Soru.
Tatsuya met me halfway, slashing downward with both claws. The heat singed the floor beneath us, but I didn't stop—I slipped past it, letting the wind bend around his strike.
SLAM—
I struck low, elbowing his ribs, but he barely flinched. The scales beneath his jacket had hardened—partial transformation.
He retaliated—CLANG!—his claw met the side of my shoulder, sparks flying as it scraped off my braced arm.
"Getting cocky now?" he said through gritted teeth.
"Just warming up," I snapped.
We broke apart, breathing heavy. Circling.
The crowd held its breath.
I didn't need full control of Wind.
I just needed the right moments.
We stood across from each other, breaths steady, feet shifting on scorched stone.
Tatsuya flexed his claws, eyes narrowed slightly now—not mocking, not amused. Focused.
He scoffed, but there was a small grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.
"…You're better than I expected."
I didn't answer.
He paced sideways, his dragon eyes locked onto me. "You're sloppy with your Element. But everything else…" He gestured with a claw. "Your movements. That stance. The way you don't blink when I charge. That's not something you pick up at some academy."
His grin widened, sharper this time. "You've had real training. Lethal training."
My eyes stayed locked on his.
He gave a low chuckle. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Michio blood, huh?"
His tone turned edged.
"You hide it well. But there's no mistaking that kind of instinct. That's the kind of skill you earn through survival… not lectures."
He raised his stance, claws humming with heat. "This just got interesting."
I shifted my weight, lowering my stance by a hair. Calm. Focused. Silent.
Then I spoke.
"Survival is the only lesson that matters."
Tatsuya's smirk twitched.
"You think this is a game. That I'm just some shaky Element user with a famous last name."
I took a single step forward—barely audible, but enough to send a pulse through the stone floor.
"But I was raised to kill people who can melt cities. I don't need perfect control over wind to cut you down. I just need you to blink."
Tatsuya's grin faded slightly, replaced with something sharper. A flicker of recognition. Maybe… caution.
I let my voice drop colder.
"You've been pampered by power. I was sharpened by it."
A pause.
Then, without shifting his stance, Tatsuya clicked his tongue.
"…Heh. Guess I hit a nerve."
His claws flared, heat rippling off them in waves.
"Good. I was worried you didn't have any fight in you."
Fine.
I locked eyes with him. Focused. Controlled. And then—
I let it out.
"Form of the Shadow Veil: Death Stare."
The air thickened instantly, heavy as stone. A wave of killing intent erupted from me, cold and suffocating—my family's signature technique. The arena froze. Warriors who had stood against blades and fire faltered under nothing more than my gaze. Their instincts screamed that they were prey.
But beneath the fear was something else. Something deeper.
A shimmer threaded through my aura, invisible to the crowd but undeniable to those attuned. The Veil of Dominion. Not awakened, not controlled, but there—like cracks of light leaking from a door I hadn't yet opened.
I didn't know it. To myself, this was only the Death Stare. But Goku felt it instantly. His eyes shifted to a hue of green as he narrowed his vision towards me, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face.
That pressure… it isn't just killing intent. It feels like Dominion. Rare for someone so untrained to brush against it.
His focus sharpened. He could almost see the path stretching ahead, the outlines of a fighter who might one day stand as a Sovereign Veil.
If he's already bleeding Dominion without knowing it… Then given time, maybe he'll touch all three veils.
The thought lit something in Goku—not caution, not fear, but excitement.
"H-His eyes…"
"I-It's like he's a demon…"
I dashed forward, wind peeling at my clothes. I threw a punch with my right hand—quick, precise.
BOOM.
He blocked with his forearm. The shockwave cracked the floor beneath us.
"You're like a cold sea," he said, eyes shifting into slits. "Silent… but deadly."
His voice deepened. "But me? I'm a beast."
His pupils narrowed. His breath came faster.
He wasn't holding back anymore.
He yanked my arm forward—using my momentum—and twisted, throwing a heavy punch straight at my face.
But I disappeared.
"Soru."
I reappeared behind him in a flicker of wind and aimed a kick at his ribs.
CLANG.
Blocked again. His reflexes were sharp.
He smirked. "Beast wins this one."
He grabbed my head with one hand and slammed it into the ground.
CRACK.
Pain shot through my skull. Blood blurred my vision. I gritted my teeth and vanished again.
"Soru."
I reappeared, staggering. Head throbbing. My body screamed for rest—but I couldn't stop.
I turned toward him.
Something inside me flipped.
My body tensed. My mind cleared.
Kyokiba 'Fang of the Dread'.
The world dimmed—not in light, but in spirit. My heartbeat slowed. My gaze sharpened into something cold, inhuman. All emotion drained from my face.
To the crowd, it was like watching a shadow step forward.
No sound. No intent. Just… absence.
Gasps broke into screams.
"MAKE IT STOP!"
"I—I CAN'T MOVE!"
Applicants clutched at their chests, their resonance skipping, collapsing. Even the instructors along the observation deck leaned forward, unsettled. The weight of my bloodline pressed on everyone, suffocating, inevitable.
Everyone—except him.
Tatsuya.
His fire stuttered under the hush, his flames thinning as if starved of air. For a heartbeat, it looked like even the Dragon would be swallowed.
But then his aura snapped back with a roar, heat slamming against the void. The blaze burned brighter, hungrier, like it refused to die.
He grinned through his teeth, eyes gleaming with defiance.
"So… that's your bloodlust?"
He was wrong.
This wasn't rage.
This wasn't emotion at all.
This was the Soshikabe way.
I stepped once, quiet as falling ash.
Tatsuya moved at the same instant, claws igniting with draconic flame. Shadow against fire, silence against fury—we collided not as two boys, but as the echo of two lineages.
The air shuddered. One half drowned in stillness, the other seared in flame.
Void met inferno.
Assassin met dragon.
And in that instant, the arena knew—
this was not just a fight.
It was the beginning of a rivalry written in blood.
Then I felt it—his presence flared like a monster awakened.
We both stepped forward.
"Form of the Broken Fang: Joint Lock Dislocation."
I rushed in. Twin fingers extended like needles. I struck twice—once at his shoulder, once near his rib.
His arm faltered.
"What the—?!"
"It won't kill you," I muttered. "But I can make your limbs go limp for a few seconds."
He jumped into the air, growling.
"DRAGON ELEMENT: DRAGON BREATH!"
Fire roared from his mouth.
I vanished midair, seamlessly changing, "Form of the Silent Step."
"Soru."
I reappeared on the stadium wall, launched off it, soared upward—
CRACK.
I crashed into him mid-flight with a spinning kick that sent him hurtling back to the ground.
Dust exploded upward. Rubble flew in every direction.
"WHAT A FIGHT! THESE TWO ARE ON ANOTHER LEVEL!" Kiyoshi screamed.
From the sidelines, Jonetsu's eyes narrowed, following Zakou's movements with unsettling precision.
Needle strikes. Nerve targeting. Not reckless—calculated. And that kick… timed with perfect trajectory. He isn't just brawling, he's dismantling.
His arms folded across his chest, the faintest curl of condensation slipping from his lips in the cool air.
That "Soru" movement… inefficient for long engagements, but devastating in bursts. He'll burn stamina fast if he overuses it. Still… It's sharper than I expected from him.
For a moment, his gaze lingered on the rising smoke where Zakou's opponent had landed.
He doesn't even realize it yet, but his instincts—his rhythm—they're aligning with something bigger. If he keeps pushing like this… he'll force me to stop observing and actually adapt.
Jonetsu said nothing aloud. But the cold glint in his eyes made it clear: he wasn't just impressed. He was calculating what it would take to fight Zakou himself.
I hovered in the air, breathing heavy.
Maybe that did it…
Then the dragon lunged out of the rubble beneath me.
CHOMP.
Its jaws clamped onto my side.
"AH—!"
It thrashed, biting again and again. Blood poured down my arm.
I twisted and landed a clean punch to its jaw, sending it flying back toward Ogosawara.
The dragon slid across the ground and groaned.
"Raaa…"
"There, there," Ogosawara said, kneeling beside it. "You did well."
It dissolved into light.
Then he stood, brushing dust off his shirt.
"If you want to win," he said, eyes dull, "then get serious."
Something inside me snapped.
"DAMN IT!"
"Zakou—don't do it!" Jonetsu yelled from the stands, gripping the railing.
I ignored him.
"Assassin Art: BODY DISLOCATION!"
My joints loosened. My speed surged. Pain vanished—I became a blur.
Ogosawara's claws extended, heat rippling off them.
"DRAGON ART: DRAGON CLAWS!"
We clashed.
His first slash cut across my line of sight—trajectory high right. I dipped under, fingers already stabbing for his shoulder joint. Deflected. His parry angle was tight, claws locking me out.
Second strike—horizontal sweep. Too wide. I pivoted half a step back, felt the heat graze my chest. Countered with a thrust toward his ribs. He rotated his torso just enough to shield, claws intercepting with precision.
Every move had weight. His raw power forced me to shave every dodge to fractions—one inch too far and I'd lose the initiative, one inch too close and I'd lose the limb.
He slashed downward—timing half a beat late. A reset lag. Left claw slower than the right. Pattern noted.
I pressed forward. Low feint at his knee—blocked. My follow-up palm strike nearly connected with his sternum before he forced me back with a flare of heat.
Step. Strike. Adjust. Record.
His reach was longer. His power higher. But the rhythm was becoming clear.
If I missed a single read, I'd be carved open. But if I kept learning—kept adapting—his claws would start to feel slower than they really were.
The infirmary doors creaked open. Misaki stepped into the arena, her pace slow, one hand still pressed against the fresh bandages under her clothes.
She looked up—then stopped dead in her tracks.
I was in motion. Blades flashing, body twisting, weaving between claws that should have torn me apart. Each dodge was impossibly narrow, each strike placed with surgical precision. It wasn't desperation. It was… calculation.
Her lips parted. "He's… he's studying him. Mid-fight…" she breathed, hardly believing her own words.
Jonetsu's gaze never left the clash. His voice was steady, almost cold. "Soshikabe instinct. Master assassins. Tactical minds. They don't just fight—they calculate."
Misaki's chest tightened. The explanation didn't lessen the shock—it magnified it. Zakou wasn't just moving on reflex. He was unraveling Ogosawara's power as it came at him, step by step, like it was only a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"…Wow…" she whispered, awe flooding through her.
In that instant, she didn't just see a classmate fighting for survival. She saw a glimpse of what the Soshikabe name meant—what Zakou could become if he kept climbing.
My time limit was almost up.
Body Dislocation only lasted two minutes—
and I was at the edge.
My joints ached, lungs tearing at every breath. If I didn't finish it now, I'd collapse.
Ogosawara noticed. His grin sharpened.
He slashed—claws ripping into my arm. Blood sprayed.
I didn't stop. Couldn't. Every instinct screamed: end it.
I lunged—
but his scaled fist detonated into my gut.
BOOM.
Air left my lungs in a ragged scream as I smashed into the concrete wall. Stone cracked around me. My ribs lit up with fire.
The crowd gasped.
"ZAKOU?!"
"What just happened?!"
Dust billowed, thick and choking. The arena froze in silence.
Ogosawara staggered, blinking through the haze.
"D-Did he… burst into flames?" he muttered, staring at his chest.
There—a faint scorch mark.
From the sidelines, Goku-Sensei's voice cut low, thoughtful.
"I saw it… right before impact. He grabbed Ogosawara's arm. Pure reflex. He shouldn't have had the strength left—yet somehow… he countered. Flame for flame."
Zakou, half-buried in rubble, barely registered the words. His body had moved on its own, like something inside him had flared to life—then vanished just as quickly.
"IT'S A DRAW!" Kiyoshi bellowed. "BOTH APPLICANTS ARE OUT OF BOUNDS AND UNCONSCIOUS!"
"They'll need a rematch," Goku-Sensei confirmed. "But that was… impressive."
"MRS. KATSUMI—PLEASE TAKE THEM TO THE NURSERY," he added.
A calm woman stepped forward, her presence quieting the chaos like a mother steadying a room full of children. Roots unfurled from her sleeves, moving with practiced precision as they cradled both me and Ogosawara.
Machi Katsumi.
Element: Plant.
Her hair hung in gentle vine-like strands, small buds and blossoms tucked among the green. Her clothing was grown, not stitched — soft layers of leaves and petals forming something between a robe and armor. There was nothing showy about her; she carried herself with a kind patience, the sort that made you trust her the moment she laid eyes on you.
The vines wrapped around my arm. A sharp crack — then relief. The joint slid back into place as though it had never broken. Bleeding slowed, then stopped. The ache in my ribs dulled under her touch, replaced by a steady warmth.
Fastest recovery I'd ever had.
"Both to the infirmary," she said, voice gentle but firm.
The roots obeyed, carrying us from the battlefield. At the hall, the vines split. Ogosawara was taken into one room. Me into another.
Jonetsu followed, his steps measured, gaze unreadable. Misaki hurried beside him, her eyes fixed on me, worry softening every line of her face.
I drifted, vision fading. Just before the dark took me, something warm slipped into my hand — Misaki's.
The same way I had been there for her.
Now, she was there for me.