The plaza hummed with soft neon and laughter drifting from the bars, but for Ichiro, everything had narrowed to this moment—him, Arthur, and the blades they carried like second hearts.
Ichiro tilted his head, curiosity glowing in his eyes.
Ichiro: "If you don't mind me asking… what is a knight doing here, in Neoterra of all places? Doesn't exactly look like the land of castles and chivalry."
Arthur adjusted his glasses with that unhurried precision of his. His golden hair caught the light of a passing holo-car, making him look for a heartbeat like the very image of a storybook knight.
Arthur: "And I could ask the same of you. What business does a samurai have in this city of glass and neon, when his place is in Kagetsu, defending the honor of his clan?"
Ichiro opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur leaned forward slightly, his tone calm but sharp as the edge of a blade.
Arthur: "Knights and samurai both have their lands, their traditions. Yet here we are, far from both. Why?"
Ichiro frowned, but not defensively. It was more like he'd been caught in a mirror he didn't realize he'd been standing in front of.
Ichiro: "…Maybe because home isn't always enough. Maybe because sometimes you need to test yourself outside of it."
Arthur's lips quirked faintly, approving.
Arthur: "A good answer. But then you understand me. For knights, too, must wander from their halls. The steel doesn't grow sharper resting on the wall."
Lenny groaned, throwing up his hands.
Lenny: "Oh great, here we go again. You two are like poetry nerds, but with swords. Next thing I know, you'll start reciting sonnets about your katanas and longswords."
Ichiro shot him a grin, half playful, half serious.
Ichiro: "Don't tempt me."
Arthur chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm, though his eyes never stopped studying Ichiro—measuring, weighing, as if deciding what kind of blade the boy really was.
Arthur: "Your friend is right, though. Too much philosophy and the ale grows cold."
Ichiro smirked, raising his chin.
Ichiro: "Fine then. We'll settle it another way. Next time, we spar."
Arthur: "Next time, we spar." He echoed the words with quiet gravity, almost like a promise sealed in steel.
For a heartbeat, it felt like the world had forgotten to move. Neon pulsed in silence, rain hissed against the pavement, and two warriors—knight and samurai—nodded in recognition.
Then Arthur straightened, tugging his coat closed around his sword. His tone shifted back to something lighter, evasive.
Arthur: "But not tonight. My path lies elsewhere."
Ichiro raised a brow, curiosity brimming.
Ichiro: "Doing what?"
Arthur smirked, and for the first time there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—shadow cutting through gold.
Arthur: "The same as you, perhaps. Walking where we don't belong, to see what we truly are."
And before Ichiro could press further, Arthur turned, the tails of his coat flicking as he walked into the neon haze of Vanterra's streets. Within seconds, the crowd swallowed him, leaving nothing but his words lingering like steel drawn in the dark.
Lenny blinked after him, baffled.
Lenny: "Okay, seriously. Who the hell was that guy?"
Ichiro's gaze lingered on the spot where Arthur had disappeared. He rested a hand on his katana's hilt, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
Ichiro: "A knight."
The shadows of Vanterra breathed differently in another part of the city. High above the neon streets, perched on the edge of a half-lit billboard, Harlekin twirled a knife in his gloved hand. Smoke coiled from his shoulders, dissolving into the night like living ink.
Harlekin: "Poor Emilia. Always so cautious, always so careful. I could end her tonight… and the Voice would be pleased. But where's the fun in a job done too easily?"
His laughter was a low, jagged sound, carried by the rain. He crouched forward, eyes gleaming behind his mask. The dagger disappeared into smoke.
Harlekin (mocking): "No, no. A stage like Vanterra deserves a better show."
He rose, ready to step into the night—only to freeze when he felt it. That pressure. A presence that didn't belong to the shadows but cut through them.
Harlekin (louder): "Isn't that right? Arthur boy?"
Arthur Morningstar stood across the rooftop, one hand on his longsword's hilt, the other adjusting his black glasses against the drizzle. His blond hair caught the city's neon like a burning halo.
Arthur: "Going somewhere, Harlekin?"
Harlekin turned his head slowly, the grin wide as always; Arthur knew it even without seeing it.
Harlekin: "Well, well… the golden knight. I should've known you'd sniff me out. You've always had a nose for things better left ignored."
Arthur stepped closer, measured and unhurried. His boots rang softly against the rooftop steel.
Arthur: "I'll ask once. What are you planning?"
Harlekin tilted his head, his smoke twisting around him like a cloak.
Harlekin (mockingly): "You mean besides enjoying myself? Don't worry, I've lost interest in sweet Emilia. Too predictable. Too… fragile. But you?"
He pointed at Arthur with a gloved finger.
Harlekin: "You're far more entertaining."
Arthur's jaw tightened, though his voice remained calm.
Arthur: "You've been playing a dangerous game, Harlekin. Vanishing when Null calls, sneaking into shadows that don't belong to you. I've been watching you."
Harlekin laughed, sharp and sudden, echoing off the empty rooftop.
Harlekin: "Oh, Arthur. Always the good student. Always the loyal knight at Null's table. But you don't know, do you? You don't know the half of what I am, of where my loyalties really lie."
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
Arthur: "I know enough. You hide behind jokes and riddles because you're afraid someone will look too closely."
Harlekin's smoke pulsed darker, wrapping tighter around him, his laughter dropping into a low growl.
Harlekin: "Afraid? No, Arthur. I'm hungry. And you—"
He snapped his fingers, and his dagger reformed from smoke in his hand, its edge gleaming unnaturally under the neon sky.
Harlekin: "You're going to be my feast tonight."
Arthur unsheathed his sword in one smooth motion. The steel sang against the rain, catching light like liquid fire. His glasses reflected Harlekin's unshaken silhouette.
Arthur: "Then come. Let's end your little comedy."
The rooftop exploded with motion. Harlekin lunged first, smoke trailing like wings, his dagger slashing in an arc meant to misdirect. Arthur caught it with the flat of his blade, twisting, his stance as precise as a textbook.
Sparks hissed, smoke tangled with steel.
Harlekin (mocking): "Still fighting by the book, knight? Do you ever improvise, or do you need Goliath's permission to breathe?"
Arthur pressed forward, his blade driving Harlekin back a step.
Arthur: "Structure beats chaos. Always has."
Harlekin laughed, spinning into the smoke, vanishing—then reappearing behind Arthur in a whisper of shadow. His knife skimmed close, grazing Arthur's coat before the knight spun, parrying just in time.
Arthur: "But chaos leaves patterns. And I've learned yours."
For a moment, their eyes locked—Harlekin's wild smile, Arthur's calm intensity through his glasses. It was less a fight and more an argument written in steel and shadow, each strike a word, each clash a retort.
Harlekin drove forward, forcing Arthur toward the billboard's edge. The neon light painted them in sharp, violent colors.
Harlekin: "You bore me with your lectures, Arthur. But maybe… maybe I'll carve a smile into that serious face of yours. Give you a little joy for once."
Arthur's voice cut like his blade.
Arthur: "And maybe I'll cut the lies out of you."
Their blades clashed again, the sound swallowed by Harlekin's smoke. Rain poured harder, washing the rooftop in silver streaks.
Finally, Harlekin leapt back, vanishing into a storm of shadows, his laughter echoing in every direction.
Harlekin: "Let's make it interesting, knight. The show must go on… but the best jokes are saved for last."
Arthur stood firm, sword ready, scanning every flicker of smoke. But when it cleared, Harlekin was gone—dissolved into Vanterra's restless night.
Arthur sheathed his blade slowly; his glasses fogged with rain. His voice was low, meant only for himself.
Arthur: "You're hiding something, Harlekin. And I will find it; I will find you."