---
The arena roared seconds ago. Applause, stomping feet, chants rising in waves. But all of that was torn apart the moment the black portal unfurled like a wound at the center of the podium.
Reality bent.
From the swirling void stepped him—a figure dressed in all black, sharp and still like the eye of a storm. Behind him marched six others: Sinclair, Sato, Naoya, Hana, Kana, and finally , skipping in like this was a performance.
They weren't invited.
They weren't expected.
And yet... they didn't care.
The host, Lovee, paralyzed by sheer presence, bowed low and held out the mic. he never raised his head again.
The Boss took it, letting the weight of silence stretch until it strangled the last echo of applause.
"We are Shackled Dawn," he said flatly, "and we've come to collect the Mythic-grade item sleeping beneath this arena."
Gasps. No applause now. Just frantic whispers—paranoia spreading like wildfire.
"I heard of them," someone breathed. "A bounty hunting syndicate. No morals."
"Thieves... monsters in human skin."
"There's no such thing as a Mythic-grade item, right?"
"Right?"
The panic crept.
Bottles and tomatoes flew from the crowd—symbolic rebellion against real terror. But Naoya stepped forward, lips curled in disgust.
"Filthy mutts."
Then came the second portal—ripping open behind them.
Ajax emerged, dragging something heavy by the collar. Gasps turned to screams as Minato Hanma's broken body hit the floor with a wet, final thud.
The Boss pointed down casually, like showing off a trophy.
"As you can see…" he said, turning to the horrified masses, "your beloved patriarch was the first target."
Silence shattered.
The entire arena convulsed into chaos. Panic-stricken civilians bolted. Officials shouted over one another. And from the crowd, a few even tried to flee down the aisles—only to be cut down before they reached the exits.
But the candidates were trapped.
All of them stood frozen on the podium, their spotlights now feeling more like crosshairs. Yamashiro Hanma didn't hesitate. The instant Minato's body hit the floor, he leapt onto the podium, drawing gasps of a different kind—those of awe.
"Tsubaki!" he roared, rushing past the Boss without so much as a glance.
The girl stood trembling. Not at the chaos. Not at Minato's corpse. But at Sato, who stood behind the Boss with a disinterested gaze.
"Dad!" she cried out as Yamashiro pulled her into his arms.
"I think that guy—he was with Bruce!"
Yamashiro didn't slow down.
"Now's not the time, Tsubaki. We're leaving."
But before he could vault off the platform again, a chilling voice rang out from the shadows surrounding the arena.
"Anyone from the branch families who attempts to leave will be killed on the spot."
It wasn't a threat.
It was a promise.
Yamashiro froze—not because of fear, but because he knew they weren't bluffing. The other branch heads, standing amidst the podium chaos, didn't so much as twitch. Composed. Proud. But behind their eyes—calculating.
The predators had arrived. The game had changed.
And in the heart of the madness, Shackled Dawn stood like gods amongst mortals.
---
Chains clinked faintly in the dim corridor as Bruce stood before Belita's cell, his wrists bound in thick iron shackles. The cold air bit at his skin, but his eyes were fixed only on the figure beyond the bars.
"Belita…" he called softly, voice catching.
She was slumped against the wall, her arms and legs bound in matching iron, the once-white nightgown clinging to her bruised and bloodied form. Cuts lined her arms, her cheek bore a cruel smear of dried blood, and yet—when she looked up and met his eyes, she smiled faintly.
"Bruce…" she coughed, crimson spilling from the corner of her lips. "This is nothing."
Rage flared behind Bruce's eyes.
But before he could respond, a new presence dropped like a blade of frost in the air. At the far end of the tunnel, Narberal appeared.
Silent.
Still.
Lethal.
Koji, who had been leaning lazily against the wall, perked up immediately. His tall frame straightened, the dark-haired figure glancing toward the corridor with a half-lidded gaze.
"…Who's leaking that kind of bloodlust in my humble abode?" he murmured.
Narberal's voice was calm, but laced with venom. "Please. This place is anything but humble."
Bruce turned back to Belita and growled, "I'm getting you out of here."
Koji snorted. "Oh, spare me the heroics." He gestured casually toward the bars. "That gate's made from Cruxite—blessed by the Holy Grail. It's invisible to anomalies like you." He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "So by all means, knock yourself out."
But even as he mocked, the barrier shattered like glass.
Bruce had already stepped through the now-doorless frame and knelt beside Belita, holding out a hand. "Can you stand?"
Belita nodded weakly and clutched his arm. He gently helped her up, wrapping her arm around his shoulder.
Koji's smirk faded. "…Wait. What?"
He blinked at the broken gate, then at Bruce.
"Hey—are you screwing with me? Isn't he an anomaly!?"
Wind sliced past his face.
A single black hair fluttered to the floor.
Narberal had moved. Several copies of her now lined the corridor, all glaring with chilling precision.
"Pay attention," she said coolly, lowering her hand. "Or you'll lose your head."
Koji flinched, barely dodging the strike. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.
"Too close…"
"Narberal," Bruce said, steadying Belita. "We're heading to the arena."
She gave the smallest nod. "Hurry."
With no time to waste, Bruce tightened his grip around Belita and bolted down the hallway, footsteps echoing into the distance as Narberal turned to face Koji fully.
Meanwhile, far above the chaos, a dark portal opened on the arena's podium.
And from it… the Boss stepped into the light.
---
The Boss stood tall on the stage, expression unreadable beneath the shadow of the arena's canopy.
"My team and I have cast three barriers," he said, his tone calm but thunderous. "One cloaking the mountain… one sealing the arena… and one surrounding this very stage."
Silence fell like ash.
"I count three branch families among you."
Hoshikawa's brows furrowed. "What do you mean five? There are seven of us here."
Yamashiro's voice was quiet, grim. "Can't you tell? It means two of us are traitors."
Ichiguro sneered from the VIP lounge, seated directly across from the main podium. "That's bullshit."
Renji, positioned on the stage among the candidates, said nothing. He only stared forward, unreadable.
Then Renji moved.
He stepped off the podium, calm, hands clenched. Ichiguro rose from his seat in the lounge.
The Boss's eyes flicked toward them, then he snapped his fingers once.
A flash.
Renji collapsed mid-step. His head bounced across the tiles of the arena floor, shock frozen on his face.
Simultaneously, Ichiguro's body slumped in the lounge above, severed cleanly, headless.
From the shadows, the Executioner reappeared. Towering, otherworldly, four arms sheathed in vapor and death. He shimmered briefly, then vanished again like a nightmare slipping back into the mind.
The crowd screamed.
Takahashi's fists clenched as the blood spread in slow patterns across the stone.
"So that's the Executioner…"
The Boss turned toward him with a casual smile. "Oh? Someone's heard of it?"
Takahashi spat to the side. "We knew about that thing before you even drew your first breath."
The smile faded.
"Know your place."
He snapped his fingers.
The Executioner reappeared behind Takahashi, arms poised for the kill.
But Takahashi was faster.
With a twist of his foot, he launched into the air, spun, and drove his leg straight into the Executioner's torso.
A violent crash.
The Executioner was sent flying like a fallen statue, shattering stone as he was hurled downward—straight into the underground dungeon where Bruce and Belita had just begun to ascend.
Back on the stage, the Boss smoothed his coat.
"Oh, Takahashi," he said coolly. "Let me ask you this, kid... is this all the manpower you've brought to protect the great Hanma family?"
He exhaled, lips curled into a sneer.
"My morale remains the same."
Below, dust trembled in the air.
Narberal stood facing Koji, her clones dissipated, her blade drawn.
Koji grinned, the air around him thrumming.
They both whispered the same words:
"Sword Arts."
The temperature shifted. Mana coiled around their blades, light shimmering like a quiet storm.
The arena above faded.
Down here, beneath the earth—
It was clear—then and there—that someone was going to die.
---