The candle between us flickered, casting restless shadows against the wooden walls. The house was silent—too silent.
I felt it first.
A shift. A disturbance in the air. A silence that wasn't really silence at all.
Across from me, Ayane sat cross-legged, absently running her fingers along the hilt of her knife. She hadn't noticed it yet. But she would. Soon.
There was no time to warn her.
Because at that moment—
The ceiling cracked.
The Attack Begins
I moved first.
Instinct.
A rush of air. A weight dropping from above. My body acted before my mind could register the movement—legs kicking back, arms pushing off the floor, body twisting midair.
A dagger embedded itself into the wooden floorboards—exactly where my head had been a second ago.
A shadow landed in a crouch, candlelight flickering against the metallic gleam of their weapon.
I barely had time to get my footing before the window shattered.
A second figure burst through the glass, shards glinting in the moonlight as they rained down like deadly stars.
Two of them.
Black clothing, faces masked, movements too silent, too efficient.
Not just killers.
Trained assassins.
Ayane was already moving, flipping backward to avoid the second attacker's sweeping kick. She landed lightly, her knife drawn, eyes sharp and locked onto them.
No hesitation. No confusion.
She understood.
They were here to kill us.
The first assassin chuckled, voice smooth like a blade being unsheathed.
"You're fast. That makes this interesting."
The second one scoffed. "Interesting? They're already dead. They just don't know it yet."
Ayane's lips curled into a smirk. "Is that so?"
She lunged.
The first assassin moved toward me, swift and calculated. Too smooth. Too practiced.
Their dagger came at me in a sharp arc—throat strike.
I twisted, dodging just in time, but a second blade was already coming. A feint.
I barely managed to block, my forearm colliding with theirs in a sharp clash of force. Pain shot through my arm.
Shallow cut. Could've been worse.
The second assassin mirrored the same speed against Ayane, their strikes unrelenting. Ayane ducked a horizontal slash, then pivoted on her heel, slicing toward their ribs.
Her opponent twisted away at the last second, shifting their weight into a spinning kick.
Ayane barely ducked in time.
The assassin sneered. "Not bad. But you're nothing special."
Ayane scoffed, flipping her dagger into a reverse grip. "Says the one who hasn't landed a single hit."
Their stance tensed. Ayane had gotten under their skin.
I stepped in, closing the distance. My opponent reacted instantly, shifting their stance, blade ready. But I wasn't aiming for the blade.
My fist connected with their ribcage.
A sharp exhale. A momentary falter.
I pressed the advantage, using their stagger to twist their wrist, forcing the dagger from their grip. For a split second, I had control.
Then something whipped around my ankle.
Wire.
I hit the ground hard. The assassin yanked the wire, trying to throw me off balance, but I kicked upward, loosening its grip enough to wrench free.
These weren't ordinary assassins.
They were adapting too fast. They fought without wasted movement, without hesitation. Every step calculated, every action precise.
And they weren't trying to win.
They were stalling.
Ayane ducked another swipe, her knife catching the assassin's blade in a sharp clang.
"Your stance is too stiff," she taunted. "You move like you're following a script."
Her opponent's eyes darkened. "You talk too much."
Ayane grinned. "Then shut me up."
The assassin snarled and lunged. Predictable. Ayane sidestepped, slamming her elbow into their ribs before sweeping their legs out from under them.
They hit the ground hard.
Ayane didn't hesitate—she drove her blade toward their throat.
But at the last second—
Their dagger shot up.
Ayane barely avoided the counter, her knife slicing across their shoulder instead. Blood splattered the floor.
The assassin hissed. "You're going to regret that."
Ayane tilted her head. "Doubt it."
I slammed my knee into my opponent's side. They staggered. A split-second opening.
I grabbed their wrist and twisted.
Snap.
A choked grunt. The dagger clattered to the floor.
Ayane capitalized on her opponent's hesitation, kicking them square in the chest, sending them crashing into the wall.
For a moment, everything stilled.
The assassins were down.
But something wasn't right.
I stepped forward, grabbing the assassin by the collar, yanking their mask down.
A woman. Sharp eyes, teeth gritted in pain, but no fear.
She didn't struggle.
She didn't even seem concerned.
Just calm.
Too calm.
Ayane had her foot pressed against the other one's throat, knife poised to strike. But he wasn't resisting either.
That's when I heard it.
Beeping.
Soft. Almost unnoticeable.
But my body froze.
My grip on the assassin tightened. "Where's the bomb?"
She smirked.
And then—
BOOM.
The explosion ripped through the house, fire and force consuming everything in its wake. I barely had time to react before the shockwave slammed into me, sending me crashing against the wall.
My ears rang. My body screamed.
Through the smoke, I forced my head up. "Ayane!"
A cough. Then movement.
She was alive.
Barely.
The assassins?
Gone.
Or rather—
Turned into the trap.
They were never meant to win.
They were meant to detonate.
A sacrifice to ensure we wouldn't walk away.
The smoke hadn't even settled when I felt it.
That presence.
That suffocating, overwhelming pressure.
My pulse slowed. My breathing steadied.
Because I knew.
He was here.
A dark figure stood just beyond the flames, his silhouette barely visible through the destruction. He didn't rush.
He didn't have to.
He had already won.
His voice cut through the chaos.
"That was a little disappointing."
Satarou.