Silence fell like divine judgment.
Not even footsteps dared to echo as HE crossed the coliseum's threshold.
No introductions were needed.
The air simply grew heavier.
Dried blood seemed to boil.
And the crows feeding in the stands took flight, as though fleeing from something more terrible than death itself.
With the slightest gesture, every soldier prostrated themselves.
The fighters—those few still able to move—felt a suffocating weight pressing down their spines.
The King of Hokori advanced without glancing at anyone… until he spoke.
"Enough."
Yodaku, sword still raised and the Executioner breathing at his side, was the first to yield. Not out of exhaustion… but respect. A respect only someone like him could grant to a man more feared than revered.
Narikami stood frozen, the blood of battle still throbbing in his gaze. But he lowered his arms. He knew that even if he still had strength, he could not face everyone here… and win. Even for him, there were lines that could not be crossed.
High in the stands, Enma and Yugameru did not stir. As if they no longer belonged to the tangible world. As if all this were… beneath them.
"You are no longer soldiers, nor leaders," the King said, his voice grave. "You are threats. And for that, you will be contained."
The silence was absolute.
Donyoku swallowed hard. He didn't know if he should speak or remain still. His heart still pounded, unsure if it was from fear… or from the sheer weight of surviving this far.
The King's voice, cold as the summit of Mount Kyōkan, split the air like an invisible blade.
"What a pathetic spectacle…
Is this what my kingdom has allowed to flourish? Traitors who turn a sacred city into a proving ground for shattered egos and hollow souls?"
His eyes locked on Narikami.
For a moment, Narikami looked away.
"Did you forget your duty is to protect this kingdom, not play god with thunder?"
Then he turned, slowly, toward Yodaku, whose expression still wore the mask of mockery.
"And you…
The dog without a chain. You bite not by command, but by whim. All you know is how to soil your jaws with another's blood."
For the first time, Yodaku did not smile.
The King raised his hand.
"Both of you. Arrested. If you resist… I will erase you from history myself."
A dozen royal guards surged forward.
Narikami did not resist.
He knew he had no chance—not against him.
Yodaku growled something under his breath, but his eyes no longer burned, only sagged with resignation.
Then… the King stopped.
His gaze shifted.
In the shadows, like uninvited specters at a stage play, sat Enma and Yugameru, watching as if the world itself were nothing but theater.
"And you."
His words cut like blades.
"Two entities who toy with soul and truth. Who bend time, perception, and will as if they were pawns on a board."
A tense silence spread.
"You too will be contained. For arrogance. For disobedience. And for the simple sin of believing yourselves irreplaceable."
Enma arched a brow, showing no fear.
Yugameru crossed his arms, expressionless.
"And who will replace us? You?"
But the King no longer answered.
His gaze was decree enough.
Then he pointed to another.
"You." He fixed his eyes on Donyoku. "A boy with no rank, no name, no sanction… and yet here you stand. In the middle of this. Do you think your soul is worth enough to belong in this story?"
A guard stepped forward to shackle him.
But then a voice sliced through the air like a saber.
"Stop."
Kenshiro Gai stepped forth.
His eyes locked on Donyoku.
"That boy is no mere intruder. I recognized him from the very start. He was the one who challenged us in Tsuyoi. And he is one of the few who emerged from this hell with his soul still intact."
The King regarded him.
He did not answer right away.
"He deserves no reward. But neither does he merit execution."
With a sharp sweep of his cloak, he gave his command:
"Watched."
---
The footsteps echoed through the coliseum's corridors like the echoes of an inevitable punishment.
Elite squads, led by the most seasoned captains, inspected every hall, every corner stained with blood and memory. Among the stands, in shadowed tunnels and forgotten recesses, the screams of the past still seemed to linger in the air.
It was in one of those hidden chambers that they found them.
Chisiki, standing, exhausted yet alert.
Aika, her face gaunt from strain and fatigue, kneeling beside a body.
Reiji Mikazuki, unconscious, covered in wounds, his breathing barely perceptible.
"Three here! One of them needs immediate attention!" shouted one of the soldiers.
The three were escorted away without resistance.
There was no celebration. No embrace.
Only the weight of truth falling upon them like an invisible sentence.
Before the King, silence was absolute.
Not even the highest-ranking officers dared to speak.
The monarch cast a brief glance at the youths.
"And these?" he asked without emotion, as if he were looking at three stones in the road.
A commander stepped forward to answer, but was cut off.
"I don't care. Kenshiro, take charge."
And with a sweep of his cloak, the King turned away, as though those three lives were not even worth his contempt.
Kenshiro Gai stepped forward. His eyes fell on Reiji's pale face.
And for a moment—only a moment—his expression shifted.
"Mikazuki…" he whispered, barely audible. "I never thought I'd see you like this again…"
He turned to the squad's medics.
"Tend to him immediately. All three of them. Be mindful of their spiritual exhaustion—they're at their limit."
The healers rushed into motion.
Aika tried to speak, but Kenshiro merely raised a hand. This was not the moment.
Meanwhile, the shouts outside the coliseum began to rise.
The surviving nobles and merchants were being arrested, dragged out between struggles and pleas.
Some screamed they were innocent.
Others begged for protection, offering gold, lands, influence.
The King did not stop.
"Judgment for all. In public. And let everyone see what becomes of those who treat the Kingdom of Hokori like a gambling board."
The order was clear.
The gears of punishment were already turning.
And amid that sea of retribution—three wounded youths, a defeated swordsman, and a world just beginning to breathe again after brushing against the abyss.
---
The hospital of Kinzoku no Hana was said to be the most advanced in the kingdom… but at that moment, for those lying inside, it was nothing more than a place to breathe without death whispering at their ear.
Donyoku was wrapped in bandages, one arm splinted, his brow furrowed as though he were wrestling with existential arithmetic.
Chisiki lay on his side, holding a medical book he clearly didn't understand, though he pretended otherwise.
Aika sat at the edge of her bed, braiding her hair with forced calm, while sneaking glances at Reiji—IV in his arm, blanket draped over him, wearing the face of someone who had survived an emotional, physical, and spiritual explosion… and was still handsome, to everyone's annoyance.
Silence held… uncomfortable, but peaceful. Until:
"Anyone else think we were going to die?" Donyoku asked, breaking the moment like a stone tossed into a still lake.
"I assumed as much the moment I saw Enma eating cake while the world was ending," Chisiki replied without lifting his eyes from the book.
Aika let out a giggle.
"You thought you were going to die since they threw us in that tournament cell. Admit it."
"That was a cell! It had more rats than light!"
"And you had more fear than dignity," Aika shot back, now laughing outright.
Reiji, eyes half-closed, murmured weakly:
"…If you keep yelling, I'll start thinking I was the one who nearly died, not you… and that offends me."
"Professor! He's alive!" Donyoku joked, feigning exaggerated surprise.
"What gave it away? The fact that he's breathing, or that he can still manage sarcasm?" Chisiki added.
Aika, calmer now, stood to change Reiji's compress.
"Even though we're here, in this room… together… doesn't it feel strange?"
"Strange is an understatement," Chisiki replied. "We were nearly slaughtered, nearly lost our minds, and now we're sharing a room like we're on some school trip."
For the first time, Donyoku let his shoulders relax and sighed.
"I don't know about you, but… for the first time since we stepped into that damned coliseum, I can sleep without worrying someone's going to stab me."
Reiji smiled faintly.
"Enjoy that rest… the world isn't fixed yet. But you're no longer the same."
A quiet fell once more. This time, not uncomfortable… but complicit.
And for a few minutes, among bandages, scars, and jokes, the four of them could simply be young again.
---
The second hospital room wasn't as noisy as the protagonists', but it carried a strange atmosphere, as if three weary spirits were sharing a breath between the weight of death and the uncomfortable sensation of still being alive.
Seita lay back, a bandage crossing his torso and one arm immobile.
Kagenami sat with his arms folded, staring out the window as if he wanted to pierce through it with his mind.
Seimei, on the other hand, wore a serene face, with a smile so genuine it almost seemed like he had never had to leave his best friend behind.
"I didn't think we'd make it," Seimei said, breaking the silence. "I thought we'd end up in the same pit as the nobles."
Kagenami scoffed.
"With the number of corpses down there, we could've opened a museum."
"Or a royal butcher shop," Seimei added, trying to draw a laugh… without success.
Seita didn't even look at him, and Kagenami remained in his pose of impassive statue.
Seimei sighed dramatically.
"Is nobody going to appreciate that I still have a sense of humor? At this rate, I'm running off with the nurses."
Silence.
Until finally, Seimei turned again to Seita.
"Tell me, Seita… why did you want to save Reiji?"
Seita didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the white ceiling, but his voice, when it came, was honest.
"I don't know… my body didn't want to move. But my soul was screaming. Screaming so loud that if I hadn't done it, I think I would've died inside."
Seimei nodded with a calm smile.
"Your soul has good taste."
---
The room smelled of medicine and sterile metal. Seimei had perched on the edge of the bed as if sitting around a campfire with friends, telling stories no one cared about. Seita stayed reclined, eyes half-closed, lost in his own thoughts. And Kagenami… well, Kagenami was clearly out of his element.
Then, an awkward silence crept in.
But for some reason, this time Kagenami tried to break the ice.
"Did you know… bats always turn left when they fly out of a cave?"
Seimei and Seita exchanged a glance.
"What?" Seimei asked, raising a brow.
"Or at least I think so. I read it somewhere. Or maybe I dreamed it. Whatever."
Silence.
"I also once saw a dog fight its own reflection for an hour. I… related to it."
"Brother," Seimei said, holding back laughter, "that's not a story, that's an existential confession."
"You okay?" Seita asked, for the first time showing a hint of amusement. "Did they hit you in the head too?"
Kagenami frowned, looking at the floor.
"I was just trying to… make conversation. Like you two."
"You're two more sentences away from turning this room into an urban legend," Seimei shot back, laughing freely now.
Kagenami sighed.
"Now I see why I work alone."
Seimei stood up and, with a genuine smile, patted his shoulder gently.
"No, that's not it. You just have the social charm of a rusty blade. But hey, at least today you spoke."
Even Seita let out a short laugh.
And for a moment, amid the exhaustion, the wounds, and the broken truths…
the three of them shared something they hadn't realized they needed: a genuine laugh.
---
The door to Reiji's room creaked open with an unnecessarily dramatic flair.
"Good morning, broods of emotional trauma!" Shirota announced with a grin stretching from ear to ear, holding a bag full of objects as suspicious as his tone.
Donyoku, still lying down, raised an eyebrow.
"…What?"
"I brought gifts!" Shirota declared theatrically, starting his distribution as if hosting a gala event.
He first approached Aika and pulled out a hand-knitted scarf, in colors so loud they clashed with absolutely everything.
"For you, my brave warrior. If you're going to kick ass, at least do it in style."
Aika eyed it with suspicion but allowed herself a faint smile.
"…Thanks, I guess."
Next, he handed Chisiki a small black notebook titled Strategies for Not Dying. Volume 1.
"I know, sounds basic, but I wrote it with you in mind. Spoiler: page one says, 'Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.'"
Chisiki leafed through it in silence. He couldn't help but smile.
Then came Donyoku's turn.
"For you, my reckless little kamikaze… a box of bitter sweets. Because you perfectly embody trauma wrapped in tenderness."
"…Thanks?"
Shirota didn't answer. He just winked.
Then he turned slowly, with mock solemnity, toward Reiji.
"And for you… the best of all."
He pulled out an old, worn book. An erotic novel. The kind people hide under their beds.
"To remind you of the good times. Remember? Page 87. That scene changed my life."
Reiji stared at him with an expression somewhere between resignation and horror.
"I'd rather have died than see you again."
"Aww! I missed you too," Shirota replied cheerfully. "See? Trauma really does strengthen bonds."
When he finished distributing his eccentric gifts, Aika, frowning with the striped scarf dangling from her hands, fixed her eyes on him.
"Wait… and who exactly are you supposed to be?"
Shirota placed a hand on his chest, feigning a wounded heart.
"Ouch! Right to the core. I thought my elegance and humor would give me away…" Then he straightened, adding proudly, "My name is Shirota. Merchant. Marketplace poet. And proud friend of the most unbearable man alive: Reiji Mikazuki."
Reiji averted his gaze.
"We're not friends. He just showed up one day and never stopped talking."
"And thus began our eternal friendship!" Shirota declared, eyes shining with drama.
Donyoku muttered, amused,
"Yeah… I think I get why Reiji never mentioned him."
Without waiting for another reply, Shirota turned on his heel, gave an exaggerated bow, and headed for the next room.
---
Upon entering Seimei's room, he found him half-reclined, with Seita and Kagenami sharing a silence that was more awkward than peaceful.
"Good morning, oh noble order of the overly intense!"
Kagenami growled under his breath. Seita ignored him. Seimei weakly raised his hand.
"Shirota. I see you survived too. Shame."
"I'm glad to see you too!" Shirota beamed.
He pulled out three small packages. One, a rock—literally a rock—for Kagenami. A pocket mirror for Seita, engraved with the words Not every reflection is an enemy. And finally, he stepped toward Seimei.
This gift was different. A wooden box, carefully carved, etched with symbols reminiscent of traditional gravestones. Inside was a small blue crystal flower, along with a rolled piece of paper.
"For you, Seimei. For him. Because there's no way to replace what's lost… but there are ways to remember."
Seimei unrolled the paper. It read only:
"Your friend was an idiot for dying… but a hero for choosing it. Make sure his last decision means something."
Seimei said nothing, eyes glistening.
For the first time, Shirota didn't crack a joke.
After giving Seimei that gift and allowing a rare moment of quiet respect, he stepped back. Seimei studied him with suspicion.
"And you? Who the hell are you?"
Shirota bowed lightly.
"Shirota. Merchant of the unnecessary, seeker of the irreplaceable… and friend of the late Bokusatsu."
Seimei tensed for a moment, then blinked, recalling something.
"Wait… did Bokusatsu mention you once…? Were you that idiot merchant he said couldn't sell a soul if his life depended on it?"
Shirota smiled with pride.
"The very same! Though he exaggerated. My souls are on discount, two for one on Thursdays!"
Seita chuckled softly. Kagenami muttered,
"No wonder people ignored him."
Shirota raised an eyebrow.
"Bah! History will judge me a misunderstood visionary… just like him."
And in that moment, even Seimei, despite everything, allowed himself the faintest smile.
Shirota simply said:
"See you soon, boys. And try not to die so often."
He left just as he had arrived—loudly, and leaving behind a strangely warm air.
---
Several weeks had passed since the hell of the coliseum.
The most visible wounds had closed… but the ones inside still festered in silence.
The sky was gray, as if it shared in the mourning.
At the edge of a wooded plain, just outside Kinzoku no Hana, stood a simple gravestone without adornments. Engraved upon it, only one phrase:
"I lived to strike the world… but I found a reason to stay my fist."
Those gathered kept silent for a long moment.
Only the sound of wind through the branches and the sand shifting beneath their feet broke the stillness.
Reiji spoke first, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the stone.
"He wasn't perfect… in fact, he was stubborn as hell. But in just a few days, he became an ally who trusted without asking for anything. And… that's more than most people achieve in an entire lifetime."
Donyoku lowered his head.
"I didn't know him well, but… if he gave his life for someone else, that says everything about him."
Chisiki nodded.
"A sacrifice like that doesn't come from reason… it comes from the soul."
Aika simply placed a flower on the earth, whispering:
"Thank you for protecting Reiji-sensei."
Seimei stepped forward. Though his voice was calm, the red in his eyes betrayed the weight of sleepless nights.
"He was a bastard… but a bastard who smiled even when everything was falling apart. He saved me more times than I can count." He paused, then added with a faint smirk:
"I'd bet that if he could talk now, he'd be complaining this funeral is way too serious."
Seita, standing off to the side with his hands in his pockets, murmured with simple honesty:
"I don't have anywhere else to go. But if there's one thing I can do, it's to say goodbye to someone who died with more courage than I've ever had in my life."
Kagenami, leaning against a tree, said nothing. He only looked at the grave in silence. But for the first time, his gaze wasn't cold. It was… human.
No one knew what would come next, but for that moment—for that fleeting space between chaos and duty—they all shared something that bound them beyond wounds:
the memory of someone who had known how to die with purpose.
---
The city was still healing.
Though several weeks had passed since the nightmare known as The Night of a Thousand Eyes, Kinzoku no Hana had not forgotten.
The streets were clean, but the eyes of its citizens still carried the echoes of screams and the stench of the bodies that once filled the coliseum.
And yet, taverns reopened, children played again, and the market was reborn… with absurdly low prices.
That was why, in a half-empty luxury restaurant, Hikaru was enjoying the "Reborn Combo" —three massive dishes for the price of one— with the same clumsiness that had made him infamous among the few who knew him.
And just as he tried to sit with elegance…
"Woooops!" he shouted as he slipped on a napkin and crashed onto three chairs, toppling a tray of food, a table, and a bottle of sake that flew like a missile and shattered against a lamp.
"Reiji-sensei!" cried Donyoku from the street. "That's Hikaru!"
Reiji squinted.
"Of course it's him… only Hikaru would find post-massacre discounts."
Hikaru stood up with a wide grin… and in the process knocked over three more plates, a chair, and his dignity.
"…Here comes the disaster," Reiji muttered at the entrance, pressing a hand to his forehead in resignation.
One by one they stepped inside: Donyoku, Chisiki, Aika, Reiji… followed by Seimei, Seita, and Kagenami, who had joined them to stretch their legs and, maybe, their hearts.
"Senseeeeei!" Hikaru yelled from the floor, raising his hand as if he'd won a war. "You're alive! You're all alive! This is a miracle! A banquet! A divine sign!"
He staggered back to his feet among broken dishes, beaming.
"Hi! For those who don't know me, I'm Hikaru, the most handsome swordsman in the world!"
Seita took a step back.
"Who… is that?"
"A cosmic mistake," Reiji muttered. "He looks like an idiot, but he's a hell of a warrior."
Hikaru jogged toward them and promptly tripped again, nearly taking Donyoku down with him.
Seimei burst out laughing.
"So you're Hikaru! You're even more ridiculous than I imagined."
"Thank you! I work hard every day not to disappoint!"
Kagenami stared in absolute silence. Neither disdain nor approval. Just… nothing.
"I can't tell if you're a swordsman or a walking comedy routine."
Hikaru winked.
"Why not both?"
Seita, however, was watching differently. Not with annoyance, but with a strange mix of wonder and curiosity.
Not because of Hikaru's clumsiness, but because of something else.
There was something in his energy, his lightness, his raw authenticity. As if he hid nothing… and yet carried something deep.
He… has something special in his soul, Seita thought.
They all sat around the long, messy wooden table.
The food arrived. Seimei ordered more meat than he could eat, Kagenami asked for the simplest dish on the menu, Aika and Chisiki shared dessert. Reiji just closed his eyes with a sigh as Hikaru teased him with old jokes.
Donyoku, for the first time, smiled without fear.
For that instant, for that table shared and those clumsy laughs, fate found something beyond blood, beyond pain.
It found humanity.
They were no longer pieces in a secret war.
Not tonight.
Not in that moment.
They were simply free humans… eating, laughing, remembering they were alive.
And after so much hell, that was enough.
---
They had survived the night that devoured the world, walked among death, touched the truth, and nearly lost their souls.
But even after all of it… they could still laugh, still dream.
Because the promise of blood that bound them was not only pain:
it was the strength of those who refuse to give up.
Thank you for making it this far.
This arc was not easy. It was raw, violent, emotional, and, in many moments, unfair. Some characters are gone, others are forever changed, and truths were revealed that hurt more than any wound.
But if you, reader, walked alongside them until the end… it means your soul endured too.
Thank you for witnessing this endless night.
Thank you for not closing your eyes.
Thank you for staying.
The story continues… but for now, breathe.