The hideout lay buried in the Hollow Veins, its walls carved from black stone that wept with condensation. At the entrance, the carved Lotus sigil glowed faintly, its crimson light pulsing like a sluggish heartbeat, spilling sickly shadows across the chamber. The air smelled of damp earth and burnt oil, torches sputtering against the silence.
A figure stepped inside. His movements were precise, unhurried — the kind of grace only earned from years of battle. The faint scrape of his sandals echoed as his red eyes caught the firelight, dull embers in the dark. He unfastened the sheath from his hip with a subtle motion, resting his katana against the wall. The steel gave off the faintest glint before darkness swallowed it whole.
Across the room, a woman lounged in a chair, arms folded, one leg crossed over the other. She shifted with a faint groan, tugging at the fabric draped over her shoulders.
"Ugh, I hate these cloaks," she muttered, her tone sharp, irritated. "They're so damn uncomfortable."
The man's red eyes flicked toward her, his expression unchanged. His voice was quiet, steady, carrying no warmth.
"Then head to our hideout. Report to the leader."
She tilted her head, lips curling into a smirk as her eyes caught his.
"Oh, so now I can leave? What happened to 'this is our mission, we observe together'Akame?"
Akame didn't answer right away. His eyes shifted briefly toward the glowing sigil, as if listening to its hum. Then, in a voice steady and cold as stone, he replied:
"Our work here is finished. The word has spread. The tournament nears its end. This place is no longer needed."
He adjusted the angle of his katana, his hand brushing the hilt with the casual familiarity of a predator testing its claws. His gaze remained steady, unreadable.
She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "So that's it? You're not worried the rebellion will ruin everything?"
He closed his eyes. "The uprising has nothing to do with us. Our path lies elsewhere." Each word landed like tempered steel.
Then his eyes opened again, red glow cutting through the dim light.
"And besides… I am not alone."
For a heartbeat, silence pressed between them. Then the woman let out a short exhale, half a scoff.
"Right." She uncrossed her legs and rose from the chair, smoothing the cloak from her shoulders. As she walked past him, her voice lingered, light but edged with irony.
"Our little member is still up there… watching closely too."
Her boots clicked against the stone as she moved toward the entrance. The Lotus sigil flared once more, then dimmed as the cave sealed behind her, leaving only the silence and Akame's crimson gaze.
The chamber fell still again.
Akame remained where he was, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.
"Kazuo… I still do not see what our leader sees in you. But after this tournament…" His grip tightened just slightly on the katana. "…I will know for certain. That will decide your fate."
The torches guttered, leaving the Lotus sigil to pulse alone, its glow beating like a heart in the dark.
The streets leading to the colosseum bustled with nobles in flowing cloaks and guards in polished armor, but Kazuo barely noticed the crowd. His focus stayed on his squad walking beside him, each of them carrying their own weight in silence — or noise, depending on the person.
"You know," Sora said, tailing him with a mischievous grin, "your mobility's gotten pretty good. Flexible too. You can even catch me now without that new little cheating move of yours. But—" she tapped her temple playfully, "—you still need it to dodge midair. Don't forget."
Setsuna walked a step ahead, hands tucked into his sleeves, crunching on a rice cracker like he had all the time in the world. He didn't bother looking back. "Remember, Kazu—if you lose, you're embarrassing me."
Kazuo smirked, tightening his grip on his sword. "If I win, you drop that nickname."
Setsuna's only answer was another loud crunch.
Tetsu said nothing at all, pushing his glasses up as he trailed them, quietly listening.
Then a low hiss cut through the crowd.
"Psst. Kazuo."
Kazuo turned, and his heart jumped. Standing at the edge of the street, half-hidden by passing cloaks, was Rei.
"Rei," Kazuo said, a grin breaking across his face. "I had a hunch I'd see you again."
Rei shrugged, spiky red hair catching the sunlight. "Of course. Had to wish you luck before the match. I hear that blue-haired noble is pretty dangerous." His grin softened, just for a moment. "Gramps is counting on you."
Kazuo's smile steadied. "Yeah. I'll return."
They shared a firm fist bump, knuckles cracking together. Rei leaned in with a crooked grin, lowering his voice.
"Good. Because if you don't… I'll kill you myself."
Kazuo huffed a short laugh, but the weight in Rei's eyes told him it wasn't just a joke.
Neither of them said anything more. Rei melted back into the crowd, his figure vanishing among the cloaks and banners.
The colosseum loomed like a fortress of stone, its banners snapping high above the crowd. Inside, Kazuo was led down the familiar hallways, the thunder of the spectators echoing faintly through the walls. Like always, he had to wait there, alone with his thoughts, until his name would be called.
Meanwhile, his squad spread into the stands reserved for their division. Sora flopped into her seat with a bored stretch, Tetsu adjusted his glasses nervously, but both were surprised to find the benches far fuller than usual.
Yuki and Rhakka were already there, chatting idly. Lyria sat stiff-backed as always. But what caught their eyes was the presence of others — even Kaya and Rulthan were here. The anticipation in the air was unmistakable. Everyone had come for this match.
And then Sora blinked, ears twitching as she spotted a figure slipping into the row. "Mimi?"
The red-haired girl tilted her head calmly, her expression unreadable.
"You're here too?" Sora asked, surprised. "That's even rarer than Aoi himself showing up."
Mimi smoothed a strand of her hair back, her voice cool. "Of course I'm here. Aoi is my partner. But you'd better worry about Kazuo instead."
Sora's eyes narrowed, a sharp grin curling across her lips. "Hmph. Don't worry. He'll end Aoi."
Mimi said nothing more, her gaze drifting back toward the arena.
Tetsu adjusted his notes, squinting down at the battleground. "The arena this time… it's ordinary. Just a platform reaching to the corners. No spikes, no pitfalls, no ring-outs. Only walls. That means no cheap tricks this time — it will be pure combat."
Above them, in the captains' gallery, the air was just as heavy. Every captain had arrived. Zahari leaned forward, eyes blazing; he had every reason to want Aoi beaten after what happened with Kaien. Captain Kaito, Garou and Jin watched with arms crossed, silent but attentive. Even Vaskel and Shiranami had come, a rare gathering.
Setsuna leaned against the railing, crunching on a rice cracker without care. His eyes flicked toward Shiranami, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You're here, Shiranami? I thought you considered this a waste of time."
Her voice was cold, sharp as glass. "It is. But my curiosity led me here."
Before Setsuna could retort, the gallery doors opened. Idris stepped inside, cigarette already dangling from his lips, exhaling smoke as he made his way to Setsuna's side.
"Your boy ready?" Idris asked, eyelids half opened.
Setsuna didn't flinch. "He'll win."
Idris let out a long drag, smoke curling past his lips as his eyes narrowed toward the arena.
"We'll see what happens."
Then another presence entered, one so rare it made the gallery stir.
Captain Asahi.
Aleina blinked in disbelief, turning quickly. "Captain Asahi? What brings you here? Did something happen?"
The man's steps were calm, but his very presence changed the chamber. His bright aura spilled into the gallery like sunlight flooding a cavern, pushing back the shadows with raw force.
"I simply want to see this battle myself," Asahi said, his voice even, resonant.
Vaskel let out a sharp tch, the sound caught between annoyance and unease.
The gallery grew quiet. The match had not even begun, but already it felt like the weight of the entire kingdom had gathered for this one fight.
High above the roaring crowd, the royal balcony overlooked the colosseum like a throne watching over its subjects. Draped in banners of gold and ivory, it was a place meant to remind all who looked up of power and dominion.
Lady Elyria sat in silence, her poise flawless, her gaze fixed on the arena below. Beside her, King Cedric reclined with effortless composure, plucking grapes from a silver plate. A goblet of deep red wine rested within reach, its surface trembling faintly with the vibrations of the crowd's thunderous cheers.
The noise below swelled as nobles shouted, some raising Kazuo's name, others Aoi's, the clash of voices forming a storm of anticipation. Cedric's sharp golden eyes swept across them once, then narrowed upon the two figures about to decide the day's fate.
The final stage is set, he thought, gaze unyielding. Here, you will fall, Kazuo. It doesn't matter if you are dead or alive after this. As long as you lose.
He placed another grape into his mouth, chewing slowly, savoring the bitterness that clung to his tongue. Then, without warning, his hand twitched ever so slightly on the armrest of his chair.
His brows drew together for the briefest moment. What was that?
Am I nervous?
A pause. He leaned back, adjusting his goblet, expression smoothing again into that mask of calm control.
No. Why should I be? It's nothing. Probably nothing.
And yet, as the crowd roared louder, the thought lingered at the edge of his mind, refusing to fully dissolve.