Kaito tasted iron on his tongue as he stepped into enemy ground.
This part of Meteor City, beyond the twisted train tracks, belonged to the Toma gang a mean, tight group of older kids with a taste for knives and a hatred of outsiders. He'd never come here before. He knew their faces from the edges of street fights, saw the fresh scars and the way even adults avoided their territory.
But he was done hiding in the gaps between threats. If his vow and power were real, this was where they'd be tested.
Kaito didn't slink through the alleys. He walked, eyes up, hands out of his pockets, as though he belonged. He counted his breaths, feeling the faint burn of Ten at his skin ready, but not flaring. His vow echoed in his mind with every step: Only when it matters. Only when it's real.
Trash crunched beneath his feet. Around him, barrels burned, oil smoke rising in orange plumes. He passed two lookouts lounging on an upturned fridge. Their eyes tracked him, slow and cold.
"Who's that?"
"No one. Just a rat."
He kept walking.
He found the gang near the gutted warehouse, eight of them, all bigger, faces bruised and teeth bared. The leader, Ravo, was built like a boulder, his left ear missing. He flicked a cigarette butt at Kaito's feet.
"Lost, little man?" Ravo called, voice thick as syrup.
Kaito kept his face blank. "Just looking for work."
A couple of the younger boys snorted. One, with a long scar running down his jaw, spat on the ground. "We don't hire rats."
"Don't want a job," Kaito replied. He met Ravo's eyes. "Want a test."
That got a laugh short, ugly, real. The gang closed in, boots scraping the concrete, hands flexing. They knew a challenge when they heard it.
Ravo grinned, crooked and wide. "You want a beating? Ask and ye shall receive."
He moved fast for a big man, swinging low with a chunk of rebar.
Kaito dodged left, but the bar grazed his side. Pain flared. He stumbled, caught himself, and backed up. The ring tightened. The others jeered.
He forced himself to wait.
Don't use it yet. Don't cheat. Only if it's real.
Scar-face lunged in next, a knife flashing. Kaito sidestepped, feeling his breath catch. He could call the threads, push luck, but
Not yet.
The knife nicked his arm. Blood welled up, hot and bright.
His vision narrowed. The world slowed.
Another boy a little older, hair spiked with grime swung a pipe at Kaito's legs. Kaito leapt backward, but the pipe clipped his ankle, spinning him to the ground. He hit hard. The ring closed in, boots poised.
Now.
He pulled aura to his hands, feeling the threads surge from his skin hotter, sharper than ever. The vow blazed in his blood, like a silent alarm. Only now. Only when it matters.
The threads snapped outward, weaving through the circle. Scar-face's boot slipped on a patch of oil, sending him sprawling into Ravo. The pipe-wielder swung again, but the thread tugged his wrist just off-target. The pipe missed Kaito's head by inches, clanging hard against the ground. The ring wavered.
Ravo roared and charged, rebar raised high. Kaito flicked his fingers, and the thread flickered, guiding the attack just wide the rebar slammed into the pavement, spraying sparks and shards of rock.
The gang froze. For a second, no one moved. Kaito felt his aura pulse, his vow singing like wire drawn tight.
But as he caught his breath, a reckless thought skittered through his mind: If I just nudge the threads a little more, I could make Ravo trip… make the whole group scatter…
The moment he tried pain lanced through his body, raw and electric, as if his own Nen was punishing him for thinking of using it outside of true need. His vision spun, the threads shuddered and nearly snapped.
He gasped, clutching his ribs, sweat breaking across his brow.
Only when it matters.
He let the reckless idea go. Instantly, the pain faded, and his threads grew steady again.
Ravo, sensing weakness, lunged with a roar. The others rallied, scenting blood.
Kaito ducked, rolled beneath the wild swing, and scrambled behind a trash bin. The gang closed in, but now he didn't waste his Nen he let their own fury blind them. He dodged and weaved, let their bodies get in each other's way, and saved his threads for the single moment when Ravo's rebar came down in a perfect arc toward his skull.
He called the thread, sharp as a scalpel.
The rebar slipped in Ravo's grip, spun sideways, and crashed into the leader's own foot. Ravo howled, stumbling backward, knocking into two of his crew.
That was all Kaito needed.
He darted out of the ring, sprinted for the alley, ignoring the shouts and curses behind him.
He ran until the world fell silent but for the sound of his own panting breath and the distant echo of the city's heartbeat.
Kaito slumped behind a crumpled fence, wiped blood from his arm, and flexed his sore ankle. He was bruised, battered, and tired yet his mind was crystal clear.
He replayed the fight, tracing every use of the threads, every moment he'd been tempted to cheat. The vow was real, sharper than ever. When he honored it, his power surged, threads moving almost like living things. When he tried to bend the rules, pain punished him instantly, and his power faltered.
Nen was honest. Nen was cruel.
He grinned, lips split and raw. It was terrifying, and it was perfect.
As the sky faded into smoky twilight, Kaito wrapped his wounds with a rag, stood, and let the ache settle into a place he'd already claimed.
His vow was more than a rule. It was his edge his danger, his discipline, his weapon.
He stepped into the shadowed streets, threads humming beneath his skin, and whispered, "Only when it matters."
Meteor City swallowed the sound, and Kaito vanished into the night no longer prey, no longer just lucky, but a blade being sharpened by his own hand.