"Hayatori!"
The gatekeeper named Hayatori, who was running through the streets, heard a familiar shout. When he turned his head, he saw a suit of armor flying toward him.
It was heavy in his hands. His body was thin and weak; he couldn't catch it properly and fell to the ground. Then he saw who had thrown the armor, an old friend of his, one of the "rats."
"Put it on. We're going to kill the daimyo together."
Hayatori looked at the armor pressed against his body, then at his own arm, thin as a knife handle, and raised his hand to point at himself.
"Me?"
He almost wanted to ask, "Bro, are you serious?"
All of Hayatori's body weight, even if you added his sweat and piss together, probably didn't weigh as much as that suit of armor. And this guy wanted him to wear it and fight samurai head-on?
Was he crazy?
But Hayatori didn't ask.
Because he could tell something wasn't right with his friend.
The armor had a helmet, so he couldn't see his face, only a pair of bloodshot eyes through the visor slits, and from those slits, thick steam kept billowing out.
This was the Land of Wind. Even though the temperature dropped at night, it wasn't cold enough for one's breath to turn into mist.
"You okay?" Hayatori asked.
"Me?"
His old friend slapped his own chest and laughed wildly. "I'm fine! I've never felt better! I feel like I've got endless strength, ah, no, I can't hold it in anymore. I can't wait for you."
He pulled the sword from his waist and, shouting "Kill the daimyo!" rushed forward.
Hayatori chased after him.
He saw his friend dash out of the alley and swing his sword at a samurai.
One glance, and Hayatori could tell from the man's armor and sash that he was no ordinary soldier, he was a captain-level warrior.
A flash of steel. His friend was cut in half at the waist and fell to the ground with a thud.
Before Hayatori could even feel grief, the most horrifying scene unfolded before his eyes,
His friend, whose lower body was gone and whose guts were spilling everywhere, didn't seem to feel pain at all. He was still gripping his sword, hacking madly.
Only when the captain swung again and chopped off his head, blood spraying several meters high, did he finally stop.
The severed head rolled and came to a stop at Hayatori's feet.
Hayatori stared blankly at his old friend's face,
Eyes blood-red, gums torn and bleeding, his expression twisted and monstrous like a demon gone mad.
"Hm?"
The samurai captain turned toward him.
Hayatori spun around and ran, teeth clenched, vanishing into the darkness.
"Boss Kurosaki… no, Kurosaki!"
"You dog bastard, what the hell did you do?!"
———
Kurosaki was sprinting under the moonlight.
The plan had succeeded more than halfway. The rest depended on the monk Faichi and Mukade, whether they could release the One-Tail Shukaku.
That, however, was no longer Kurosaki's concern.
Their plan was no different from grabbing chestnuts out of a fire. Now that the chestnuts were already in their hands, by dawn tomorrow, no matter what Ryosuke decided, they would all rise to glory and become people of power.
Become dragons among men.
"Now I just have to make sure the 'fire' doesn't burn me."
No matter whether Ryosuke chose to suppress the rebellion or protect the daimyo, when everything ended, he would be furious.
And with the "Curious Little Vine" effect active, the moment Ryosuke found them would mean instant death.
Dead men couldn't enjoy luxury.
So, to live and enjoy the future, Kurosaki and the other two had each prepared their own escape routes.
Mukade had never appeared in person. The one fighting Chiyo right now was just one of his puppets. His real body was hiding somewhere in the city.
If Ryosuke wanted to find him, he'd have to search layer by layer. Mukade didn't believe that after cleaning up the chaos in Warsaw City, Ryosuke would still bother to hunt down a small fry like him.
Once this storm passed, he'd be safe.
Kurosaki shared the same thought.
He didn't know puppet techniques, so his plan was to flee outside the city, ride as far as he could and pray Ryosuke didn't have time to chase him down.
It was a gamble with life as the stake.
If he won, there would be riches and glory.
If he lost, everything would end.
And Kurosaki chose to go all in.
As for Faichi's escape plan?
That one was impressive.
He wasn't planning to run at all.
He prided himself on his sealing techniques. As long as he gained control of the One-Tail, he could at least partially use its power. No matter how strong Ryosuke was, he was still flesh and blood.
Faichi's exact words were, "The previous Jinchūriki who lost to Ryosuke shamed the power of the tailed beasts."
"If Ryosuke doesn't show up, fine. I have no grudge with him, I'll let him go."
"But if he dares appear before me, I don't mind showing him what true tailed-beast manipulation looks like."
After hearing that, Kurosaki and Mukade were both silent for a long time. They exchanged a look.
Kurosaki couldn't help asking, "When was the last time you left Sunagakure?"
"I've been training in the village since childhood. I've never left… Why? Does that have anything to do with this conversation?"
"No."
Kurosaki and Mukade raised their thumbs in unison.
"Master Faichi, truly a monk of enlightenment."
They were more than happy to have someone to act as Ryosuke's punching bag, and they hadn't expected Faichi to volunteer himself.
In the old days, there was Shakyamuni cutting his flesh to feed an eagle.
Now there was Faichi the monk offering his life to fight Ryosuke.
"Faichi… just try not to die too fast," Kurosaki muttered a prayer as he ran.
Once he turned the next corner, he'd reach the secret room he'd prepared. Inside, there was a tunnel leading straight out of the city. A fast horse was waiting outside. Once he mounted, freedom would be within reach.
But his thoughts were suddenly interrupted.
Out of breath, clutching a wall for support, stood Hayatori at the end of the alley.
After all that running, his frail body was trembling, drool dripping unconsciously from the corner of his mouth, staining his filthy gray-black robe.
Only his black-and-white eyes were clear, fixed on Kurosaki, as if seeing the man for the first time.
"What the hell did you do?!" Hayatori gritted out.
Kurosaki's expression shifted slightly. After a few seconds of silence, he sighed bitterly.
"I don't know either. But Hayatori, believe me one last time. I'm on my way to fix this."
Hayatori stared blankly at him.
"Really?"
"Really. I'm Kurosaki, aren't I? The one you know best. Trust me, just this once, and I'll prove it to you."
As he spoke, Kurosaki patted Hayatori's shoulder and walked past him.
The moment they crossed paths, his expression went cold.
He drew the knife at his waist and swung backward.
A wet thud.
Hayatori's arm was severed.
In the severed hand, tightly clenched, was a key,
The key to Kurosaki's secret chamber.
Kurosaki bent down and picked up the bloodied key.
"I told you, a one-armed thief has to be careful, more careful than anyone. You only ever get one chance. Once someone sees through you, you're dead."
He sighed lightly. "You've made me a lot of money over the years, so I won't kill you. Just… let fate take care of you."
Hayatori stared at him.
"What do you mean… I made you money?"
Kurosaki sneered.
"You didn't really think those kids were sick, did you? I just gave them a little medicine, made them cough and run fevers nonstop."
"Oh, and after taking that much medicine for so many years, they're probably close to dying anyway."
"But Hayatori, if you hadn't been so stubborn, only stealing for the children, I wouldn't have had to resort to such methods."
Kurosaki tilted his chin slightly. "In the end, their deaths… are all your fault."
The man lying in a pool of blood, missing both arms and barely able to move, was called the "White Bird," a thief who once flew through the skies.
Kurosaki let out a cold laugh, shook his head, took off his glasses, threw them to the ground, and crushed them underfoot. Then he slicked his hair back.
"Farewell, one-armed thief."
He turned to leave.
White Bird watched his back and slowly smiled.
He had no hands to reach into his pocket for the wireless communicator, but he knew, every rebel fighting across the city had just heard everything.
White Bird hadn't stolen Kurosaki's key.
What he had stolen was everyone's trust in Kurosaki.
As the shouts and battle cries in the distance began to fade, White Bird smiled.
He was about to die from blood loss, but he couldn't help laughing.
"That's great… Everyone can live now…"
The next second...
"Kill them!"
"We can't stop! If we don't kill the daimyo today, we're all dead!"
The cries rose again, louder and more violent than before.
White Bird had been too naïve.
He still thought like a young man, believing that once the truth came out, everything could be resolved perfectly.
But…
In the adult world, most of the time, even knowing the truth doesn't change a thing.
Once blood is spilled, whether out of vengeance for fallen comrades or fear of the daimyo's retaliation, no single "misunderstanding" can undo it.
A drawn bow has no turning back. To live, they had to keep killing.
That was why Ryosuke never intended to "explain."
That night, words meant nothing.
Despair turned White Bird's eyes pale gray.
"Damn it… if I'd known, I'd have just fought Kurosaki to the death…"
His vision blurred, his body went cold. He only had a few minutes left to live.
And then, lying there in the blood, White Bird faintly saw someone.
Standing above the heavens.
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