Ashura's body, battered and broken, sways on his feet. Blood trickles down his lips, his arm hanging uselessly at his side. His vision blurs, but he refuses to kneel. For a heartbeat, the arena goes silent as his body finally gives in.
Slow motion fall:
His knees buckle, his body falling forward. In his mind, fragmented thoughts echo:
"So this… is my limit? Life… it's never been fair. No matter how much I try… I'm always… the shadow…"
His body collapses with a heavy thud against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the hall. Dust rises, mixing with the dark stain of blood beneath him.
---
"HANA!!!" a voice gasps — it's Hana, breaking through the stunned silence. She rushes past the guards, tears streaming down her face as she falls beside her brother.
"ASHURA!!" she cries, clutching his limp body, shaking him as though her voice alone could drag him back. His head rolls slightly, his face pale, chest rising weakly but still alive.
---
The silence shatters.
Half the crowd erupts in roaring cheers, fists pumping in the air:
"LAN!! LAN!! LAN!!"
But scattered voices remain heavy, sorrowful, acknowledging the broken fighter who wouldn't stay down:
"...That boy… he's tougher than steel."
"He stood up after everything. He didn't give in."
"Maybe Ashura wasn't so worthless after all…"
A handful of his supporters climb into the stage, carefully lifting his bloodied body from Hana's arms. Their faces are grim, anger flashing at the leader's coldness.
---
On the high platform, their father sits unmoved, his arms folded. Not once does he turn to look at Ashura's broken state. His eyes stay locked on Lan — the victor.
That cold dismissal cuts deeper than any wound Ashura had taken.
The room had the sterile look of a small clinic—whitewashed walls, the faint smell of herbs and disinfectants, and dim oil lamps fighting against the shadows. A pair of nurses passed hurriedly toward the central square, drawn by the sound of drums, horns, and chanting—where the feast of Lan's victory, the "new heir celebration," was already in full bloom.
Ashura lay on a low cot, his chest rising faintly with shallow breaths. His arm was splinted crudely, still wrapped in bloodied cloth. His lips were dry and cracked.
Hana sat beside him, carefully cleaning the blood that had dried at the edge of his mouth, her hands trembling but precise. Each time the roar of laughter and cheer drifted in from outside, it only made her eyes water more. She bit her lip, whispering, "Why must it always be this way…?"
The sound of drums grew louder, a chorus of voices chanting Lan's name. From the window, faint bursts of firecrackers painted shadows across the room.
Then—Ashura's finger twitched.
Hana froze. Her eyes widened as she leaned closer.
"Ashura…?" she whispered, panic rushing through her.
His finger moved again. She shot up, shouting toward the hall:
"Doctor! Doctor! He's moving! Someone—!"
But no one came. The hall was empty except for the fading sound of laughter spilling in from afar. The nurses had long gone to join the festivities. Her voice vanished into silence, swallowed by the drums outside.
And then, slowly, Ashura's eyes cracked open—half-lidded, unfocused. His vision was blurred, but he saw the soft orange glow of lanterns overhead, Hana's face streaked with tears, and beyond the window, fireworks bleeding colors into the night sky.
The cheers for Lan's name rang like cruel bells as Ashura, weak and barely conscious, stared upward—caught between life, pain, and the heavy weight of failure.
Slowly, painfully, Ashura's eyes fluttered open. His blurred vision cleared to Hana's tear-streaked face hovering above him. For a heartbeat, silence swallowed the noise of the celebration.
Then came the sound again — roars of applause, drunken songs, fireworks bursting faintly outside. He turned his head toward the door, toward the world that had already cast him aside.
A dry, bitter laugh escaped his lips — more like a cough than joy.
Ashura (bitter, voice hoarse):
"So… this is what my years meant. A childhood wasted on sweat and scars, while they all waited for me to stumble. One defeat… and I'm nothing. Forgotten, unwanted, abandoned… all because I was never their prodigy."
His voice cracked, but beneath it burned venom — a rage that smoldered deeper than the wounds on his body. He turned his face away from Hana, staring at the flickering shadows on the wall.
Ashura (harsh, cold):
"Let them keep their golden heir. I'll bury their laughter in silence, and their cheers in blood. If hard work means nothing here… then I'll find a place where it does. Even if it kills me."
His breathing was shallow, but as his eyes returned to Hana, the venom faded. In her gaze, he found the only shred of warmth left in his world.
Ashura (soft, weakly):
"…But you. You stayed. When no one else would. Remember this, Hana — you're the only warmth I have left."
His trembling hand reached out, brushing against hers. She caught it instantly, gripping tight, her tears falling onto his skin.
Ashura's voice was almost a whisper now — but firm, as if sealing a vow.
Ashura:
"One day soon, you'll wake and find me gone. Don't grieve… it only means I've gone to carve out the strength they denied me. When I return… I'll never be overlooked again."
Hana: you're not leaving? Are you?
I thought we promised to be together?
His hand squeezed hers faintly before slipping back, heavy with exhaustion. Hana's lips trembled as she held onto him, torn between relief and the dread of his words.
He slowly let go of her trembling hand on the bed. Every step toward the door was a battle against the weight of his wounds, yet he forced himself forward. She rushed ahead, tears streaming, blocking his path with shaking resolve. But when her eyes met his—burning with unshakable determination—she realized nothing could hold him back. Silently, she stepped aside, and he walked past her, resolute.
And outside, the sound of fireworks continued — a kingdom celebrating its "golden heir," blind to the storm they had just birthed.
The hall was lit with warm lanterns, golden banners draped across the beams. Musicians played festive drums and flutes, and laughter boomed as the newly crowned heir, Lan, sat proudly at the center table beside the dojo leader. Plates overflowed with steaming rice, roasted meats, and sake cups being raised in endless toasts.
The dojo leader leaned toward Lan, his face filled with pride, as the crowd cheered for him once more.
Dojo Leader (to Lan, proudly):
"You've brought honor to the dojo tonight. Your name will be etched in our lineage as the chosen heir."
Lan smiled faintly, nodding, the weight of victory heavy but satisfying.
Suddenly, the large sliding doors at the back of the hall slammed open.
[Stage Direction]
Hana appeared — hair unkempt, breath ragged, tears staining her face. She pushed past startled onlookers, her sandals echoing sharply against the wooden floor. The cheerful music faltered as eyes turned toward her.
Hana (screaming, voice cracking):
"Leader!! Ashura—Ashura is gone!!"
The hall froze. Cups were set down. Murmurs spread like wildfire.
The dojo leader blinked, rising slightly from his seat, his face hardening.
Dojo Leader (stunned, demanding):
"Gone?… what do you mean by gone?"
Lan, who had been seated just a moment ago with sake in his hand, dropped the cup. It shattered on the floor as he shot to his feet, his chair scraping harshly behind him.
Lan (alarmed):
"WHAT?!"
The crowd gasped and whispered louder, confusion and disbelief rippling through the room.
Audience (murmurs):
"Gone?"
"Did he run?"
"Injured as he was? Impossible…"
"Why would he leave?"
All eyes fixed on Hana, whose shoulders shook as she sobbed before the leader and the new heir.
Hana (crying out, voice breaking):
"He's gone from the clinic!! He's wounded, barely able to stand, and yet—he's not there anymore!! I begged for help… no one came! And now he's—he's just vanished!!.