The waves crashed gently against the small wooden boat, each ripple glimmering under the morning sun like a thousand silver coins scattered by the gods.
Dante stood at the bow, his grin wide and shining as his silver chain swayed in the breeze. "Yamato! Look! The first island! The first step to our dream!" he shouted, pointing ahead where a stretch of green rose from the endless blue.
The wind blew his short white hair across his forehead, and his open vest fluttered, showing his lean, athletic body. He looked every bit the kind of boy who believed the world existed just so he could paint it.
Behind him, Yamato stood tall, silent, arms folded, the picture of calm irritation. His long black hair brushed past his shoulders, his deep crimson eyes half-lidded with disinterest.
"You've been yelling for an hour," he muttered, his voice low and cold as the sea breeze. "If you were any louder, the fish would've jumped out just to escape the noise."
"Hey, come on!" Dante said, turning around dramatically. "You should be excited too! This is our first island, Yamato. The beginning! Don't tell me you're not even a little pumped?"
"I'm thrilled," Yamato said in the same deadpan tone.
Dante blinked, then frowned. "…You sound exactly like someone who isn't thrilled."
Yamato's lips curled just slightly. "Maybe because I'm not."
"That's it." Dante cracked his knuckles with exaggerated resolve. "You've officially lost your 'cool' privileges."
Yamato raised an eyebrow. "And what does that mean?"
"It means—" Dante jumped down from the boat's rail, landing near Yamato with a grin, "—you're boring, and I'm about to fix that!"
"Don't even—"
But Dante had already poked him on the forehead and bolted off the boat onto the dock.
"Oi—Dante!"
"Can't hear you!" Dante laughed, sprinting up the path as his boots kicked up dust.
Yamato sighed, drew one of the two cheap-looking swords at his waist, and muttered, "I'll make him regret that."
Moments later, an explosion of chaos rolled through the seaside town.
"GET BACK HERE!"
"HAHAHA! YOU'RE TOO SLOW, OLD MAN!"
Market stalls trembled as the two boys darted through the crowd. Dante weaved between merchants, laughing like a madman, while Yamato followed close behind, sword in hand and eyes glowing faintly red with murderous patience.
The townspeople stopped to watch the ridiculous chase.
"Who are these kids?" one man asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.
"Never seen 'em before," another said. "Don't look like locals."
A woman laughed. "Maybe travelers?"
"Travelers? Hah. Look at the black-haired one's aura—he's got the eyes of a killer."
"Then maybe they're adventurers," someone suggested.
The moment the word adventurer left his lips, the cheerful hum of the market dimmed. The crowd went still, the laughter faded, and the air grew heavy.
Adventurers.
A word that once inspired stories of heroes, exploration, and glory… now only brought whispers and frowns.
A merchant shook his head. "Don't speak that word here. You'll bring trouble."
Another leaned closer, voice low. "Those people—adventurers—they're outlaws. Thieves and bandits who call themselves 'explorers.' The government banned them years ago. Now they hunt them down on sight."
"Yeah. Bunch of scum if you ask me," someone added grimly. "The title's cursed."
But before the mood could settle completely into unease, a girl's bright voice broke through.
"I don't think they're bad people!" she said loudly, puffing her cheeks at the murmuring adults. "Someone that handsome can't be bad!"
Her grandfather froze. "…What did you say?"
"I said he's—OW! Grandpa!" she squealed as he tugged her ear.
"Don't talk like that in public!"
The surrounding vendors laughed, tension melting away into warm chuckles.
"Kids these days," an old woman sighed, smiling. "Still, she's got an eye for good looks."
"Bah," said another, adjusting his hat. "They're probably just some bored village kids looking to see the world. Let them have their fun."
The crowd nodded, and the mood softened again.
Meanwhile, at the fountain in the center of town, Dante finally slowed, laughing breathlessly as Yamato caught up behind him, sword still in hand but expression calm again.
"Had enough?" Yamato asked, sheathing his blade.
Dante grinned, leaning on the fountain's edge. "You're getting faster. I almost thought you'd catch me."
"Next time, I will."
"Hah, I'll believe it when I see it."
For a moment, their eyes met — Dante's light and full of wonder, Yamato's dark and unreadable.
This was it. Their first island. Their first mark on the world.
And though neither of them knew it yet, the place they'd just set foot on was already drowning in corruption — the kind that would soon drag them straight into its heart.
---
Far across the town, deep within the lavish Vellacroix mansion, laughter had no place.
The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the daylight. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and rot.
Anita sat chained to a chair in the center of the room, her wrists and ankles bound by shimmering Technique Restriction Cuffs — an advanced binding art that sealed strength, aura, and movement alike. Her crimson hair was disheveled, and her black gothic-style dress clung to her body in wrinkles and dirt.
Despite her exhaustion, her eyes — bright and defiant — glared at the man in front of her.
"Why waste that fire on hate?" said Domiré Vellacroix, voice oozing with mock tenderness.
He was short, plump, his fine clothes dripping with gold and peacock feathers. The sheen on his skin wasn't just sweat; it was arrogance made visible.
"You'll understand soon enough," Domiré said, leaning forward, his hand brushing a lock of her hair aside. "Love isn't something you can deny forever."
Anita's lip curled. "You think this is love? You're disgusting."
Domiré smiled wider. "Disgusting? You wound me. I've spent months preparing this moment. I even deployed the entire island guard to bring you here. Do you know how expensive that was?"
She spat at him. "You can't buy what you don't deserve."
Domiré's smile vanished. Slowly, he wiped the spit off his face. The room went silent — so silent that even the ticking clock seemed to hesitate.
Then came the slap.
The sound cracked through the air like a whip.
Anita's head snapped to the side, blood running from her lip, but she didn't cry. She just smiled weakly, eyes burning brighter. "That all you've got?"
Behind Domiré stood a tall, broad man named Burly — the Vellacroix family's head guard. His face was expressionless, but his eyes flickered with something faint, something almost human.
Domiré's voice trembled with anger. "Do you have any idea what I've sacrificed for you? My father—Saint Lucifaro himself—told me to give up on you. He said you weren't worth the trouble. But I don't care!"
He began pacing, ranting, his words spilling like venom. "He said your father was too important for his business dealings. That I should find someone else! But I've waited years, Anita—years for you! And now that he's away, now that I rule this island, I can finally have what's mine!"
Burly's jaw tightened slightly.
"Domiré," he said quietly. "Saint Lucifaro's order still stands. If he learns you disobeyed him—"
Domiré whirled on him, face twisted. "Silence! My father is gone. He indulges himself in other lands while I manage this one. His rules don't bind me, at least for the time being, let me indulge!"
Burly's gaze lowered. He said nothing further.
Domiré turned back to Anita, forcing a grin. "You'll see, my sweet. Soon you'll stop fighting and start smiling. I'll make sure of it."
He stepped back, gesturing to Burly. "Watch her. If she tries anything, cut her tongue out."
Burly's fingers twitched at the hilt of his spiked bat, but he simply nodded. "Understood."
As Domiré left the room, muttering curses about "peasant arrogance," silence returned once more.
Anita breathed heavily, the faint sound of chains rattling as she shifted. Her wrists were raw. Her eyes softened only for a second.
"…Someone," she whispered. "Please…"
Burly stood in the doorway, unmoving, a faint shadow of guilt crossing his face.
---
The sun hung high now, the heat softening into a gentle glow across the cobblestone streets. The lively marketplace had mostly recovered from the earlier chaos caused by two unfamiliar boys sprinting through it like stray cats.
Dante stretched his arms above his head, the chain on his neck jingling softly. "Well," he said, smiling, "that was fun."
Yamato, walking beside him, exhaled like a man who'd already lived too long. "Fun for you, maybe. I'm the one who almost got arrested for attempted murder."
Dante tilted his head. "You didn't even hit me."
"Because you run like a rabbit on sugar."
"Fastest in Yoima Village!" Dante grinned proudly, puffing his chest. "Can't touch this!"
Yamato didn't respond — he just stared at him blankly until Dante's smile faltered.
"…You're no fun."
Yamato's lips twitched, barely hiding a smirk.
Their playful back-and-forth settled into silence as they strolled past the bustling market again. That's when Dante suddenly stopped.
"Oh crap."
Yamato blinked. "What?"
"I just remembered something!" Dante slapped his forehead. "I need to buy painting supplies! I can't paint if I don't have paint!"
"…Obviously."
"Don't 'obviously' me! I got distracted by your grumpy face!"
Yamato sighed. "So where do you plan on getting them?"
"Uh…" Dante's head turned left and right, eyes darting around. "Somewhere… that sells everything?"
"That's not how shops work."
"Then we'll ask!"
And so, their small "side quest" began.
---
Asking for Directions (and Causing a Panic)
The first person Dante approached was a middle-aged merchant stacking crates of fruit. Dante smiled, cheerful as always.
"Hey, old man! You know where I can find a shop that sells painting stuff?"
The merchant turned—and froze. His eyes darted from Dante's bright smile… to Yamato standing silently behind him, arms crossed, red eyes gleaming faintly in the shade.
The man's face went pale. "Y–You! You're—!"
He fainted on the spot.
"…Huh?" Dante blinked. "Did he… fall asleep?"
"No," Yamato said flatly. "He fainted. From looking at me, apparently."
"Whaaat? No way! You don't look that scary."
"Apparently I do."
Dante frowned, scratching his head. "Alright, new plan! You—" he pointed at Yamato "—stand back there."
Yamato blinked. "Back where?"
"Farther. Like, way farther."
"You're kidding."
"Nope."
Yamato's eye twitched. "You're seriously making me—"
"Yamato, please," Dante said, hands together in mock pleading. "For the good of the people."
"…Tch."
Muttering under his breath, Yamato reluctantly stepped back. First five steps. Then ten. Then twenty.
"Far enough?"
"Perfect!" Dante grinned, turning back to the street. "Now watch the magic."
Within seconds, girls from nearby stalls began to gather.
"Oh! White hair—so pretty!"
"Look at his eyes! They're so blue!"
"He said he's looking for painting materials? How adorable!"
Yamato stood in the distance, watching in disbelief as a small crowd of giggling girls surrounded his brother.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
A little boy nearby glanced at him and said innocently, "Mister, maybe if you smiled, they'd like you too."
Yamato turned to stare at him. The boy screamed and ran.
"Never mind," Yamato sighed.
Meanwhile, Dante was struggling to keep up with the flood of helpful offers.
"There's a shop called We Have Everything!" one girl said eagerly. "It's down this street and to the right!"
"Thank you, angel of directions!" Dante said dramatically, earning a flustered giggle.
When he turned to tell Yamato the news, his brother was already beside him again, quiet as a shadow.
"Done flirting?" Yamato asked coolly.
"Wasn't flirting," Dante said, hands on hips. "That's called networking."
"Uh-huh."
---
The brothers arrived at the shop a few minutes later. Above the door hung a creaky wooden sign that read, in large hand-painted letters:
WE HAVE EVERYTHING
Dante blinked, then burst into laughter. "Pff—ha! They weren't lying about the name being obvious!"
Yamato gave the sign a long, unimpressed look. "…I already don't trust it."
They knocked on the door. No answer.
Dante knocked again, louder. "Hello? Anybody home?"
Still nothing.
They turned to leave when suddenly — crash!
The sound of something falling inside froze them mid-step.
Yamato's hand went to his sword. "Stay alert."
Dante nodded, eyes narrowing as he scanned the roofline.
Moments later, both boys climbed up the side of the building with surprising agility. Dante found an open skylight and slipped through, landing softly on the floor below. Yamato followed seconds later, blade ready.
What they found made Dante's heart drop.
The shop was in ruins. Shelves overturned, glass shattered, papers and goods scattered across the floor.
And at the center, a red-haired old man sat slumped against a counter, crying quietly.
Dante rushed over immediately. "Old man! Are you okay!?"
The man barely looked up, tears streaking down his cheeks. "They… they took her…"
Yamato scanned the corners of the shop, moving with silent precision. "No one's here. Whoever did this is long gone."
Dante turned back, crouching beside the old man. "Old man, what happened?"
"They took her," the man repeated weakly. "My daughter… they took my daughter…"
"Who did?"
His voice cracked as rage replaced sorrow. "That cursed name… Lucifaro! Saint Lucifaro and his vile family!"
Dante blinked, visibly lost. "Huh? Wait—what? Who? Why? What's going on?" His face scrunched in confusion as his brain tried to process all of it at once. "Is Lucifaro… like, a dog? No, that's not right—maybe a noble? Or a monster? Wait, you said family—"
"Dante," Yamato interrupted sharply. "Focus."
"Oh. Right."
Yamato stepped closer, kneeling slightly. "Old man," he said coldly, "did you do this to your own shop?"
Dante whipped his head around, glaring. "Yamato! Don't be stupid! Who trashes their own store!?"
"People who want attention sometimes do," Yamato replied simply.
Dante smacked his arm. "Not the time, detective!"
Ignoring him, Yamato fixed his gaze on the trembling old man. "Tell us what happened. Exactly."
The man hesitated, his watery eyes shifting between the two brothers — the cheerful boy with the bright smile and the quiet one whose stare could freeze fire.
"It's none of your concern," he said at last, voice shaking. "Leave me be. The shop's closed for today."
Yamato turned to Dante. "He's right. Let's go."
Dante blinked at him, confused.
Yamato sighed. "Because I know you won't. You're too stupid to ignore this now that you've seen it."
Dante smiled sheepishly. "You know me so well."
The old man blinked, startled by their casual tone.
Dante looked at him seriously this time. "Old man," he said softly, "just tell me what's wrong. I'll fix it."
Something in Dante's voice — the sincerity, the certainty — made the man's chest tighten. He didn't know why, but for the first time since the nightmare began, he felt like he could breathe.
He sat up straighter, wiped his tears, and said, "My daughter was taken by a noble… Domiré. Domiré Vellacroix. The son of Saint Lucifaro himself."
At that name, both boys' expressions changed instantly.
The air in the shop thickened. Yamato's red eyes sharpened, and Dante — usually bright as sunlight — grew quiet, the warmth in his face fading into something colder, sharper.
The old man shuddered. What… was that?
It wasn't killing intent, not exactly. But it felt like standing before two sleeping beasts that had just opened their eyes.
Dante's voice came low and steady. "Old man… where's their mansion?"
The man's eyes widened. "You can't go there! They're nobles — the entire island answers to them! You'll be killed!"
Dante stood up, shadow falling across the wrecked floor. "That's not what I asked."
Something in his tone sent a chill down the old man's spine.
"It's… in the middle of the city," he said quietly.
Dante nodded once. "Thanks."
He turned toward the door. "Yamato."
"Yeah." Yamato's voice was calm, but his grip on his sword was tight.
As Dante reached for the doorknob, he paused. "Old man," he said suddenly, looking back. "What does your daughter look like?"
The man blinked, startled by the question. "Red hair. Crimson eyes. About nineteen. Her name's Anita."
Dante smiled faintly. "Got it."
He opened the door. The brothers stepped out into the street — and the moment they did, people around them shivered.
The same cheerful boy who'd been surrounded by girls just minutes ago now walked with a quiet, deadly resolve. Yamato's dark aura pulsed beside him like a storm barely held in check.
Whispers spread.
"Who are they?"
"Did something happen?"
"They feel… dangerous."
But the two didn't stop.
They walked straight through the murmuring crowd — toward the heart of the island.
Toward the mansion of the Vellacroix family.