"This was supposed to be a test for your mental capacity but ok... I'll help you."
Those words drifted to Itoshi like mist in the rain—soft, disembodied, and unsettlingly calm. The voice of the white-haired woman carried no direction, no place of origin, yet it filled the air as if she stood beside him.
He could not see her, yet her presence lingered, gentle but absolute. It wrapped around the storm like silk threading through thunder.
The world around him was a blur of gray and rhythm—the rainfall against leaves, the murmur of wind weaving through the soaked branches. Beneath that vast curtain of rain, Itoshi sat under the old tree, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest.
The downpour ran down his hair, over his face, and into the soil beneath him, but he didn't flinch. His mind was louder than the sky.
"So, you can talk to me even if I'm awake? I thought you could only speak in my dreams."
His voice came quiet, questioning, half in disbelief.
"I'm not allowed to interfere with your active problems.. Just a guide."
Her reply was faint, yet sharp—each word landing with purpose. She spoke like a figure born of memory, distant and weary, as though she'd watched this same moment unfold a hundred times before.
The rain fell harder, streaking the world into motionless color. From afar, to anyone passing by, Itoshi might have looked broken—a lone figure talking to himself beneath the storm. Yet something invisible hung around him, something ancient and patient.
"Ah, I see... Now that you decided to talk... What should I do, Miss Guide?"
The woman sighed, the sound low and drawn, almost tender. It carried through the air as though the rain itself paused to listen.
"This is gonna be unfair for Kirashi-san but..."
Her voice shifted—soft yet decisive, with a trace of mischief beneath the exhaustion. The tone of someone who had seen too much and yet still found ways to play with fate.
Itoshi raised his head. Raindrops ran down his cheeks, tracing paths that could've been mistaken for tears.
He stood, the wind cutting through his soaked coat, and looked at the ground as though searching for a direction that wasn't there.
"Understood."
The word came out steady, but something beneath it trembled—resolve built from uncertainty.
Ayro and Ryujin stood several paces away, their eyes fixed on the chaos that had not yet come. But when Itoshi rose, both of them turned.
The storm distorted his figure at first—just a shadow in the downpour—but when his outline sharpened beneath the flash of distant lightning, recognition struck like a wave.
Ayro's mouth parted slightly. Ryujin's gaze hardened.
Then, together, their voices broke through the roar of the rain:
"Itoshi!"
The name carried through the air, filled with more than sound—relief, fear, hope, all tangled together.
But Itoshi didn't stop. His footsteps fell slow and deliberate, crunching against the soaked dirt as he walked toward Roger.
His head remained bowed, shoulders lowered, not in defeat, but in calm surrender—to something only he could hear.
Ayro instinctively took a step forward, hand half-raised, words ready to leap out of his throat. But Ryujin's hand caught his arm.
"It's his choice,"
He said quietly, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain. There was a pause in it—a kind of hesitation that betrayed the doubt beneath his control.
Ayro froze, meeting Ryujin's eyes for a moment. He didn't argue. The rain filled the silence instead.
And so, they watched—helpless—as Itoshi moved ahead, each step measured, each breath heavy with purpose.
Roger, standing several yards away, tilted his head. The rain dripped from his chin, his eyes gleaming beneath the shadows of his hair. Then, with a sudden, booming laugh, his voice ripped through the storm.
"Hahaha!"
He spread his arms wide as if to welcome the absurdity of it all.
"I guess this child had massive doubts about your questionable leadership, Ryujin!"
His tone dripped venom. Every word twisted with mockery, his grin carving deeper as if he took pleasure in pulling apart the fragile strings that bound them all together.
Ayro's fists clenched at his sides. Ryujin's jaw tightened, but his gaze didn't waver. The storm raged, but the silence between the two men was louder than thunder.
Roger stepped forward, rain rippling off his coat. His grin widened into something wolfish.
"You see, Ryujin... men like us can't lead forever. The young ones? They'll always start doubting when the world doesn't follow your tune."
Ayro's eyes darted toward Itoshi, studying him with growing unease. Something was wrong. His movements—too steady, too calm. There was no translator on his collar. No device in his ear.
Then it hit him like lightning.
"The translator!"
He thought.
"It's gone!"
Roger's grin froze for a fraction of a second. Ryujin's eyes narrowed.
A moment of stillness followed—so quiet that even the rain seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
"よう! (Yo!)"
Itoshi's voice rang out clear through the storm, heavy with something that wasn't hesitation anymore.
Roger blinked once, surprised—then smiled, slow and crooked.
"Hoh? You chose freedom, huh?"
He muttered, amusement lacing his tone.
"リュウジンと戦いたいんだろ?"
(You wanna fight with Ryujin, right?)
Itoshi asked, still not lifting his head.
"That's right!"
Roger replied immediately, almost proudly.
"お前の戦いには関係ない.俺はカラを助けに行く.お前も一緒に来るんだ."
(Your fight isn't mine. I'm going to help Kara—and you're coming with me.)
Itoshi's voice carried through the rain, unwavering.
Roger raised an eyebrow, his grin twitching into a smirk.
"Hoh? You dare command me? You've got some balls, kid."
He took a step forward, his boots splashing through the puddles.
"あのシーレたちがフィールドメンや他の隊員たちを押し切ろうとしている.まずはそいつらを片付けたほうがいい."
(Those Seele are about to overrun the field men and other squads. You'd better clean them out first.)
Itoshi said, his voice low but steady.
Roger tilted his head, chuckling.
"Hmm... I guess you're right,"
He mocked, dragging out the words.
"Trying to trick me, huh? That I ain't falling for that easily, kid."
But his grin betrayed something else—curiosity, maybe even respect. He knew it was a trap, and yet he accepted it.
He looked up to the storm, letting the rain wash over his face.
"I only have one term though..."
He said, his tone quieter now, but the edge remained.
"The moment the battle is over... you're coming with me."
Itoshi didn't respond right away. Then he nodded once.
Roger smiled—satisfied. Then, with sudden brightness, his voice erupted again.
"Ok then! Let's do this!"
"Seems like nodding is the right move.."
Itoshi thought to himself, unable to understand Roger's terms.
The words echoed, bold and alive, like thunder breaking through the clouds.
The two began to move down the road. The rain softened for a moment, falling in slanted curtains as if the world itself watched.
Itoshi's head hung low, steps even, shoulders relaxed. Every motion was deliberate, shaped by something unseen.
Beside him, Roger walked with his usual swagger—hands clasped behind his neck, grin carved deep, as if no storm could touch him.
Ayro and Ryujin tensed as they neared, every muscle ready to react. The rain beaded off their soaked uniforms, their breaths tight in their chests.
But instead of striking, Roger and Itoshi walked right past them. No words. No glance. Just motion.
Roger turned his head slightly, sticking his tongue out over his shoulder—a playful, mocking gesture, almost childish in contrast to the weight of the moment.
Then he laughed—softly this time, almost to himself—as they disappeared deeper into the storm.
The rain grew heavier again, drowning the echoes of their steps. But the silence that lingered after them was heavier still—
a silence filled with everything left unsaid,
and the first rumble of the storm yet to come.
~~~North Side of Shioizaki Park~~~
[9:56pm]
Kara sank to her knees, breath caught in a silent scream as the field men fell around her—each death more harrowing than the last. The ground trembled under the weight of chaos; the air reeked of blood, ash, and fear.
Some were devoured alive, their screams twisting through the smoky air before vanishing beneath the deafening growl of the Seele.
Others simply dissolved into nothingness the instant those creatures touched them, their very existence erased as if they had never lived at all.
The unlucky ones remained half-conscious—writhing, pleading, their eyes wide with terror as their minds fractured under the weight of what they saw.
It was a massacre that defied reason. The night bled with the sound of breaking.
The wind howled above, whipping Kara's hair across her face, sticking to her tears. The air was thick—too thick to breathe, too heavy to scream. Hope itself seemed fragile here, a dying ember in a storm of despair, flickering just beyond reach.
"N-No... No way... I-It was this bad?..."
Her voice cracked. The words barely escaped her throat, trembling as if afraid of their own truth.
Bodies fell before her eyes—some already cold, others still clutching at life, calling for help that wouldn't come. Her stomach churned, her hands shook, and her knees dug deeper into the mud as if trying to root herself against the horror.
Out of frustration, she clenched the hem of her skirt tightly, her knuckles whitening with fury and fear. Her teeth grit. She shut her eyes hard enough to hurt.
"No! I can't fall here—not now! We can't fall... I need to see Kira-san!"
The cry tore out of her chest, echoing into the storm. It wasn't just a declaration—it was a plea. Her voice carried everything she'd buried beneath duty: the pain, the exhaustion, the fear of being left behind.
The ground pulsed beneath her palms, the energy of the battle feeding through the earth itself. Around her, Seele clashed against the last remaining fieldmen; shadows and elements danced in violent bursts of color—flames, wind, and light clashing against the thick blackness.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, every beat a hammer striking the same thought into her mind.
She pushed herself up, legs trembling, but her eyes burned with resolve. The rain stung her skin, washing the blood from her face but not the guilt that clung beneath it.
She ran—through the cries, through the smoke, through the chaos. Every step tore at her lungs, every breath carried the weight of names she could no longer call out.
"Move... move!"
She muttered under her breath, forcing her body to obey.
The fallen men lay scattered around her like broken stars in the mud—each one a promise she couldn't keep, each one a failure whispering her name.
But she refused to stop.
Her new found skill—her healing—was still imperfect, still clumsy, still weak compared to those who'd come before her. She could only save a handful at best. But that handful mattered. That handful could still fight. That handful could still live.
The desperate cries of the dying echoed behind her, but she shut them out. She didn't need to hear more voices fade. She focused on the flicker of light ahead—the place where she knew Kirashi would be.
The storm above raged harder, thunder shattering the night like a warning, but she didn't care.
Her shoes splashed through puddles of blood and rain as she pressed forward, her breathing ragged, heart clawing its way through grief.
"Sorry... Sorry, everyone..."
The thought passed through her mind like a whisper swallowed by the wind.
But she didn't look back. She couldn't.
Because somewhere beyond the smoke, beyond the screaming and the fire—Kirashi was still standing. And if he was standing, then there was still hope.
And as long as there was hope—Kara would run until her legs gave out.
~~~To be Continued~~~