Il-Min-Song felt the murderous intent surge from behind him. Instinctively, he spun around and fired a single bullet.
Ayro met it head-on.
With a sharp motion, he drew his sword—one forged from pure dark—and deflected the bullet mid-air, sending it off-course with a screech of metal and force.
Il-Min-Song grinned.
"So you're still breathing."
Ayro gritted his teeth, dark smoke coiling from his blade.
~~~UWDS Asia Headquarters~~~
Nali shot up from her seat, eyes wide as she stared at the blinking signal on the holographic map. The last recorded location of Squad 663 hovered ominously over Hakata Bay.
"What the hell are they doing in the bay?!"
"Beats me,"
Ronny from Squad 376 replied, his tone far too casual for her liking.
Nali clenched her fists, voice rising.
"What the hell!! They're off-grid and no one's reacting to this?!"
From the far side of the command center, David, the Trochanter of Squad 660, let out a long sigh. Arms crossed, he turned toward the lone superior officer in the room — a higher-up known simply as Mr. Hasegawa.
"Sir... isn't this already out of mission bounds? They're way outside their assigned zone."
Mr. Hasegawa didn't move. His eyes stayed fixed on the map, unreadable.
From another station, Mugi of Squad 330 spoke up, concern edging her tone.
"Mhm... agreed. We can't even contact or track them anymore. I just got word from one of our field men — Gigi can't reach them."
"That's against the rules, right?"
Asked one of the Trochanters from Squad 152.
"Indeed... that means—"
Began another from Squad 434.
But their words died as everyone turned toward the old man sitting quietly at the end of the table.
Silence swept the room, broken only by the faint hum of a flickering light overhead.
The old man drew in a slow, deliberate breath.
"You're all too harsh on Hachi's children..."
His voice was calm, but carried weight.
"You're not even giving them the chance to explain themselves."
His eyes drifted across the room — not locking on anyone in particular, yet somehow meeting everyone's gaze.
"Yes, it's against protocol to stray from your designated zone,"
eh continued.
"But let me ask you this — if you saw a child alone in a burning forest, barely within reach, would you just let them burn because the road sign told you not to go there?"
His tone sharpened at the end, enough to sting. The seven Trochanters fell silent, struck by the blunt truth in his words.
"Let them speak for themselves first... or at the very least, let their Trochanter do it."
As his final word faded, the room shifted — the tension thick, heavy.
Creeeak—
The door opened slowly. A sliver of light cut through the dim room, widening into a sharp rectangle.
And standing in that light — was Hachi.
He stepped in, the glow behind him outlining his frame, making his presence impossible to ignore.
Nali muttered under her breath,
"Ah... speaking of the devil."
Hachi blinked at the sudden attention, his calm eyes scanning the room — slightly confused, yet composed.
~~~Hakata Bay~~~
"AYRO!"
Il-Min-Song bellowed the name the moment Ayro deflected the bullet with a sharp swipe of his sword.
Metal screeched from the impact, but Ayro landed smoothly on both feet, his coat fluttering as he clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Across from him, the bald man spun his pistol lazily around his finger, eyes locked on Ayro with amused disdain.
"Heh?... What are you doing here?" he asked mockingly, tilting his head.
The pistol stopped spinning and dropped neatly into his grip.
"Didn't know people from the Defense Division took interest in things like this."
He flashed a crooked grin, one filled with poison.
"I thought the only thing you people cared about... were Seele's."
There was a pause—an awkward silence stretching between the two as Ayro furrowed his brows, trying to make sense of what Min had just said.
"...Uh. Okay?"
Ayro finally replied, confused.
Il-Min-Song blinked, then muttered under his breath, louder than he intended,
"That means you guys are only attracted to Seele, you idiot!"
Min facepalmed with a sigh, then raised his gun at Ayro once more.
"Jeez... the Defense are no fun to talk to,"
He muttered before pulling the trigger again.
Ayro sidestepped effortlessly, the bullet whizzing past him.
Min opened the magazine with a flick, eyes narrowing as he saw just one round left.
"Ah—" he said mockingly, dragging the sound as if it were a joke only he found funny.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he threw the gun to his right—tossing it far away from where Hoshi was crouched.
"He threw his gun?"
Hoshi muttered to herself, watching with a mix of confusion and wariness.
Il-Min-Song's gaze returned to her. His expression softened, but his voice was cold.
He stepped just slightly closer and whispered
"Behave yourself."
The man slowly raised his left hand, fingers relaxed as he opened his palm.
His eyes never left Ayro.
A spark ignited—then, fire erupted from his skin, swirling like a serpent across his palm.
"He's also Gifted with Flame..."
Hoshi's eyes widened as the realization sank in.
She looked down, her expression shifting.
"People Gifted of Flame..."
"Not all of them are like That flame boy... or like him..."
"Then what am I even afraid of?"
Her hands trembled slightly. Not from fear—but from confusion.
"I was always taught that flame users are evil... Yet.. Kara-san's big brother is a flame user... Kara-san and Jayu-chan are the closest people to me.."
Hoshi closed her eyes, trying to think through the noise, through the weight pressing down on her chest.
"Uugh!! Man, I've got too much in my mind already!"
Meanwhile—on the upper deck—flame clashed against dark.
The fight had fully ignited.
Il-Min-Song's overwhelming experience quickly began to show. His footwork, his timing, his confidence—it was all sharper, heavier. Ayro was being pushed back with every strike.
The deck rattled with each collision of their powers, heat dancing against shadow.
"What's wrong, Ayro?! Is that all the UWDS can do?!"
Il-Min-Song taunted with a wide grin as he lunged forward—not with a weapon, but with a flame-forged gauntlet, swinging straight toward Ayro's blade.
Ayro gritted his teeth.
Il-Min-Song wasn't just fast—he was calculated, relentless, and confident in every move. He fought like someone who'd already seen this battle a hundred times.
Ayro's defeat was inevitable.
From behind the shattered crates, Hoshi watched in silence, her wrists still bound, her breath shallow.
"The gun's not an option..."
She thought to herself, her eyes narrowing.
"If I step in now, I'll just get in the way... or worse..."
She looked at Ayro, struggling to hold his ground against the burning gauntlet crashing against his sword. Sparks burst with each collision—flame eating away at the air around them.
"I'd only slow him down."
Hoshi's fingers shifted slightly.
"No. I have to escape first..."
"Free my hands. Then think."
Carefully, she backed against the broken cargo, watching the two men as their fight raged on—timing every glance, every step, every opening.
The deck groaned under their weight as the battle intensified—flame against dark, two conflicting forces locked in violent rhythm.
Ayro darted forward, blade slicing low toward Il-Min-Song's left side. His movement was crisp—sharp footwork, calculated angles, a soldier's form honed by training and discipline.
But Il-Min-Song didn't block in a conventional way.
He spun—not away, but into the attack—his entire body flowing like silk in the wind. His gauntlet caught Ayro's blade mid-swing, the flames on his arm roaring to life, spiraling up past his elbow in an elegant arc. It looked almost like a Korean traditional fan dance—if the fans were made of fire and malice.
Ayro slid back, adjusting his stance, sword lowered. He didn't waste movement.
He dashed forward again, this time feinting right and swiping left. His blade screamed through the air with speed and power.
Il-Min twisted his torso, raising a knee, then dropped into a low sweeping spin—his heel skimming the floorboards as he narrowly dodged the cut.
He transitioned seamlessly into a rising motion, flicking his flaming gauntlet in a graceful, arcing uppercut meant not just to strike—but to unsettle Ayro's rhythm.
Ayro barely parried, his sword clashing with the gauntlet. Sparks scattered, wind displaced.
"Tch..." he clicked his tongue again, sweat beading along his brow.
Il-Min grinned, stepping into a wide stance, one arm raised above his head, the other extended to the side.
His flames trailed like ribbons in the air as he began to circle Ayro—his body swaying, feet gliding almost soundlessly across the deck.
"What's wrong, Ayro?!"
He shouted, spinning again, one leg sweeping across the floor to force Ayro back.
"Is that all the U.W.D.S. can do?!"
Ayro leapt to the side, resetting his footing. His movements were clean, hard, efficient—no wasted energy.
He slashed diagonally, then thrust forward in a tight motion meant to pierce—but Il-Min bent backward mid-spin, nearly parallel to the ground, letting the blade pass just inches from his chest.
It was dancing. Deadly, unpredictable dancing.
Il-Min responded with a flaming palm strike that came out of nowhere—light and deceptive, but forceful. It struck Ayro's shoulder, sending him staggering back with a grimace.
Ayro slid on one knee, dug his blade into the floor to stop himself, then rose once more, breathing heavier now.
From the shadows behind the crates, Hoshi watched, wide-eyed.
"That man's fighting like it's art..."
"Ayro's fast. Focused. But this guy... it's like the flames move to his rhythm."
From behind the splintered crates, Hoshi remained low, knees pressing into damp metal, wrists still bound tightly behind her back.
But her eyes never left the fight.
Every strike. Every dodge. Every burst of flame—it all painted a rhythm in her mind.
Il-Min-Song's flames danced like silk in the wind, unpredictable yet beautiful. But for all his control... he was arrogant. Unaware of just how close he let the fire trail.
And Hoshi was watching.
Her eyes darted to the side.
There—half-buried in shattered debris, her mask. Cracked along the jaw, but intact. Its pale surface caught the orange glow of the nearby fire like a dying moon.
"Just a little closer..."
Il-Min-Song spun again, flicking his arm wide as he sent a burst of flame across the deck in a curling arc meant to force Ayro back.
The flame licked past the crates—close. Too close.
Hoshi leaned toward the edge, feeling the heat singe her sleeves. She didn't flinch. She moved.
She pressed her wrists to the scorched metal.
"Burn through it..."
The bindings began to sear, the heat biting at her skin. She winced, eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritting hard.
"I don't need it to be painless. I just need it to work."
The cords snapped—her wrists freed.
Her arms dropped forward, trembling, red and raw—but free.
She didn't hesitate.
She crawled through the debris, glass crunching under her palms as she reached out—fingers closing around the cold edge of her mask.
She lifted it slowly, cradling it like a sacred relic.
"This... is mine."
Hoshi scanned the pipes—her eyes catching the thick, dark fluid seeping from a ruptured valve.
She crouched lower. Her fingers brushed the deck near the leak.
It was slick. Smelled burnt.
Her eyes widened.
"Lubricating oil... it's leaking—"
Her gaze snapped back toward the fight—Ayro's blade clashing with Il-Min-Song's burning gauntlet. The deck beneath them rattled again, metal screeching under pressure.
"...and the whole ship's heating up."
The fire. The wind. The movement.
Everything was turning the metal shell of the ship into a slow, deadly oven. She looked around and spotted a pipe hissing faintly—overheated.
"If that oil vapor catches..."
"If it reaches something flammable deeper inside—"
Boom!
"I need to stop this. Now!"
Hoshi took one careful step forward, eyes locked on the leaking oil and hissing pipes.
"I just need to shut it off. Warn Ayro. Move fast—"
But before her foot even landed fully, something sharp whistled through the air.
A fragment of glass—jagged and spinning—came flying from across the deck, hurled with terrifying precision.
It shot straight for her head.
"W-what the hell?!"
She gasped, ducking instinctively. The shard grazed the edge of her mask, slicing a shallow scratch across its cheek.
She stumbled back behind the crate, breathing heavily.
"He's... he's stopping me?"
From across the deck, Il-Min-Song didn't even look at her.
He was still locked in combat with Ayro—dodging, striking, spinning—but he'd still had the awareness, the skill, to attack her without turning his head.
"Idiot! We're going to explode!"
She shouted instinctively, even though no one heard her.
But even as she said it... something else dawned on her.
Her eyes widened again.
She looked at the fire on Il-Min-Song's gauntlet. The scorched marks on the deck. The blistering pipes. The slow-brewing pressure in the hull.
She turned her gaze toward Ayro, remembering his dark sword flaring against the rising heat.
Then her thoughts clicked into place.
"W-wait... all his men... they're gifted by... Flame."
Her heart pounded.
"He knows."
"They all do."
And still, they were fighting—with flame—on a deck slicked with oil, surrounded by superheated pipes, and no one was stopping.
"No wonder his men have been doing nothing..."
Hoshi whispered to herself, eyes narrowing as the chaos unfolded around her.
"They'll survive it all... the fire, the heat... it won't matter to them."
She backed further behind cover, her mind racing.
"W-wait... we can still win this..."
Her thoughts jumped—grasping at what little hope remained.
"Ryujin... he's gifted by water. If he could just get here... But he's too busy—too far, too focused on protecting everyone else..."
She gritted her teeth and clutched her head, frustration boiling over.
"Jeez!! Dang it!"
She hissed.
"Those wind types... That's so annoying!"
But then, another thread formed in her mind.
She looked up—the battle above raging louder than ever. Il-Min-Song's flames lashed across the upper deck, heat climbing, smoke curling.
Her eyes widened.
"Hmm... could it work?"
She rose slightly from behind the crates, watching the way the upper deck opened just enough, the way Min's fire burned upward—open to the sky.
"His flames... we're on the upper deck."
Her fingers twitched.
"Can my wind..."
"Could I lift it? Bend it? Turn his own flame into a weakness?"
For a brief second, her breath stilled.
There was a plan forming. A dangerous one. But maybe—just maybe—it was something only she could do.
Without hesitation, she made up her mind.
No more thinking.
She stood from behind the crate, mask cracked but steady, and sprinted toward the edge of the deck—her goal clear.
"If I can pull the flames down—blow them into the lower deck..."
But just as her foot hit the edge—
THUNK.
A knife tore into her shoulder with a brutal, unforgiving force—not just piercing but propelling her backward like a thrown ragdoll.
Her feet left the deck.
The world tilted as she was flung off balance, hurtling through the air.
Her breath caught.
Blood poured down her side, warm and heavy.
She was falling.
The deck seemed miles away.
Her limbs ached, but her muscles clenched desperately, trying to brace for impact.
Her mind screamed.
"No. Not like this."
Her hand instinctively rose, clutching the knife still buried deep in her shoulder.
Pain bloomed sharp and bright, but she refused to surrender to it.
Before Hoshi could fall to her doom..
A person she truly didn't expect came to save her life.
"F-Flame boy.."
~~~To be Continued~~~