The silence after the fight was heavier than the combat itself.
Kaito stood still in the middle of the street, rainwater dripping from his hair onto the cracked asphalt. The heat behind his left eye hadn't faded completely—it lingered, low and steady, like embers that refused to go out.
Jun broke the silence first.
— …They ran, he said quietly.
Not disbelief.
A realization.
Kaito nodded.
— Yes.
The swordsman remained a few steps away, his posture tense, as if unsure whether to approach or retreat. His breathing was uneven, every inhale scraping through lungs that hadn't fully recovered.
— They won't forget this, he said.
Kaito looked at him.
— Good.
The word carried no anger.
Just certainty.
They moved before anyone else could arrive.
The swordsman led them through backstreets and abandoned corridors of the city—places where the lights flickered and the air felt thinner, less observed. Eventually, they reached a derelict building tucked between two warehouses.
Inside, it smelled of dust and rust.
Safe enough.
Jun leaned against a wall and slid down to the floor, finally letting his legs give out.
— That was insane, he muttered.— They weren't normal.— And you just… stopped them.
Kaito sat across from him, hands resting on his knees.
— I didn't stop them, he said.— I made them irrelevant.
Jun swallowed.
— That's worse.
The swordsman watched Kaito closely.
— You didn't hesitate, he said.
Kaito met his gaze.
— I chose.
The words echoed longer than they should have.
For the first time, the swordsman relaxed his grip on the katana.
He set it carefully on the ground between them.
Up close, the blade looked even worse—scratched, dulled, patched with signs of countless repairs. It was nothing like the weapons the Association favored.
— This sword… Jun began.
— Is old, the swordsman finished.— And incomplete.
Kaito felt something stir faintly behind his eye.
— Incomplete how?
The swordsman hesitated.
— It was never meant to cut like this.— It was meant to restrict.
Jun frowned.
— Restrict you?
— Restrict me, the sword, and the damage we could cause together.
Kaito studied the katana.
— And now?
The swordsman shook his head.
— Now it doesn't know what it's supposed to do.
The blade remained silent.
But the air around it felt attentive.
Elsewhere, far from the warehouse, three figures stood beneath harsh white lights.
The tall man's hand trembled as he clenched it into a fist.
— He didn't overpower us, he said quietly.— He erased the continuity of our techniques.
The woman swallowed.
— That's not raw power.— That's authority.
The third man stared at the floor.
— He looked at me… and my ability just stopped.
The tall man exhaled slowly.
— Report this immediately.— Not as a Level Zero.
— Then as what?
The tall man hesitated.
— …As a variable.
Fear crept into the room.
Back in the warehouse, Jun paced.
— So what now? he asked.— We can't go back like nothing happened.
The swordsman stood.
— They'll regroup.— They'll bring stronger operatives.
Kaito rose with him.
— Then we'll be ready.
Jun stared.
— You say that like you're sure.
Kaito touched the scar over his left eye.
— I am.
The swordsman studied him.
— Your power… it doesn't feel finished, he said.— It feels like something waiting to unfold.
Kaito nodded.
— I know.
The silence stretched.
Then—
— I won't hunt you again, the swordsman said.— Not ever.
Jun crossed his arms.
— And if they force you?
The swordsman's jaw tightened.
— Then they'll have to break me first.
Kaito felt the weight of those words.
— You don't have to stay, Kaito said.— We're not offering safety.
The swordsman looked at the katana.
— Neither were they.
He met Kaito's gaze.
— I'll stay until I choose otherwise.
Not loyalty.
Not obedience.
A pact.
That night, Kaito dreamed.
Not of cracks or warnings.
But of stillness.
He stood in a dark space, the ground smooth and unbroken beneath his feet. In front of him rested the old katana, embedded halfway into the floor.
It didn't glow.
It didn't hum.
But it felt… present.
— Soon, Kaito whispered.
The sword did not answer.
But something shifted.
When Kaito woke, the pressure behind his left eye was different again.
Sharper.
More precise.
Not dangerous.
Ready.
He looked at the katana resting nearby, still old, still unimpressive.
But now…
It felt like it was waiting for the right moment to remember its name.