The hallway outside the dojo felt too small for the two of them.
Ryo walked ahead by half a step, hands in his pockets like they were just two students heading back to the festival. Max followed, each footfall heavier than the last, the air around him warped by heat no one else could see.
He could still feel the shape of Sera's neck in his hands.
Still hear the way the room had been too quiet.
Still see those open eyes.
Ryo's voice cut through the memory like a blade slipping between ribs—calm, careful, controlled.
"You're late, Holloway," he said without looking back. "Or maybe it's better to call you Max Hart now."
His name sounded wrong in his mouth.
Too precise. Too knowing.
Max said nothing.
They stepped out of the martial arts wing and into the back corridor that looped around toward the main building. The sounds of the Cultural Exhibition swelled in the distance—music, laughter, announcements over the PA—but here it was muted, like they were walking just beneath the surface of a louder world.
Ryo glanced at him over his shoulder, eyes moving over Max's face with clinical interest.
"You shouldn't look surprised," he went on. "People don't survive long around us Vices."
Max's hand twitched.
He didn't remember deciding to clench it into a fist, but he felt his knuckles crack.
Ryo turned away again, continuing down the corridor at an unhurried pace. "You've felt it by now, haven't you? That pressure. When I'm close."
He lifted a hand, flexing his fingers once as if testing an invisible current.
"Dominion," he said. "That's the name my friend so kindly whispered for you, isn't it?"
The Vice inside Max curled, amused.
He's not wrong.
Max's jaw tightened. "You killed her."
"Yes," Ryo said simply. "I did."
No apology. No justification.
Just fact.
They turned a corner and passed a pair of open doors leading out toward the side courtyard. From here, they could see students moving between booths and tents, the bright color of festival banners in stark contrast to the quiet shadow of the hallway they walked in.
A couple of first-years glanced over, nudged each other.
"Hey, isn't that—?"
"Holloway. And… the student council guy. Ryo."
"What's with Holloway's face?"
"He looks—"
They fell silent when Max's gaze brushed past them.
Ryo noticed. Of course he did.
"This must feel familiar," he said mildly. "The attention. The whispers. You and I have walked halls like this before."
Max's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Ryo smiled, a small, almost fond curve of his mouth. "We've met before, Max. Centuries ago. In cities that don't exist anymore. Under flags no one remembers. Different uniforms. Different names. Different wars."
He slowed his pace, letting the words sink in.
"Pure Vices do not die," he continued. "We continue through vessels. We teach them. Prepare them. They ascend and they thrive. Then when their time is almost up, they choose the next vessel who they'll share their teachings with. And what will happen to the old vessels? They'll die so the cycle continues to strengthen."
He tapped his own chest lightly.
"Dominion has worn kings, generals, judges… even a priest once. And you Envy, you've mostly worn the broken ones."
Max stared straight ahead, heat crawling up the back of his neck.
"You're lying," he said.
Ryo gave a small shrug. "Believe whatever makes this easier for you. It doesn't change what you are."
He lifted a hand again, as if drawing diagrams in the air.
"Here's the pattern, in simple terms," he said. "A Vice is a concept. It doesn't fade. It looks for a vessel—someone whose shape fits its weight. The Vice fills them, trains them, strengthens them. And when the vessel's edge starts to dull… it'll look for the next one to succeed the Vice. They'll pass everything on."
He glanced at Max. "Memories. Power. Hatred. Hope, if they're sentimental."
They stepped out into a more crowded corridor, one that opened into the main building. Students in yukata and club t-shirts milled around, some glancing over curiously as the two boys passed.
"Think of it as pruning," Ryo continued. "Cut away the weaker branch so the next can grow stronger. Each cycle refines the Vice. Deepens it. Makes it… sharper."
He smiled faintly.
"Envy has always been dramatic, but effective. You're proof of that."
The Vice inside Max hummed in agreement, low and pleased.
We get better every time.
Max's fingers dug into his own palm.
If Max focused, he could remember glimpses. Glimpses of firelight. Screaming. A battlefield where the sky never brightened. An alleyway. A hand reaching for his.
All of it slipping away when he tried to grab hold.
Ryo watched his reaction carefully. "You don't have full recall yet," he observed. "Interesting. Envy's being… cautious. Maybe his worried you'll break if you see everything at once."
He tilted his head.
"Or maybe he wants you angry without knowing why."
They passed another doorway. A cluster of students moved aside to let them through, whispering behind their hands.
"Is that the second-year…?"
"Why's he walking with Ryo?"
"Look at Holloway's expression. I've never seen him like that."
"He looks like he's going to kill someone."
Max barely heard them.
His voice came out low, rough. "Why Sera?"
Ryo didn't answer immediately.
When he did, it was with that same steady calm that made Max want to break his face.
"Because she meddled," he said. "Because she didn't know when to stop. Because she was starting to move you away from what Envy chose you for."
Max stopped walking.
A few steps ahead, Ryo noticed the lack of footsteps and turned to face him, hands still in his pockets.
"You're lying again," Max said.
Ryo studied him for a moment.
Then he smiled—not cruelly, not kindly. Just… interested.
"Like I said, believe whatever makes this easier for you," he said. "I'm only doing you a favour."
He took a step closer, kept his voice low enough that only Max would hear.
"The truth is simple," he said. "Sera was a threat to your development. To my timeline. To Reina."
The name landed like a stone dropped into dark water.
Max's eyes sharpened. "What does Reina have to do with this?"
Ryo's gaze flicked briefly toward the courtyard ahead, where the sound of music and announcements grew louder. "Everything," he said. "Reina Takamine is… special."
He said it like a scientist labeling a rare sample.
"I can recall all the past Dominion's memories," he went on. "And I've noticed, people break under command. They bend. They surrender. They adapt to my will. It's… predictable."
His expression shifted—just slightly, but enough to see it. Fascination.
"Reina doesn't."
He closed his eyes briefly, as if savoring the thought.
"When I push," he said, "most minds drift. Accept. Obey. Hers pushes back. Every time. Instinctively. Without knowing why. Do you know how rare that is? A human being who can look power in the face and simply decide not to move?"
He opened his eyes again.
"I could have forced it. Broken something precious. I didn't. So I adjusted the world instead. Moved pieces around her. Cut threats when they got too close."
"Threats," Max repeated, voice flat.
"Yes," Ryo said. "Like your little agent pretending to be a classmate, who thought she could steer you without consequences."
Max took a step forward.
The air around him thickened, heat shimmering off his skin.
"You killed her," he said.
"Yes, I killed her."
"And you did it here," Max said. "In our dojo. During our festival."
Ryo glanced toward the noise again. "People die everywhere," he said.
Max's vision blurred at the edges.
Faces flickered in his mind—Sera on his bed, smirking; Sera calling him out for disappearing; Sera telling him he wasn't bad, just new.
Max swallowed, his voice pushing through gritted teeth. "Reina doesn't obey you. So what are you planning to do to her?"
Ryo's answer came without hesitation.
"Nothing," he said. "That's what makes her perfect."
He shifted his weight slightly, shoes scuffing the tile.
"In every cycle, we test variables. New hosts. New environments. New versions of conflict. But someone like her? Someone immune to Dominion's influence? She's a fixed point. I would be foolish to damage that."
He gave a small, almost self-mocking smile. "Besides," he added, "I'm rather fond of this one."
Something in Max's chest cracked.
"Fond," he repeated.
"Yes," Ryo said. "And unlike you, Hart, I know how to protect what I care about."
Before Max could answer, a voice called from ahead:
"Ryo!"
Reina's.
They both turned.
She was weaving through the edge of the crowd, arms full of papers and a rolled-up map tube under one elbow. Still in her festival armband, hair slightly undone from running around all day. Her expression was focused, annoyed, completely unaware that the earth had already shifted under her feet.
"There you are," she said, exhaling. "I've been looking all over—"
She stopped when she saw Max beside him, her gaze flicking between their faces.
Her smile faltered for half a breath.
Then it came back, softer. "Holloway. You managed survived today."
Max couldn't make his mouth move.
She didn't seem to notice. She shifted the papers higher in her arms and turned back to Ryo.
"You forgot to sign off on the electrical layout," she said, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. "Again."
Ryo's posture softened in a way Max hadn't seen before. His spins of control gentled into something almost human.
"Did I?" he said, tone warm. "That sounds like me."
Reina huffed. "It is you. I told the staff you'd handle the last confirmation and they looked at me like I was trying to commit fraud." She pushed the clipboard against his chest. "Sign. Before someone blames me again."
He took it, laughing under his breath. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry. My fault."
He smiled at her—really smiled, the practiced precision melting into something relaxed.
Reina smiled back.
Max watched the exchange with something sharp and ugly twisting in his stomach. Not jealousy. Not exactly.
Just wrongness.
Ryo was Dominion. A murderer. A monster wearing a school badge.
And he was standing there, laughing with her over signatures and logistics like none of it mattered.
Reina glanced at Max again, expression thoughtful.
"You okay?" she asked. "You look…"
She trailed off, searching for the word.
He didn't give her one.
Ryo finished signing, flipped the board around, and handed it back to her.
"Problem solved?" he asked.
"For now," she said, tucking the clipboard under her arm. "If anything explodes, I'm blaming both of you."
Ryo chuckled. "Fair."
Max heard it—the sound. Easy. Unbothered.
Something inside him finally snapped.
Sera's face flashed behind his eyes.
Her voice: I was worried.
Her body on the floor.
Ryo's calm: Yes, I killed her
Enough was enough.
Max moved.
He didn't remember deciding to. There was no thought between standing still and crossing the space. One second he was watching Ryo's hand brush Reina's arm—
The next he slammed his fist into Ryo's back with a sound that didn't belong in a school — thick, wet, and final, like punching through soaked canvas backed by meat and bone. The floor tiles jolted under both of them.
The world snapped still.
Ryo's body rocked forward as if he'd been hit by a sledgehammer; his blazer crumpled inward around Max's arm, fabric bunching, threads tearing.
Reina's clipboard hit the ground with a sharp clatter. Paper fluttered. No one breathed.
Max's arm didn't stop at contact — it sank.
Not like punching a wall. Not like punching a person. More like hitting something that broke and parted around him.
His knuckles were buried past the wrist. Ryo's chest had dented outward, shirt stretched thin across bone. A dark stain of blood began to bloom across the front of his white dress shirt, spreading warm and fast.
Someone gagged. Someone else dropped a drink. A student slapped a hand over their mouth, eyes wide, choking on shock.
Reina stood inches from Ryo — close enough that droplets of blood had touched her cheek. She didn't scream. She didn't blink. She just stared as if reality itself had stalled.
For a few infinite seconds, there was no music, no festival, no teenagers — just two shapes locked together in an impossible silhouette.
Ryo didn't fall.
Didn't cry out.
Didn't even tense.
He simply turned his head, vertebrae clicking, expression caught between surprise and fascination. His breath escaped in a quiet hiss, shoulders rising—like someone touched a spot he didn't know he had.
Then he said, voice low and almost amused:
"...Wow."
His hand drifted across his stomach, fingers brushing the torn fabric, coming away red blood. He looked at the color with mild curiosity, as if assessing paint on a palette.
He finally faced Max completely—shirt ruined, blood tracing the line of his belt, blazer ruined beyond repair—and smiled with an almost gentle tilt of the mouth.
"I almost forgot how painful it is to be touched by Envy."
Max pulled his arm out slowly; the exit was worse than the entry — a wet suctioned drag that made half the crowd flinch and look away.
Reina staggered back two steps, hand over her mouth, eyes wet and wide and terrified. Not because she understood what was happening — but because she understood enough.
The stain on Ryo's clothes kept spreading. His posture didn't waver.
"Envy," he said softly, as if naming an old friend. "I'm glad we get a rematch."
Max didn't speak. Didn't blink. His chest rose and fell once, sharp and shallow, like he was holding down a scream by force.
The courtyard was silent except for the distant hum of generators and someone sobbing behind a booth.
Ryo wiped his hand on his ruined blazer, then flicked his eyes toward Max again.
His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful:
"Because this time... I'm going to kill you."