They ran with everything they had, lungs burning, branches whipping past their faces. Beneath their feet, the earth shook with each exchange in the distance—deep concussive booms rolling through the trees like thunder generated at ground level.
"I knew T'Jadaka was strong," Ruy panted, dodging a root without breaking stride, "but this is insane. How much has he been holding back all this time?"
"There's no telling." Vitaliya's breath came in hard pulls, her eyes tracking the ground ahead. "He never stopped training—since we were kids. Since he could walk." A beat. "But I don't know if he can beat that thing. Not with how badly he was hurt saving us."
The trees broke open ahead.
Lila's hand flew to her mouth.
The spring sat shallow and peaceful-looking at first glance, steam still rising from its surface. Then the water's color registered—the tint spreading outward from the center, that particular red that has no other name for itself.
Matilda and Kichirō lay half-submerged at the edge. Their faces still wore the last moment—shock frozen in place, preserved.
Vitaliya's knees buckled. She caught herself on a tree trunk, her other hand pressed flat against her sternum.
Remigio stood with his mouth open, shaking his head in small, slow movements, as though the repetition might change what his eyes were delivering.
"We were all laughing." Lila's voice came out barely above breath. "Not even an hour ago."
Ruy turned his face away. His jaw worked. His hands found each other and pressed.
"We can't stop." His voice cracked on the last word. "T'Jadaka didn't take a hole through his gut so we could freeze up here—"
"But—"
"No. We mourn later. We move now. Go."
They ran. Each step heavier than the last, carrying weight that hadn't been there before.
Behind them, a shockwave split the treeline. The sound of impact—fist against something that hit back—traveled through the ground and up through their legs.
Lila looked back once.
Silver fur. A flash of red. A silhouette still standing in the smoke.
"Please hold on," she whispered, tears tracking down her face as her legs found more speed than she'd known she had.
The forest had stopped being a forest.
Around them the evidence accumulated—splintered trunks, cracked boulders split cleanly down their centers, trenches carved through soil by the force of bodies being driven into it. The ground bore the record of what was happening between them in concentric rings of destruction.
T'Jadaka drove a strike into the creature's ribs. It answered with fire—a volley of fireballs that he wove through, the heat drawing sweat from his skin in an instant—then wind blades that hissed past his ears, then a chunk of earth that grazed his shoulder and spun him sideways, then water.
The water he moved for. Dedicated movement, real evasion, each high-pressure jet slicing through a tree trunk as he cleared the space where his torso had been.
If one of those connects directly, it's done. He registered the information without slowing. High-pressure water cuts steel. Mom told me that years ago. File it.
He closed the distance, launching a roundhouse at the creature's neck—
It caught his leg.
It learned that one. He twisted free, landed, reset. One use. That's all I get. Every move I throw, it downloads immediately.
He shifted sideways, forcing it to track him laterally. Fine. Then I stop repeating myself.
Another volley of fireballs pushed him back, smoke rising from the scorched dirt where he'd been standing.
Across the torn ground, the creature's eyes moved over him with something that had shifted from predatory satisfaction toward calculation.
No mana. It couldn't find the signal it used to track opponents, the one that let it anticipate before the body moved. None at all. Raw physical strength, hole in his gut, missing an arm—and his speed hasn't dropped. Its claws flexed, a slight tremor in the motion it hadn't allowed before. If he gets out of my sightline, I'm blind.
T'Jadaka read the tremor. Filed it.
He charged—zigzagging, steps irregular, removing the pattern that the creature's prediction systems could lock onto.
Mana sensing. The understanding clicked into place as he moved. That's how it tracks. I don't have any. So it needs eyes on me.
He drove into the smoke—the creature's own fire had produced it, had been producing it for minutes, and now it hung between the broken trees in thick drifting curtains.
"No, you don't—" The creature plunged in after him.
Silence.
CRACK.
Knuckles found jaw. Several teeth left their moorings. The creature stumbled backward, snarling, swinging at the source—finding nothing but smoke.
Another hit arrived from the opposite direction. Body shot, ribs. Then a kick to the knee, then an uppercut that snapped its head back before the hands had vanished again.
It blasted a wind gust downward in panic—scattered smoke, leaves, dirt. Revealed nothing.
Then another hit.
"You probably should've picked any element but fire in the middle of a forest." T'Jadaka's voice moved through the haze without a fixed point. "Plenty of smoke. Plenty of shadows. Plenty of cover."
"Coward!" The creature's head swung, tracking sound, finding nothing. "Fight me like a man!"
A strike cracked its ribs from behind.
"I'm not a man." The voice appeared at a different angle. "I'm a teenage boy. Try again."
Knees. Fists. Elbows. All from blind angles, all arriving faster than the creature could rotate to address them. Each impact forced cellular reconstruction—and each reconstruction came slightly slower than the one before. The once-instant repairs now took full seconds. The gaps were small. T'Jadaka was measuring them.
"Everything has limits," he said, circling somewhere in the grey. "Yours isn't magic. It's biological. There's a ceiling on how fast your body can rebuild cells." Another hit—the knee this time, bent sideways. "I'm going to find that ceiling. And then I'm going to push through it."
The creature's claws dug into the earth. Its breath had shortened. "You little bastard—"
WHAM. The knee again, the same joint, compounding the previous damage.
"You're dying slowly," T'Jadaka said. "And I'm not sweating yet."
"ENOUGH!!!"
The scream arrived as a physical event—a shockwave that didn't travel through the air so much as replace it. Trees flattened outward in a ring. Stone cracked. The pulse rolled across the landscape and the four runners felt it move through the ground beneath their feet half a kilometer away, felt it in their teeth.
T'Jadaka left the ground involuntarily, his body carried backward through broken timber and rubble, the smoke dispersing in every direction around the epicenter.
He pulled debris off himself and stood. Blood from the corner of his mouth. He spat.
"Guess I was playing with fire a little."
Then he looked up.
The creature's body was changing.
Not quickly—methodically. Muscles climbing over each other beneath the skin, bones snapping into new configurations with sounds that carried across the clearing. The jaw extending, the limbs thickening, the claws gouging deeper channels into the dirt just from the new weight behind them. Its height climbed past eight feet, the silhouette against the smoke no longer containing anything recognizable as human-adjacent.
What stood in front of him now was pure predator. Appetite given a body. Nothing left in the eyes that weighed anything.
T'Jadaka's head tilted back slowly, tracking the full height of it.
"...Aw, fuck."
It moved.
One punch drove the ground beneath him into a crater, the impact transmitting through his legs before he could process it. Then it had him—both hands, no ceremony—and the barrage started. Fist after fist, each one arriving before the pain from the last had finished traveling, each one heavier than what should have been physically possible from the same body.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
The sounds traveled.
It drove him into the earth. Once. Twice. A third time, each impact driving the trench deeper, the soil compacting around the shape of him. Then it took hold and dragged—carving a channel through the forest floor—before releasing.
He went up.
Arcing. Limp. The trees below him.
I think— The thought arrived from somewhere far away. —I might be dead.
He didn't register the creature's leap. Didn't register it closing the distance through the air above him. The mana-infused punch arrived without warning, and the air itself rippled visibly outward from the point of contact, a visible disturbance traveling in all directions.
T'Jadaka's body became a blur on the horizon, clearing the treeline, disappearing into the sky beyond the forest's edge.
A long, heavy silence followed.
Then the creature landed, panting heavily but grinning with savage satisfaction.
"You pissed off the wrong beast, boy..."
T'Jadaka's body lay twisted in a nest of broken trees, the splintered trunks marking the path of his crash. He was barely breathing, consciousness hanging by a thread—until he heard it.
"Pathetic…"
His eyelids fluttered.
What… Who's there? I can't see anything…
"Are you just going to lay here and wait for that thing to kill your friends? What a waste of my blood." The voice dripped with contempt, low and sharp like a blade being drawn. "I've watched you long enough… but now? I can't stand here and watch you slowly die, boy."
I don't know who you are or what you want… but I'd rather die than give you anything.
"Foolish child." The voice rumbled like distant thunder. "I don't want anything from you. Death is the coward's escape. The quitter's choice. Are you really going to let them die because of your pride?"
T'Jadaka's jaw clenched. I'm no coward. My mama didn't raise no bitch…
"Oh? That so? Well right now… you're getting bitched just lying here."
I'm no bitch!! T'Jadaka roared in his mind—until his roar became real, tearing from his throat as his eyes snapped open.
Dark tattoos began to bloom across his skin like living ink, crawling over muscle and bone with a faint glow. His chest rose with sharp, purposeful breaths.
Meanwhile, back at the battlefield, the creature staggered and exhaled hard, its monstrous form slowly shrinking as it reverted to normal.
"That… took a lot of mana," it muttered, rubbing its jaw. "I almost lost to that human… What the hell was he made of?"
It licked blood from its teeth, shaking its head. "No matter. I'll eat, get my regeneration back to full output… then I'll kill the rest of them."
Then—
A sound split the forest. A deafening, primal roar that didn't belong to the creature… followed by a blinding pillar of energy erupting from the distant treeline.
The shockwave rolled through the ground, rattling the creature's bones.
Its eyes widened.
"…No way. It can't be…"
T'Jadaka appeared in front of the creature in an instant. His face, chest, arms—even his legs—were now marked in strange tattoo-like patterns. They looked almost tribal, but with a unique design of starbursts and flame-like lines winding together as if they were alive.
"Well… would you look at that," he said, baring newly sharpened canines. "Looks like you woke something up in me. Don't know what it is… but damn, it feels good."
He glanced down at his right hand, flexing his fingers. A strange surge of energy rippled through him—overwhelming, but intoxicating.
"So what?" the creature sneered. "You're still at a disadvantage, human. You've still got only one arm and a hole in your—"
Before it could finish, the hole in his torso sealed shut and his missing arm regenerated in an instant. The sound was wet, quick, almost unnatural.
The creature's eyes widened—real fear flickering for the first time.
T'Jadaka stared at his restored arm, touched where the wound had been, and smirked. "Well I'll be damned… I can regenerate too. Cool."
This is bad… the creature thought, panic rising. My regeneration isn't at full output. If this fight drags on, he might actually kill me…
"Your face says it all," T'Jadaka said, tilting his head. "You're about to shit bricks. You know I can kill you now. And believe me, I want to—after what you did to my friends. But…" his smirk shifted into something colder, "…I'll pass on that. For now."
"You're sparing me?" the creature asked. "You don't look like the mercy type."
"I'm not," T'Jadaka said flatly. "But there are people who need to mourn the deaths you caused. And when I do kill you, I want it to be slow. I want to take my sweet, sweet time… piece by piece. And when I'm done? I still won't kill you."
The creature narrowed its eyes. "Why?"
"Because then your only purpose will be to chase me down every day. To try killing me again and again, knowing you'll never succeed. Your life will be nothing but meaningless obsession. And you'll pray for me to kill you, just to end it… but I won't."
His grin turned razor sharp, the kind of smile that got under the skin.
The creature's body trembled. Without another word, it bolted into the forest.
"Tsk… smart enough to run." T'Jadaka's eyes followed it for a moment. "Not a demi-human… but some kind of animal. A very smart monster, maybe. Whatever. I don't care anymore."
He turned and walked away.
When he reached the spring, he found Matilda and Kichirō. Both had massive holes in their chests. T'Jadaka stared for a long moment before kneeling and gently closing their eyes.
"…It was fun being with you two," he murmured. "I'm sorry I never got to say that."
He lifted them—one in each arm—holding them as gently as newborns. Something warm and wet slid down his cheeks, and a sharp pain bloomed in his chest. It hurt far worse than any blade or claw.
He didn't realize it at first—he was crying.
His face stayed stoic, but his pace quickened into a jog as he headed back toward the district.
T'Jadaka made it back to the Xing Long district. The strange tattoos that had covered his body were already gone, leaving only his usual appearance. In his arms, he carried Matilda and Kichirō.
The moment the others saw him, their expressions fell. As expected, tears came immediately. Farrah and Marla stood frozen, shocked and heartbroken at the loss of two young lives.
First Castor. Now Matilda and Kichirō.
Three members gone—too many for their small family to bear.
Six months passed.
From that day on, T'Jadaka hunted the monster relentlessly. Every lead ended in nothing. Every scent trail went cold. But he never stopped searching.
Lila never forgot what Remigio had said that day. She didn't hate him… but the warmth between them was gone. They spoke less and less.
Ruy and Vitaliya had grown closer in that time, eventually becoming a couple. But even in their happiness, they worried for T'Jadaka.
He trained without rest—day and night, over and over. Six months of eating, training, and pushing his body to the limit. They couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept.
He moved like an oiled machine.
A machine built for one purpose.
The moon hung high over the district, pale light spilling across the rooftops. Most people were asleep.
T'Jadaka was not.
He was out in the training yard, shirtless despite the cold. Steam rolled off his body with every exhale, sweat mixing with the dust beneath his feet. His knuckles were raw, split open in several places, yet he kept striking the thick wooden post in front of him. Each hit came harder than the last, the sound echoing through the night like drumbeats.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Nearby, an empty plate sat on the ground—bones stripped clean of meat, tossed aside. He had eaten, but only enough to fuel another round. His eyes were locked forward, unblinking, almost mechanical.
He wasn't counting punches. He didn't need to.
From the shadows near the doorway, Ruy stood with his arms crossed, watching. Vitaliya was beside him, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"How long has he been at it?" she whispered.
"Since sunrise," Ruy muttered. "And yesterday… same thing. Day before that too. It's like he doesn't even know what tired is anymore."
Vitaliya bit her lip. "This… this isn't training anymore. It's—"
"Obsession," Ruy finished for her.
They watched as T'Jadaka shifted from strikes to footwork, moving in sharp, sudden bursts. Even in the dark, the precision was terrifying. Every move looked meant to kill, every step a calculated attack angle.
Then he stopped.
Slowly, he raised his head, as if sensing something far away. His gaze narrowed. His breathing slowed.
"Soon…" he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for them to hear. "I'll find you. And when I do—" He slammed his fist into the post again, splintering the wood clean in half.
Neither Ruy nor Vitaliya spoke. The man standing in the yard wasn't the same T'Jadaka they knew six months ago.
"That's the two-hundredth magic post he's broken," Vitaliya said quietly, her voice carrying both awe and worry. "He might be a Viltrumlight, but… I know they have limits. Still."
Ruy didn't answer right away. The shattered halves of the reinforced training post still lay on the ground, smoke curling faintly from the impact.
"We do have limits," a calm voice came from behind them.
They turned to see Farrah standing in the doorway, arms folded, her expression unreadable in the moonlight.
"But he's not hitting his," she continued. "Not yet."
Vitaliya frowned. "You call this healthy?" She gestured toward T'Jadaka, who was already dragging another post into position like nothing had happened.
Farrah's gaze didn't leave him. "For most people, this would be suicide. For him? It's discipline. He's not just breaking posts—he's teaching his body to ignore pain, to adapt without pause. He's sharpening himself until there's nothing left but the blade."
Ruy shifted uncomfortably. "And when you sharpen a blade too much… it breaks."
Farrah didn't argue. She just kept watching as T'Jadaka set his stance again, the air around him vibrating faintly with tension.
Farrah moved before his fist could connect again, her hand catching his wrist mid-swing. The impact never came.
"That's enough, T'Jadaka," she said firmly, her eyes meeting his. "You need to rest."
He didn't even blink—just drove his other fist toward the post. She caught that one too, her grip just as unyielding.
"Let go," he said, his voice low, more warning than request.
"You need to stop this," she told him, her tone steady but not cold. "You can't let your revenge eat you alive. It already took too much from you."
His jaw clenched, muscles straining against her hold, but for a moment… he didn't move.
"Now you're going to act motherly?" T'Jadaka said, his voice edged with bitterness.
Farrah frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"'What are you talking about?'—you know damn well what I'm talking about!" His tone sharpened, and he yanked his hands free from her grip.
He took a step back, chest heaving. "You never once… truly loved me. Or cared about me. Not since I was little. Yeah, I'm grateful for how you trained me, for making me strong—but that's all you ever did. There was never a 'How was your day?' No calling me 'sweetie,' or 'honey'… hell, I can't even name a single time you hugged me. Or told me you loved me."
Farrah just stood there, her face unreadable. Ruy and Vitaliya quickly stepped in.
"T'Jadaka, calm down, bro! We're all hurting—you don't have to say stuff out of anger. That's your mom," Ruy said.
"Yeah," Vitaliya added, "she gave birth to you, took care of you as a baby. Of course she cares about you a lot."
"Oh, you're right! My bad—it's my fault for getting mad," T'Jadaka said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm so sorry, dear mother. Please, keep treating me like I'm just some random stranger because I had the audacity to grow up."
"Aye, bruh, you need to watch your mouth when you talk to Farrah," Ruy shot back. "I'm getting mad for her."
"Oh, please do," T'Jadaka snarled, his eyes flashing with something unhinged. "I've been looking for an excuse to beat someone's ass."
Vitaliya stepped between them. "Hey! Stop this, both of you! This is enough bullshit! We can't be fighting each other like this!"
"Keep your two pennies," T'Jadaka said coldly, "because nobody asked for your two cents. How's dating Mr. Wannabe-Me going, anyway? Probably not even half as good as me."
"Ruy is better than what you are right now!" Vitaliya shot back. "The old T'Jadaka was sweet, kind, and caring. Now you've let revenge and grief turn you into an asshole!"
"No," he said with a low laugh, "the assholes are the two of you, fucking when you think nobody can hear you."
Ruy's face hardened. "What did you just say?"
"Don't bother lying," T'Jadaka said. "I could smell your girl's cunt from down the hallway while I was trying to take a piss. Ever heard of scented candles?"
That one hit hard—Vitaliya slapped him without thinking.
"Ohhh~" T'Jadaka smirked, his star-shaped pupils warping into strange pentagram patterns with flowing lines. "You've got the balls to hit me? You know what I can do—" His tone suddenly shifted, sharp and dangerous. "Why are you testing my patience?"
For the first time, Vitaliya felt afraid of him.
Ruy stepped in front of her. "You're not seriously gonna hit her."
"I never said I wouldn't," T'Jadaka replied coldly, raising his hand—
—then he froze.
A soft drip hit the floor.
Water.
He looked up. Farrah was crying. For the first time in his life, he saw tears in her eyes.
"Your words cut deep, honey…" she said, her voice trembling. "Deeper than any wound I've ever felt. Hurts more than broken bones…"
Farrah didn't hesitate—she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tightly as if she feared he'd vanish if she let go.
"I've always loved you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I just… I never knew how to show it. No one ever showed me what love was—my own parents didn't."
T'Jadaka stood frozen, her words cutting through the rage like a blade.
"I wished you'd been born a girl," she admitted through her tears. "Not because I didn't want you, but because maybe then… maybe I could've figured out how to bond with you. I've spent my whole life with men trying to hurt me, to take from me, and I didn't know how to raise a boy into a man when I'd never been one myself. I was scared I'd fail you."
Her grip on him tightened, her voice trembling as she spoke faster—like if she stopped, he might walk away.
"I'm sorry if I made you feel neglected, unloved. I'm sorry if you thought you were just another responsibility. You're not. You're my baby, my heart, my everything." She began calling him every pet name imaginable—soft, silly, affectionate words that would have embarrassed any other teenage boy—but her tone was desperate, pleading. "Honey… sweetheart… my little star…"
Hearing all of that, T'Jadaka's chest finally cracked open. His knees buckled, and for the first time in his life, he truly cried—not the choked anger of before, but raw, shaking sobs.
"I'm sorry, Mom," he choked out, clinging to her like a lifeline. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" His tears came harder, spilling over until he was apologizing to everyone—Farrah, Ruy, Vitaliya—again and again.
It was the first time anyone had seen T'Jadaka completely fall apart.
Everyone in the room pulled him into a hug—one after another—until he was wrapped in a small circle of warmth. The anger from before was gone, replaced by the quiet, shaky relief of being forgiven.
Hours later, T'Jadaka lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room was still, but his mind wasn't.
God… I was acting like such a dick to everyone.
He replayed the words he'd thrown at them, every venom-laced line echoing in his head. That wasn't him—not fully, anyway. Something else had been steering the wheel, something darker.
This new aggression… it didn't feel like it belonged to him. It was sharp, primal, and hungry—like a beast pacing in his chest, waiting for an excuse to sink its teeth into something. The urge to hurt, to break, had been intoxicating in the moment… and terrifying now.
This has to be from Dad's side… he thought, clenching the sheets. The raw power that had surged through him earlier still lingered in his memory, electric and dangerous.
He made himself a promise right then.
Never again. Not unless there was no other choice.
Because as good as it felt in the fight, the side effects were devastating—his body still ached, his thoughts still swirled in violent spirals. Maybe it was because he was still young, still untrained… but if he kept tapping into that power recklessly, the line between him and the thing inside him might blur for good.
And walking that line… was already dangerous enough.
Suddenly, Lila slipped into his room, wearing a loose T-shirt and shorts. T'Jadaka glanced at her, then back at the ceiling, clearly not in the mood to talk.
"H-hey… are you okay now?" she asked, her voice a little nervous.
"If you're scared of me, you shouldn't be here right now," he muttered. "I might crash out on you too."
She tilted her head, softening her tone. "That's not true. You're more self-aware than you think, Jadaka. I don't believe you'd hurt me." She sat down beside him on the bed.
"But… earlier wasn't really you. You were hurting just as bad as the rest of us." Her eyes dropped to her lap. "Sorry I couldn't be there when you needed a hug."
"I didn't deserve a hug," he said, covering his face with a pillow. "I was a straight-up asshole to everyone… Hell, what I said to my mom, what I almost did to Vitaliya… I almost hit her. Uhh, I wish I had a rewind button."
"We all do, Jadaka…" She gently pulled the pillow away so she could meet his eyes. "But life doesn't work like that, big guy. You just keep moving forward… be better than you were yesterday."
He muttered, "Easier said than done."
That made her giggle. "Yeah… that's true."
A quiet moment passed between them before he asked, "What's up with you and Remigio?"
"We're… okay. We just don't talk as much after what he said about you. But I forgave him for it. You?"
"I forgave him too. It's not like I was trying to stop him from having happiness. That's why I just kept to myself anyway."
Her brow furrowed. "But why? I mean…" She rubbed the edge of her deer-like ear, hesitant. "Now that you know me and Vitaliya had crushes on you… why'd you push us away?"
T'Jadaka sighed, his tone turning blunt. "My people can have children… but if a man of my kind gets a woman pregnant, the fetus becomes a parasite—taking all the nutrients it can to grow as strong as possible. If the mother's body isn't compatible, both she and the baby can die."
Lila froze, her eyes wide.
"Luckily," he continued, "we're not like normal humans who can get someone pregnant on accident. We have to give consent for it to happen. And if the woman's a Viltrumlight too… both of us have to agree."
Lila blinked a few times, processing what he'd just said. "So… all this time, you weren't ignoring us because you didn't care. You were… protecting us."
T'Jadaka shrugged, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Didn't seem like much of a choice. Better you both hate me than risk… that."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, something between hurt and understanding flickering in her gaze. "You know… you made it really easy to believe you didn't care."
"Yeah," he muttered. "That was the point."
For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet wasn't uncomfortable, but heavy—like the air before a storm.
Then Lila reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. "You idiot."
He turned his head toward her, frowning. "What?"
"You could've just told me. Told us. We might've… I don't know… understood. We could've still been close without…" She trailed off, cheeks warming.
"Without what?" he asked, his voice low.
She hesitated, then looked him straight in the eyes. "Without losing you."
Something in his chest tightened at her words, but he didn't respond. He didn't know how.
Lila stood, her hand lingering on his arm for a second longer. "Get some rest, big guy. You're not the only one who needs you."
She walked out, closing the door softly behind her, leaving him staring at the ceiling—feeling the weight of her words more than any blow he'd taken in battle.
But before she could fully step away, T'Jadaka's hand closed around her wrist—firm, not hurting, but enough to stop her.
"Jadaka—?" she started, but the rest of the words caught in her throat as he gently pulled her back, guiding her down onto the bed.
In a fluid motion, he was above her, braced on either side, his shadow falling over her. She looked up, confused… and something else she couldn't quite name.
"Jadaka… what are you doing…?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.
That's when she noticed it—his pupils. Not the familiar starbursts she was used to, but sharp, intricate pentagrams, shifting faintly like they were alive. The longer she stared, the more the rest of the world seemed to fade.
"You already make me feel some type of way," he said casually, though there was an edge to his tone, "and it's… confusing, but in a good way."
Her heartbeat stumbled. Something in his gaze pinned her like a snare—predator and prey. Only this wasn't a wolf catching a deer, or a bear dominating its territory. No… this was different. This felt like being caught by something beyond nature. An apex predator that didn't belong to any world she knew, but fit here perfectly.
Her instincts screamed at her to move, but her body didn't listen. Not because she couldn't… but because she didn't want to.
Her breath caught as he leaned a little closer, his presence heavy but not crushing, his warmth seeping into her. Lila swallowed hard, realizing she could feel the faint brush of his chest against hers with each slow inhale he took.
"Why… are you looking at me like that?" she asked, her voice almost trembling—not from fear, but from something warmer, stranger.
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes never breaking from hers. "Because… I don't know what this feeling is. But it's good. And I don't want it to stop."
Her face flushed instantly. She wanted to turn her head, to break the hold his eyes had on her, but every part of her stayed locked in place. She was acutely aware of how close his hand was to hers, how his knee brushed against her leg.
Her tail—damn it, why now—gave a small twitch, betraying her.
"You're… too close," she whispered, but her hands had unconsciously moved to rest on his arm, fingers curling slightly into his skin.
"Do you want me to move?" he asked, and though his tone was casual, his voice had dropped lower, almost like a growl under the words.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she let her gaze flicker down for just a second—at the lines of his jaw, the sharpness of his collarbone peeking from his shirt—before quickly looking back up, embarrassed at herself.
"I don't… know," she admitted finally, her voice small.
Neither of them had done this before—not like this. Whatever this was, it wasn't just touching, and it wasn't just curiosity. It was that strange, magnetic pull that made her want to both run away and move closer at the same time.
And judging by the way he was breathing a little slower now, she knew he felt it too.
Her breath caught as his hand slid from her wrist to rest gently against her cheek, thumb brushing her skin like he was memorizing its texture. Neither of them spoke—there was no need. The heat in the air said everything.
Lila's fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him just slightly closer without realizing she'd done it. His eyes locked on hers, the strange pentagram pupils glowing faintly in the dim light, and she didn't feel fear anymore—just… something warm. Something she didn't have a name for.
His lips hovered a hair's breadth from hers. She could feel the tension in him, not the violent kind she'd seen earlier… but the kind that made her stomach twist in the best way.
"T'Jadaka…" she whispered, voice trembling.
And just when their mouths were about to meet—
The door creaked.
Both of them froze, eyes flicking toward it. A shadow lingered in the hallway, silent. Watching.
He didn't move away from her. If anything, he stayed exactly where he was, his warmth keeping her in place, his voice a low promise against her lips.
"We'll finish this later," he murmured.
Then—
THUMP.
The "shadow" stumbled forward into the room, followed by a yelp. Vitaliya caught herself on the doorframe while Ruy was rubbing his head, clearly from being shoved.
"…You two seriously suck at hiding," T'Jadaka deadpanned, still holding Lila under him.
"We weren't hiding! We were just… passing by!" Ruy tried, failing miserably.
"With your ears pressed to my door?" T'Jadaka's voice dropped into that dangerous tone that made Ruy stiffen.
Vitaliya, grinning way too wide, pointed at them. "Ohhh, so this is why you've been avoiding dating. Big guy's got moves~."
"Get. Out." T'Jadaka said, his pupils flashing, and both of them practically tripped over each other running out—Vitaliya still giggling, Ruy muttering something about "I was just making sure she was safe."
The door slammed shut, leaving Lila still breathless beneath him, trying to hide her blush.
"…Where were we?" he asked with a smirk.