Three years into the past, the sun hammered down on the open training ground. Dust puffed in small clouds around the bare feet of T'Jadaka and Shikiba as they circled each other, their harsh breathing the only sound besides the distant rustle of trees. At the edge of the dirt, their shadows stretching long against the earth, Yui and Kinjiro watched.
"Seems like even after six months of training and reading all the scrolls of Yamazato-Ryū, he's already getting the hang of it," Yui murmured, her arms crossed.
"It would seem so," Kinjiro replied, his eyes narrowed, tracking every twitch of T'Jadaka's muscles. "After all, we have to take into account that he's a Mazoku, too."
Yui leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the way T'Jadaka shifted his weight—a fraction of a second before Shikiba even launched an attack. "His reaction time has increased significantly. It's like he can see the path of the attack and just... get out of the way."
"You're right." A flicker of understanding crossed Kinjiro's face. "I don't think he's noticed yet, but he's unlocked the ability of Pre-initiative."
"What's Pre-initiative?"
"A simple technique at face value—it's sensing the intent of your opponent. To put it simply, it's a form of foresight on its most basic level."
"So, Shikiba is being predictable?"
"Yes and no." Yui's eyebrow shot up in a silent question, and Kinjiro held up a single finger. "Foresight is the ability to predict and counter an opponent's next move. By identifying an adversary's intentions, skilled practitioners can strategically neutralize threats and maintain the upper hand." He raised a second finger as a sharp crack of magical energy echoed from the center of the field. "However, this can be countered by an opponent being too fast or too strong. Just knowing what they're going to do doesn't mean you can stop it. It's like seeing a bullet coming toward you—knowing it's there doesn't mean you can move out of the way in time."
"Okay… so what makes it so different from Pre-initiative?"
"Pre-initiative goes beyond standard foresight," Kinjiro explained, his voice low. "It involves reading an opponent so deeply that you anticipate their actions before they even decide to make them. You counter before their strike even begins. This is how I kept up with Raiken despite being slower; I was winning exchanges by moving first."
"Ah… I see. So how did you lose when you had Pre-initiative? If you could read him better than with traditional foresight?"
Kinjiro let out a short, dry laugh, rubbing his chin as he looked toward the clouds. "How could I put this… It was like facing a primal predator that possessed the tactical mind of a human. His ability to evolve mid-combat meant that no matter how deeply I read his intent, his growth outpaced my capacity to counter him. Ultimately, his raw adaptability rendered my Pre-initiative obsolete."
In the ring, Shikiba lashed out. Crescent moons of magical energy whistled through the air. T'Jadaka's expression remained a mask of stone.
I still can't see his slashes… but…
Without breaking his stride, T'Jadaka drifted through the assault. He didn't jump or dive; he simply tilted his head here, shifted a shoulder there, the magical blades hissing past his skin by a hair's breadth as he walked calmly toward his opponent.
I can feel them moving in the air. I don't know how... it just feels natural.
Shikiba's face twisted into a scowl. With a frustrated roar, he rushed forward, his fists a blur. T'Jadaka's hands moved in perfect arcs, parrying every strike with a rhythmic thud-thud-thud. Shikiba's eyes widened as his knuckles were knocked aside, his own blocks becoming frantic.
What the fuck is going on? Six months ago he needed his marks just to keep up, and now I'm the one on the back foot!? Even though I was superior to him? And not only that…
Shikiba lunged with a heavy straight punch. T'Jadaka dipped his hips, the wind of the fist ruffling his hair. He snapped back with a koken strike—his wrist bent sharply—the joint grazing just under Shikiba's chin with a sickening clack.
He's getting faster and stronger even while we fight! His technique is becoming... superior!
Desperate, Shikiba leaped backward, putting twenty feet between them. He swung his arms wildly, sending a flurry of magical slashes that tore through the air, shredding T'Jadaka where he stood.
"Ha! Even after our training, you'll still end up—"
"Dead?"
Shikiba froze. The voice hadn't come from the cloud of dust in front of him—it was right against his ear. A cold shiver snaked down his spine.
"Yeah, I saw that shit coming."
Shikiba spun, his fist cocked back, but his wrist was caught in a grip like an iron vice.
"How did you—"
"Yamazato-Ryū…" T'Jadaka became a whirlwind. His hands shifted shapes—spear-fingers, palms, knuckles—striking the soft tissue of Shikiba's neck, the nerves of his solar plexus, the hinges of his jaw. Each blow landed with a dull, hollow thud that signaled a direct hit to a vital point. "Rekkaryū no Nagare! With…" He buried his fingers into the muscle at the back of Shikiba's neck, squeezing hard enough to make his vision swim. "Uroko Kake… and end it with…"
T'Jadaka grabbed Shikiba's leading arm, stepped deep into his guard, and pivoted his hips with explosive power.
"Shisen Nage!"
Shikiba hit the dirt with a bone-jarring impact that knocked the air from his lungs. He lay there, limbs twitching, eyes glazed as he stared at the sky, his body refusing to obey.
"You son of a bitch… What did you do to me, you bastard!?"
T'Jadaka walked over and looked down at him. "Well I hit every nerve point in your body. Since we were sparring they're not fatal, however you won't be moving for a while. I just wish I hit one so you couldn't open that dumbass mouth of yours." He planted a foot on Shikiba's chest. "And for the record, I'm a son of a whore, not a bitch. Because my mama didn't raise no bitches, but I'm stepping on one right now."
Purple mana erupted from Shikiba's body, his skin darkening. "You fuckin' common trash! I'll fucking rip your fucking guts out and shove them so far up your ass that they'll come out of your faggot ass mouth you'll be tasting your own shit for months! Then I'll-"
T'Jadaka pressed his foot onto Shikiba's face. "May I remind you that you're the one paralyzed on the ground right now? If this was a real fight to the death, you'd be the one dead, not me." He leaned down, his hand on his knee, looking deep into Shikiba's eyes. "You need to face reality now. You've been surpassed and you're no longer the biggest fish here. Well, in terms of people around your age at least."
Shikiba glared up at him with pure rage before a loud clap cut through the tension.
"Ok you two, that's enough sparring today," Kinjiro called out, his voice calm but firm.
T'Jadaka removed his foot.
"You two need to take a break for the day," Kinjiro said, approaching them. "I'll take him to the doctor and see how long he'll be like this."
"You hit me with a move that you don't even know how long it lasts!?" Shikiba shrieked.
"Yes indeedy."
"WHY!?!"
"Because it's fuck you till I die that's why," T'Jadaka said flatly. "I can't believe you even have the nerve and audacity to think I wouldn't do anything bad to you after you kicked my mom's casket into the air."
"I will eat your fucking bleeding heart out of your chest!"
Kinjiro sighed, hoisting Shikiba's limp form over his shoulder and starting to walk off.
"I'll fucking destroy you, you fucking cunt! I'll make your mother regret not swallowing you from the first burst of seaman—"
A sharp chop to the neck from Kinjiro cut the tirade short, knocking Shikiba out cold.
"Ok now, that's enough of that," Kinjiro muttered. "Just rest, you little devil."
T'Jadaka slumped to the ground, grabbing a waterskin and taking a long drink as Yui walked over.
"I see that you have mastered four techniques already," she said, her tone impressed.
"So you noticed that one too, huh?" T'Jadaka grunted, wiping his mouth.
"I noticed you used Kami-e: Kasumi Zanshin, where you delayed your movements at the very last second before getting out of the way, making an afterimage." She glanced over at the spot where he had been "dismembered," watching the illusion slowly vanish. "But to be honest with you, that is very convincing, not gonna lie."
"Yeah, it says that 'To perform this move you need to move fast enough to leave behind your outer shell,' whatever the fuck that means. After a few tries, I managed to master it."
The heavy silence of the training grounds lingered like a physical weight, punctuated only by the ragged, rhythmic whistle of T'Jadaka's breath as he fought to reclaim his lungs.
He collapsed onto the sun-scorched dirt, the hard-packed earth offering no comfort as the adrenaline fire died down, replaced by a deep, pulsing ache. He fumbled for his waterskin, the lukewarm liquid a godsend as he drank deeply, his eyes tracking the lazy dance of dust motes in the stagnant air. Yui drifted toward him, her footsteps as silent as a ghost on the parched ground.
She stood there for a silent heartbeat, her expression an unreadable mask before sinking onto the dirt a few feet away. In the distance, the sharp, rhythmic ring of steel and the guttural barks of other trainees began to bleed back into the space, reclaiming the silence.
"The way you've just... absorbed that style," she remarked, her voice a low, steady hum that vibrated in the quiet. "And mastering our clan's techniques in only six months? It's more than just impressive; it's borderline unnatural."
T'Jadaka gave a noncommittal shrug, his eyes fixed on the hazy horizon. "I just move at a different speed than the rest of these hacks. It's not that deep, Yui."
"Actually, it is," she countered, her tone sharpening with a sudden, cold intensity. "Because that's the same monstrous capacity your old man possesses."
The waterskin froze halfway to his lips. He cut a jagged look at her, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "And what makes you so damn sure it's his legacy? My mother was a natural, too—a survivor. She had to master the blade and her own two fists on the fly just to keep breathing."
"I know the legends of the Yamazato," Yui admitted, her gaze steady. "But you're operating on a completely different timeline. Your growth rate... it's higher than any Viltrumlight I've ever even heard of."
"We're fucking teenagers," he shot back, a dry smirk tugging at his lips. "How many Viltrumlights could you have possibly crossed paths with in your short life?"
She pouted, leaning in to bump her shoulder against his with a rare, fleeting flash of playfulness. "I've seen—and killed—enough assholes to know the difference when I see it."
A brief, ragged laugh cut through the tension, but it withered almost instantly into a fragile, melancholy smile on Yui's face. T'Jadaka caught the shift like a scent on the wind.
"What's weighing on you, Yui?"
She shook her head, her gaze drifting down to her hands as she traced the rough, thick calluses on her palms. "It's nothing... really. Just ignore it."
"You can't just drop a look like that and expect a friend to look the other way," he pressed, his voice calm but unyielding.
She let out a long, shaky exhale. "It's just... the reality of being a Stygian. When people look at me, they see the monster before they ever see the girl. My clan? We're a lineage of killers. Assassins. Professional murderers, no matter how much gold you wrap it in." Her voice dropped to a strained, jagged whisper. "Most people are too goddamn terrified to even stand in my shadow, let alone actually get close."
She paused, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. "The few who weren't scared? They were worse. They played games with my head just to get a taste of that power—the safety of having an assassin's protection—without ever giving a single shit about me."
Her eyes lifted to his, shimmering with a sudden, raw vulnerability that cut deep. "I'm scared, Jadaka. Scared you're running the same game—that I'm just a fucking shortcut for you to get strong enough to protect those friends of yours back home."
T'Jadaka opened his mouth to snap back, but she cut him off with a weary, paper-thin smile.
"I know I come from a house of monsters, but I'm the only one left with a goddamn moral compass. I only put down the ones who actually deserve it. I just... I need to know if I'm anything more than just a fucking free gym to you."
He didn't offer some cheap platitude. Instead, he reached out and gently ruffled her hair, his touch uncharacteristically soft. "Can't say I blame you for being paranoid. In a lawless shithole like this, skepticism is a goddamn survival trait. But to be real with you? That's not my style."
He gestured vaguely toward the other trainees milling about. "I don't give a damn about the Stygian Clan or your status as some elite assassin. To me, you're just a person, plain and simple. Status is what makes people fake; power just turns them into absolute assholes. Your family might be killers, but you still manage to actually care about the people around you, and that's what matters to me. I'm here because you're making me a beast, not because I'm looking for some goddamn training montage."
A single tear broke free, carving a path through the grime on her cheek. She swiped it away with a quick, defiant motion, but the slight tremor in her hands gave her away. "Jadaka... Thank you. That means more than you can imagine." She turned fully toward him, the sadness replaced by a fierce, burning light in her eyes.
Five Weeks Later: Return to the Present
The voice was a low, mocking sing-song that dragged him out of the black. "Hey~ Time to wake up, buddy."
Vision flickered, a jagged mess of gray and black that slowly sharpened into the harsh glare of a single, swinging lightbulb. The shadows danced against the damp walls, blurring into silhouettes that wouldn't stay still.
"Hello, Michael. I've been looking for you. And I have to say... you hid pretty good, too."
Michael tried to shift, but his wrists were locked. Rough hemp bit into his skin, pulled tight behind the back of a wooden chair. He looked down, the cold air of the room raising goosebumps across his bare chest and thighs.
"Where the fuck am I..?" Michael's voice was a dry rasp. He looked down, then snapped his head back up, panic flaring. "And why the hell am I naked!?"
WHACK.
A massive, slick tendril whipped out of the dark, slamming into his jaw with the force of a sledgehammer. The world tilted. The chair groaned and gave way, crashing onto its side with Michael still lashed to it.
"Ah! Shit!"
"You must have forgotten what kind of situation you're in, Mr. Michael."
The tendril didn't retreat; it slithered over his throat, a cold, muscular weight that began to squeeze. It hauled the chair—and him with it—back into an upright position with a violent jerk.
"You've been a very, very naughty man. And I need you to know that you have no choice or any third options in this situation. It's either follow my instructions..."
Two glowing green orbs ignited in the shadows, fixed on him with a hungry, unblinking focus. The grip around his windpipe tightened, cutting off his air until his pulse thudded in his ears.
"Or I'm going to eat you. Do you understand?"
Michael nodded, his chin hitting his chest as the pressure vanished.
"Good call."
The tentacle uncoiled from his neck with a wet, sliding sound, retreating back into the gloom. Michael gasped, the air rushing into his lungs in a jagged, burning wave.
"Now... My first question. Why did you kill Maximiano?"
Michael's jaw worked, his throat clicking as he tried to find his voice, but the shadow cut him off before he could start.
"And before you even consider lying to me, just know that you left your fingerprints all over the dresser. So I know you killed him and took the money."
"I don't know..." Michael's voice was a broken whisper. "Me and Julio were guarding the front of the warehouse... suddenly some voice spoke out to me. Before I even knew it, I was in the office. I'd killed him, apparently."
"Do you really think I'm that naive?" the voice challenged, dripping with a cold, clinical boredom. "I've done some digging. I know Jeremy was your son. I found his body down in that slave pit. It looks to me like you wanted revenge for his death, lost control, and killed Maximiano yourself."
"Even if you're right, that still doesn't account for how his entire task force got wiped out!" Michael barked, his desperation flaring. "You know as well as I do that I wasn't the one who fuckin' killed them."
"Then do you have any idea who did it?"
"When I finally came to, there were magic letters glowing on my hand," Michael said, his eyes wide as he stared into the dark. "They said, 'T'Jadaka sends his regards.' Whoever that is... he's the one Osvaldo should be looking for."
The silence that followed was heavy. The glowing green eyes didn't blink. "Who the fuck named a child that?"
"I don't fucken know!? The fuck you asking me—"
SMACK.
The tentacle whipped out of the dark, a blur of muscle that caught Michael across the mouth. His head snapped to the side, the force of the blow splitting his lip instantly.
"AH! What the fuck—" Michael spat a glob of crimson onto the floor. "Was that for!?"
"You better talk to me correct," the voice purred, the green eyes narrowing. "I will kill you for being disrespectful."
"Ok big brother... It's my fault. Shit." Michael's voice was a low, defeated rasp.
"That explains how you killed him," the voice mused, the green eyes drifting in the dark. "So I'm guessing you consciously took the money, though."
"Damn right I took it," Michael spat, his eyes flashing with a sudden, jagged heat. "That motherfucker killed my son. He can rot in hell for all I care. I might have been under some kind of spell when I did the deed, but he still deserved to die."
The shadows went silent for a long, heavy moment.
"If you think I should die over some money, then get it over with," Michael challenged, his voice trembling but firm. "Because I don't regret shit."
A tentacle whipped out of the darkness, the tip as sharp as a razor. It sliced through the hemp ropes with a single, effortless flick.
"Nah... I won't kill you over the money," the voice purred. "My job was to find out who killed Maximiano and eliminate everyone involved. You were clearly a puppet. My instructions will be adjusted... I'm more interested in the manipulator now."
Michael stood, his legs shaky as he rubbed the raw, red skin of his wrists.
"Your clothes are at the exit."
Michael paused, looking back into the void where the green eyes still burned. "Hold on... I have one last question for you. Why did you strip me naked!?"
"You expected me to eat through your clothes?"
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Michael's face went pale. "Nevermind... I regret asking."
The lights hummed to life—a harsh, blinding straight line cutting through the gloom toward the exit. "You said my clothes are at the front?"
Magliana family Mansion-Osvaldo's office
Osvaldo sat at his heavy oak desk, his gaze drifting out the window. Below, the rhythmic, back-breaking movement of his slaves in the cotton fields provided a steady backdrop to the quiet of his office. The landline on his desk chirped, breaking his trance. He reached out and stabbed the button.
"Who is it?"
"Hey, just thought I'd give you a call after a long trip," Seok Kwan's voice crackled through the speaker.
Osvaldo reached for a decanter, the dark red wine swirling as he filled a glass. "Tell me you got me some good news today," he muttered, taking a slow sip. "Because I've been in a bad mood ever since you've been gone."
"You didn't take your rage out on some random staff again, did you?"
"I did."
"Who?"
"Mrs. Adoración."
There was a beat of stunned silence on the other end. "Sir, what the actual fuck!? Didn't she raise you!? She's your favorite maid!"
"Yeah, I did feel bad after all that," Osvaldo admitted, swirling the wine in his glass. "But some new bitch I hired fucked up my crème brûlée, and I Batista Bombed that innocent old lady." He took a long, deep swig. "Funny how she's so nice... to the point she told me not to fire that hoe."
"Yeah, you need to fix that," Seok Kwan sighed, his voice turning professional. "But enough of the small shit. I found the guy who killed Maximiano."
Osvaldo's hand froze mid-sip. He pivoted his chair toward the phone, his expression hardening into a mask of calm, lethal anger. "Who the fuck was it..?"
"It was a guard named Michael Maxten. He told me he was mind-controlled into killing Maximiano. He also said he took all the money from the warehouse, too."
"That fuckin' little cockroach… I hope you made him suffer."
"Yeah, I took care of it. Don't worry about it."
Osvaldo leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "But I know no normal guy can kill the task force. Did you find out who did it?"
"No, I don't. But all I got is a name. Michael said it was T'Jadaka."
Osvaldo blinked, the name tasting foreign and jagged in his mind. "How the fuck am I suppose to write that shit?"
"Fuck you asking me for!? This is the first time I ever heard that name, too."
"So this… 'T'Jadaka' or whoever the fuck this person is," Osvaldo growled. "Do you have a MO, age and gender, why did they do it... or anything else other than just a name?"
"That's all I know. Whoever this fucker is, they're pretty fuckin' smart. This isn't no fuckin' random gang or goons. Whoever this is, is just one fucker who knows too much."
A second line on Osvaldo's desk began to ring, the light flashing insistently.
"Hold on," Osvaldo muttered. "I got another call."
He clicked the button, putting Seok on hold.
Osvaldo hit the flashing button for the second line. "Who is this?"
"This is Eligio, Osvaldo."
"Ah, good that you called. I just lost a warehouse full of slaves after my—"
"So you're going to act like you did nothing, you mother fucker!?" Eligio roared, his voice distorted by the speaker's limit.
Osvaldo's brow furrowed. "Woah, woah... what the fuck did I do?"
"So you're going to sit on your ass and lie to me like you didn't just attack my district!?"
"Do me a favor," Osvaldo said, his voice dropping into a dangerous low, "and pretend I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Last night, some kid with star eyes attacked a few of my slave camps." Eligio stood by his window, staring out at the smoldering ruins of his skyline, where several buildings had been leveled to the foundation.
"He killed over a hundred thousand of my men and freed over three hundred thousand slaves... and he spared one of them just to say, 'Mr. Osvaldo sends his regards for killing his nephew!' I didn't fucking kill him!"
Osvaldo went rigid. This has to be T'Jadaka's doing… He's not just attacking me, he's trying to pin the whole world on my head!
"What? You got a dick in your mouth or something?" Eligio spat. "Got nothing to say, you fuck!?"
"First of all, watch how you talk to me," Osvaldo growled. "Second, I never attacked you. There is some little—"
The phone chirped again. Another line, another flashing light.
Osvaldo rubbed his face, his skin hot with frustration. "Oh my fucking god! Hold on, I need to put you on hold for a second."
"YOU BETTER NO—"
Osvaldo slammed the hold button. "I need a fucking merging button on this bitch," he muttered to the empty room. "I can't be dealing with this shit." He hit the third line. "What now!?"
"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKIN' MIND!?" Seong-Ho's voice exploded from the phone.
Osvaldo winced, jerking the receiver away from his ear. "What the fuck are you on about!? I just put my nephew to rest a week ago. Now I have you assholes calling me up saying I did something!"
"Don't act like you're some saint! Last night I had a kid going around killing my pimps—the ones who make me the best money—and some of my VIP toms! The kid even busted into my office after slaughtering my guards, saying 'Xing Long is under Osvaldo's control, he doesn't want anything to do with you anymore'."
Osvaldo's eyes widened. He hit two districts in the same night!? "Let me guess... the mother fucker has stars for eyes, huh?"
"Yes! How does that fuckin' matter!?"
Osvaldo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose until it hurt. "Dios mío, este puto pequeño cabrón de T'Jadaka... Voy a volarle la sesera… Hold on, I'm gonna put you on hold for a second."
"Osvaldo, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU—"
Click.
Osvaldo switched back to the first line, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Seok Kwan!"
"Damn," Seok answered, his voice calm despite the chaos. "It's only been a few minutes and you sound pissed. What's wrong?"
"Well, apparently this asshole Jadaka is a kid who is going around pissing off the other overlords and playing on my name! Hell, in one night, he destroyed Seong-Ho and Eligio's shit!"
"Damn, that little bastard really is smart..." Seok Kwan's voice was low, calculating. "Smarter than I thought. Did they give you any details I can work with?"
The desk phone didn't just ring; it erupted. Every single line on the console began to flash in a frantic, strobe-light rhythm, the noise a physical assault on the room.
"AHHH!! ¡Si tuviera una maldita bomba nuclear, se la tiraría sobre todas estas perras!" Osvaldo roared, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated venom.
Seok Kwan jerked the phone away from his ear. "Holy shit! Sir, the fuck!?"
"Look, all I know is he might live in the Xing Long because he told Seong-Ho. And that this bitch has star eyes! Bring your ass back here ASAP! I need to talk to these fuckin' temper-tantrum-ass bitches before they burn my house down!"
Seok Kwan went deathly still. "Wait... did you say star—"
Click.
Osvaldo slammed the receiver down, leaving Seok Kwan standing in the sudden silence of the line.
Seok Kwan stared at the handset, the dial tone a dull, mocking hum. Star eyes...
The realization hit him like a physical blow to the gut. Is it Raiken? No... he said a kid. His eyes widened, his pulse beginning to hammer against his ribs. No... no, no, no... this can't be possible.
He didn't waste another second. He turned and began to move, his pace an urgent blur. He needed to get back to the Inside. Fast.