"We're moving. Now!"
Old Man Rom grabbed Felt's arm. He didn't know if Elsa killed them because the job failed or simply to tie up loose ends, but the reason didn't matter. She was a monster, and she knew where they lived. If they stayed, the vision would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
"No, Rom. Wait..." Felt's voice was distant. "It's a vision of the future. But if everyone has seen it, the future has already changed, hasn't it? Let's see how it ends."
"My, my... if this were any other time, I might have played with those two a little longer. But right now, I have a much more delicious treat to savor," Elsa purred. Her face, which would have been elegant in any other context, was twisted into a mask of sickly, erotic anticipation. "And you? You didn't even try to run?"
"Even if I did, I wouldn't have made it far," Ayanokoji replied. His right hand was wrapped around a jagged shard of ice.
The slaughter of Rom and Felt had taken mere seconds, but for Ayanokoji, it was a sufficient window. He had scavenged one of Emilia's discarded ice spears. The sub-zero temperature was already blistering his skin, but he showed no sign of pain. His eyes were fixed on Elsa's center of gravity.
"Picking up scraps while I was eating my dessert?" Elsa giggled, her smile like a viper's strike. "I'm surprised, though. You didn't lift a finger to help them. I thought you were friends."
"We met today. We aren't friends," Ayanokoji said flatly. To him, Rom and Felt's only utility had been the few seconds of distraction they provided. He looked at the swaying, lethal woman before him. "Your target was Emilia. I'm just a traveler who helped her find a badge. Can we agree to let me walk away?"
"I'm afraid not," Elsa whispered, her eyes narrowing as a suffocating pressure filled the room. "You've become a witness. And witnesses... are so much more fun when they're opened up."
"And your motive? Is this personal or business?" Ayanokoji asked, stalling for time while he calculated his surroundings.
"I'm just a girl on a contract. But enough talk—I can't wait to feel your warm insides! Please, try to entertain me!" Elsa lunged.
She moved with the speed of a striking cobra. A single misstep meant instant death. But Ayanokoji was a product of the White Room—he was a master of every combat style known to his world, with reflexes tuned to the absolute limit of human capability. He rolled backward, the kukri blade whistling through the space where his throat had been, and thrust the ice shard forward in a counter-strike.
Elsa contorted her body mid-air—a move that defied skeletal logic—and avoided the "sure-hit" blow.
"Kiyotaka Ayanokoji... what a strange name!" Elsa's eyes sparkled with genuine excitement. "Are you a knight? No ordinary guard moves like that."
"No. I'm just an ordinary student. I've studied tea ceremonies and drawing," Ayanokoji said, his face a perfect mask of apathy. The conversation was merely a rhythm in their dance of death. Shards of ice clashed against steel, the ringing of their battle echoing through the hollow storehouse.
"Ayanokoji... you're actually fighting her?"
In the classroom, the students were paralyzed. The "nobody" from the back of the room was holding his own against a calamity-class assassin.
"He might actually win!" Horikita shouted, her eyes glued to the screen. For a moment, she forgot her resentment; she was rooting for the boy beside her.
But Ayanokoji didn't look happy. His expression was grimmer than anyone had ever seen it. "No. I can't win."
"What are you talking about? You're parrying every blow! If you find an opening—"
"No," Ayanokoji cut her off. "It looks like a stalemate, but she's playing with her food. My movements are purely defensive. I have no reach, no proper edge, and the ice is destroying the nerves in my hand. My stamina is draining twice as fast as hers. The result is already decided."
"How can you say that?! That's you up there!" Horikita's voice was desperate. She couldn't understand how he could analyze his own death with such clinical detachment.
"I am merely stating facts. That version of me is in a different world with different rules. I have no way to change the ending of a recording."
Ayanokoji turned back to the screen. He wanted to see how the "other him" handled the inevitable.
On screen, the struggle intensified. Ayanokoji's breathing remained controlled, but the ice shard was shrinking, melting from the heat of his grip and the friction of the parries. Elsa's movements were becoming more erratic, more violent, as her excitement peaked. She was a predator who had finally found a toy that wouldn't break on the first squeeze.