From the corner of his eye, he caught Yumi’s expression—

  She was tense, her fingers twitching toward her sais, ready to jump in if things went south.

  She knew what was coming.

  The officer sighed, shaking his head.

  “A shame. You showed such promise.”

  Watari didn’t move.

  He should’ve.

  Every instinct told him to get ready, to draw his sword, to bolt, something.

  But for the first time in a long time, he felt trapped.

  This wasn’t a test.

  This wasn’t some hazing ritual.

  This was a correction.

  He wasn’t looking at a man testing his resolve.

  He was looking at a man who had already decided he was a problem.

  A problem that needed to be erased.

  The other Musabori members were watching, silent.

  No gasps. No reactions.

  Just cold, detached observation.

  This is normal for them.

  He wasn’t winning this fight.

  He knew that.

  The only question was how much time he could buy.

  Then—

  Without hesitation—

  The man lunged.

  Watari barely managed to react, tilting his head to dodge the incoming bde.

  He stumbled back, skidding across the bloodied arena floor.

  His muscles screamed in protest—he had just fought twenty men, and now he had to deal with this?

  The officer didn’t let up.

  His attacks were precise, relentless, his movements refined in a way that told Watari he had killed dozens—maybe hundreds—without remorse.

  This was an execution.

  “Move, idiot!”

  Yumi’s voice rang out.

  And he did.

  Electricity surged through his body.

  His instincts kicked in just as the officer’s bde came down.

  With a sharp pivot, Watari’s form blurred—Takeminakata crackled back into existence, and in an instant, he brought the greatsword up, intercepting the attack with a deafening cng.

  The impact sent shockwaves through the air.

  For a brief moment, the officer’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “You’re fast.”

  He smirked.

  “Good. I was hoping you’d st longer than the others.”

  Watari clenched his teeth.

  “This guy’s just pying with me…”

  The officer twisted his wrist, sending a burst of pressure through his bde, forcing Watari back.

  But instead of pressing the advantage, he rexed his stance, rolling his shoulders.

  “Tell me, boy…”

  His smirk deepened.

  “Are you truly willing to go through with this? Or are you just another pretender?”

  Watari’s grip tightened.

  His mind raced.

  He couldn’t win this fight—not like this.

  And yet—

  Something inside him refused to back down.

  ?We transition to a fshback.

  Watari sat in a dimly lit room, flipping through the pages of a well-worn book.

  A child beside him, no older than six, leaned in eagerly, their small fingers tracing the illustrations.

  “Heroes never kill,” the child said, eyes bright with certainty.

  Watari let out a quiet chuckle.

  “That’s what the story says.”

  “But real heroes don’t, right?” the child pressed, tilting their head.

  He hesitated, the weight of his past pressing against his tongue.

  “Heroes… do what’s necessary.”

  The child furrowed their brow, clearly not satisfied.

  “Necessary like how?”

  Watari exhaled, gncing at the window, where the faint sounds of the outside world bled through.

  He didn’t know how to answer that.

  Not in a way that a child could understand.

  But before he could respond, the child asked something sharper, something that dug into him.

  “Are you gonna be a hero that kills?”

  The question hung in the air longer than it should have.

  Watari forced a smile, ruffling the child’s hair.

  “Go to sleep, kid.”

  But long after the nterns dimmed and the children drifted off,

  That question gnawed at him.

  “Are you gonna be a hero that kills?”

  He still didn’t have an answer.