The Duelist Exterminator moved swiftly through the shadowed alleys of Domino City. His trench coat, dark and weatherworn, snapped behind him in the wind like the tail of a hunted beast. The city lights flickered above like blinking eyes, and the wind whispered secrets between rusted fire escapes and sagging wires. In his arms, wrapped in an aged velvet cloth, he cradled the Millennium Puzzle—its gold edges barely visible beneath the folds.
The Puzzle felt heavier now. Not in mass, but in the burdens it carried. It pulsed with memory, its shape pressing against his side like a constant reminder of choices long past and destinies entwined in shadows. His fingers, calloused and veined with age, tightened slightly around it, as if fearing it might vanish or explode at any moment.
Then came the cough.
Harsh, sudden—violent. He turned his head and buried it into the crook of his elbow, but the sound echoed off the alley walls like a gunshot. His knees buckled momentarily, and he leaned against a rusted lamppost, panting.
"Damn this body…" he wheezed. His breath rattled with every word. "Not now. Not this close."
The Millennium Puzzle shimmered faintly through the cloth, casting a golden glint. Almost mockingly. Almost knowingly.
And then—footsteps.
His eyes darted over his shoulder. A grimace cracked across his lips like a scar reopening.
Joey Wheeler.
The blond-haired duelist charged down the sidewalk, fury painted across every line of his face. His fists clenched, his eyes narrowed, and his Duel Disk already strapped to his arm, glowing with a seething crimson energy.
"You bastard!" Joey roared, pointing at the older man like an accusation. "You think you can just run after what you did?!"
The Exterminator swore under his breath, spinning on his heel with a scowl that deepened the scars etched into his face. He'd hoped the Rare Hunter would last longer against Joey — at least long enough to slow the kid down and buy him some time. But the duelist's stubbornness had cut through his trap faster than expected, and now there was no chance to regroup.
Cursing his miscalculation, he snapped his leg sideways with surprising strength, kicking a dented metal trash can into the alleyway. It clanged and clattered, tumbling violently down the path like a silver boulder, aiming straight for Joey.
"HEY!" Joey shouted, leaping to the side as it rolled past. "Real mature, jackass!"
But the Exterminator was already gone.
He vanished into a thinner alley, the scent of iron and rot chasing behind him. His boots slammed against cracked pavement, ducking beneath a dangling clothesline and skidding across a slick puddle left by an overworked air conditioner.
Keep moving. Keep moving, he told himself. If he gets within range… I'm done.
He turned sharply into another narrow corridor, this one barely wide enough for his shoulders. He pressed his back flat against the cold brick wall, listening—his breath harsh and uneven. Pain pulsed through his chest again. Like a drumbeat out of sync. His fingers trembled slightly, but he steadied them.
Then Joey's voice came crashing down the corridor like thunder.
"C'mon, you coward! FACE ME!"
The Exterminator's right eye twitched.
He didn't fear duels—not anymore. But he didn't want one. Not today. Not when it meant delay. Not when his mission was almost over. There was no paycheck left for this—no employer still watching. The job was finished, and the only thing left now was time. Time he didn't have.
If Joey caught him within fifty paces, he could invoke the Ante Duel Protocol. He would be locked into a duel whether he wanted it or not. A divine contract bound by ancient magic—one could not refuse, not if both duelists were in range.
So he had to keep moving.
Joey burst around the corner, Duel Disk flaring to life. His sneakers screeched on the pavement as he adjusted course, shouting, "You don't get to run, Monster! You killed Yugi!"
The Exterminator didn't reply.
He ducked beneath a bent chain-link fence, emerging on the other side near an old city park—long abandoned. A crumbling fountain stood at its center, weeds rising up from cracked stone. The statue of an angel lay headless nearby.
The wind howled through the park like the ghosts of duels past.
The Exterminator sprinted across it, his breath catching in ragged gulps. Joey chased behind him, but with every step, the distance widened. The younger man's fury gave him speed, but the Exterminator had purpose. Desperation lent him wings.
"You hear me?!" Joey screamed from behind. "You're not walkin' away from this!!"
But the wind carried the words away.
The Exterminator finally stopped behind the Domino Natural History Museum, tucked away in the city's quietest district. Ivy clung to the brick walls, the vines swaying like the fingers of some forgotten guardian. It was the only part of town untouched by sirens or neon.
He moved into the museum's back courtyard—a calm space where nature had slowly reclaimed its ground. The distant hum of traffic was all that reminded him of the city beyond.
And there—on a bench by a marble sundial—sat a young boy with tousled blonde hair and a Duel Disk resting at his side.
Connor Hawkins.
Nearby, Arthur Hawkins, the esteemed archaeologist, stood with his niece Rebecca, deep in conversation about some artifact display. Their voices were low, focused, oblivious to the visitor that had crept into their circle.
But Connor noticed.
His blue eyes widened as they locked with the Exterminator's. Surprise flashed across his face, followed quickly by wariness. He stood slowly, brushing his palms against his cargo pants.
"You?" Connor said, voice guarded.
He took a hesitant step forward. Despite the age difference, his back was straight, his chin lifted—more confident than the last time they'd met.
"You were at Dartz's fortress," the boy continued. "The guy with the banish deck. The one who—"
The Exterminator raised a hand, silencing him with a soft gesture.
"I remember," he said, voice low and hoarse. "But I'm not here to duel, Connor."
The boy's brow furrowed. He didn't lower his guard.
The Exterminator slowly reached into his coat and removed a thin metal case. It clicked open with a hiss of released pressure, revealing eight radiant location cards. They glowed faintly with the unmistakable light of Duelist Kingdom technology—each one a pass to the final rounds of the tournament.
Connor blinked in disbelief. "Those are—"
"Locator Cards," the Exterminator confirmed. "All yours."
Connor stared. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't speak. The wind tousled his bangs, and he instinctively reached up to brush them from his face.
"What's the catch?" he asked finally.
"Just let me walk away."the Exterminator said.
"Connor's eyes narrowed.
"Why?" he asked.
The Exterminator turned slightly, his gaze lifting to the gray sky above. His shoulders slumped—just slightly. The weight of years seemed to press against him.
"I have someone to see," he said. His voice was steadier now, but quieter. "Someone who hasn't seen me in years."
Connor didn't respond immediately. He crossed his arms, not entirely convinced.
"My grandson," the Exterminator added. His eyes softened in a way that seemed impossible for a man with such a name.
Connor's stance faltered.
The Exterminator's expression—grim and stoic for so long—cracked just a little. His brow creased, and his lips trembled almost imperceptibly. He looked old. Tired. Not defeated, but burdened. Like a soldier walking off a battlefield knowing the war would outlive him.
"Before this heart gives out," he said. "I just want to see him. Once."
Connor's lips pressed into a thin line. He looked down at the location cards. Eight of them. Enough for him and everyone he trusted.
He looked up again. The man was no longer holding them aggressively. No threat lingered in the air. There was just… stillness.
"…You're quitting the tournament?" Connor asked.
The Exterminator nodded.
"Voluntarily," he said.
He extended the cards further.
Connor's hand hovered uncertainly. His brow knit in hesitation. Behind him, Arthur and Rebecca still hadn't noticed. Their conversation continued, casual and unaware.
After several long seconds, Connor reached out—and took the cards.
"Alright," he said.
The Exterminator's lips twitched into a small, grateful smile—a flicker of something once human behind his eyes.
They nodded at each other—no handshake, no hug, no drawn-out farewell. Just the silent pact between two duelists.
He passed a statue of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon near the courtyard and slipped into the night. Arthur and Rebecca never saw him.
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