Toki forced his body forward, dragging each breath through burning lungs. His ribs screamed, his muscles shook, and his femur pulsed with searing agony where Smith's low kick had nearly snapped it in half. Every step was torment, but he refused to collapse.
Smith gave him no room to breathe. His fists—monstrous now, swollen with the savage clarity of Apex Instinct—pounded down in endless rhythm. The boy's flesh turned purple beneath the storm of strikes, his blood soaking the dirt, his skin splitting under the merciless barrage.
"Stay down, boy!" Smith roared, his voice raw with both command and desperation. "You won't outlast me! Not here, not now!"
But Toki's answer was silence—silence, and forward momentum.
I have to close the distance. Even if he kills me for it… I have to.
Every defense he had so painstakingly built over months was unraveling before his eyes. The Iron Gate—his proud imitation of Smith's impregnable wall—was splintering beneath the onslaught. Each block trembled, each deflection cracked under the weight of those inhuman fists.
His vision blurred. The clearing tilted and swayed, light leaking from the edges of his eyes. He could feel unconsciousness tugging at him, luring him toward surrender.
But surrender was death. And he had promised himself—never again.
Toki lunged, taking a fist directly to the ribs, feeling the bone crack. He stumbled but didn't stop. Smith's elbow smashed across his jaw, teeth rattling loose, but still he surged closer. The Iron Gate shattered piece by piece, but Toki wrapped his arms around Smith's frame in a desperate embrace.
"Got you," he hissed through broken teeth.
Smith's answer was another flurry of close-range strikes. His fists hammered into Toki's back and ribs, each blow collapsing more of his body. Blood spattered across Smith's face, dripping down his beard.
But then—impact.
Toki drove his forehead forward, crashing into Smith's skull. A flash of white split Smith's vision.
Another headbutt.
And another.
Their foreheads cracked together again and again, blood spilling from both, dripping down into their eyes and onto their lips. Every strike felt like it would split Toki's skull open, but he refused to stop.
Smith staggered. His barrage weakened, the rhythm faltering. His breath grew heavier, his focus slipping.
Bernard's voice carried across the field, hoarse and astonished.
"He's forcing him back… He's breaking through Apex Instinct itself!"
Ozvold's fingers tightened around his violin case, his mismatched eyes wide.
Impossible… the boy's will is crushing the beast inside Smith.
Smith felt it too. The clarity of Apex Instinct—his trump card, his perfected state of survival—was dissolving. The precision, the inhuman speed, the monstrous rhythm that had always carried him through battle… it was slipping away beneath the unrelenting madness of Toki's defiance.
With a grunt, Toki hooked his left leg behind Smith's, tripping him just slightly, binding him in place. Then he leaned back, his body trembling, eyes blazing.
Smith froze when he saw them.
Toki's pupils—no longer steady—began to dilate and compress in violent rhythm, as though caught between collapsing into nothing and expanding to devour the world. Behind the exhaustion, behind the blood and the ruin of his flesh, burned a fire that threatened to ignite the entire clearing.
Smith's heart jolted. For a moment, he thought he was staring at himself—not the man he was, but the monster he had once been, the one that had clawed its way out of despair through violence.
He's close. Close to the Apex… No—something beyond it.
But then the boy faltered. The pupils flickered, never staying wide enough, never collapsing narrow enough. He wasn't there yet. He was teetering on the edge, not quite falling in.
Smith steadied his stance, raising his guard. "Not enough," he muttered. "You're not there yet, Toki."
But Toki's lips curled, blood staining his teeth in a crimson grin.
"Then I'll tear it open myself."
He lowered his right arm, letting it dangle, swaying back and forth. His shoulder rolled, his knuckles dragging lightly against the ground. Slowly, he began to swing it, faster, tighter, each motion carving through the air. His fist slammed again and again into Smith's defense, hammering the Iron Gate.
Smith's arms shook with each impact. He's stronger… he's getting stronger with every strike.
Toki's blows came faster, heavier. Each punch was like a drumbeat, echoing in the marrow of their bones. Bernard could feel it in his chest, the rhythm of inevitability.
Smith dug his heels into the dirt, refusing to budge. He gritted his teeth, pressing the Iron Gate against the storm. "You'll never break through!"
But then—Toki vanished.
Smith's eyes widened. For a heartbeat, he had lost him.
"Where—?"
He looked down.
Toki was crouched low, his right fist pressed against the earth like an anchor, his whole body coiled around it. His left leg was braced against Smith's, locking him in place. The muscles of his back and shoulders quivered, a storm wound tight into a single point.
His golden eyes burned, unwavering, unshaken.
This is it, Toki thought. All of me, in one blow.
He pulled. His entire body arched upward, legs, spine, shoulders, every tendon straining, dragging his weight into the fist. The earth cracked beneath his heels as he drove upward, his right arm exploding forward.
Smith's instincts screamed.
"—Chains of Fate!"
From his broken fingers spilled threads of pale light, weaving into spectral chains. They snapped around Toki's arms and legs, tightening in an instant, binding him.
But too late.
The fist had already been unleashed.
Contact.
The world split open.
The sound was like mountains breaking, like the roar of the earth itself. Smith's Iron Gate, perfected through decades of discipline, shattered beneath the strike. His forearms, raised to block, splintered with sickening cracks. Bones snapped, twisted, bent at grotesque angles.
The force blasted through him, hurling him backward through the air. He slammed into a tree with such violence that bark exploded outward, the trunk groaning under the impact.
For a moment, all was still. The clearing held its breath.
Then Smith fell forward, crumpling to the ground. His body trembled uncontrollably, his mangled arms hanging limp, bent in ways no human bones should allow.
"Smith!" Bernard and Ozvold rushed forward, skidding to his side. Bernard pressed his hands to the older man's chest, golden threads of healing magic weaving into the torn flesh and shattered bone. Ozvold added his own, weaving softer blue light.
"You insane bastard," Ozvold muttered, sweat streaking his brow as he focused the spell. "If you hadn't put up the Iron Gate, that punch would've killed you outright."
Smith coughed, blood splattering against his beard. His lips curled into a twisted grin, even as pain wracked his body.
"Not just the Gate…" he rasped. "I used the Chains of Fate too. If I hadn't cheated… I'd be dead."
Bernard frowned, hands steady as he poured more light into the shattered arms. "Cheated or not, you almost lost everything."
Smith laughed, the sound raw and ragged. He turned his head just enough to look at Toki, who still stood in the center of the clearing, swaying, fists bloodied but burning with fire.
"…That boy," Smith whispered. "He's more than I dreamed. The true definition of strength… my masterpiece."
His eyes softened, for the first time in years.
"The strongest knight in Luminith. My true successor."
The evening had settled over the Maho estate like a soft veil. The golden traces of sunset were gone, and the sky deepened into indigo. Lamps flickered to life across the halls, casting warm pools of light against the polished wood and velvet drapery. In the dining room, the clink of utensils and the murmur of voices should have been comforting, but to Utsuki, it all felt distant.
She sat among them—Suzume pouring tea, Yuki criticizing the cut of the bread, the triplets laughing over some small joke—but her mind was elsewhere, as it often had been these past weeks. She picked idly at the food on her plate, her silver hair catching the light with each subtle movement. Her eyes drifted toward the door more than once, her thoughts like restless waves breaking against the same jagged rock.
Tomorrow is the competition. Tomorrow decides so much.
She pressed her palms together in her lap beneath the tablecloth. And yet Toki isn't here. Neither are Bernard, Ozvold, or Smith. They've been gone so long… Her breath hitched slightly. What if something happened? What if they don't make it back in time?
A sharp laugh from Yuki snapped her out of her spiral. Utsuki blinked, forcing her posture straight, but her appetite had vanished completely. Her fork lay abandoned at the side of her plate.
That was when Leonard's voice carried into the room, firm and resonant as always, though with a note of something else—anticipation.
"Lady Utsuki," he announced, drawing every eye to the threshold, "we have visitors."
Utsuki froze. Her heart leapt painfully in her chest, a knot tightening in her throat. The triplets giggled with excitement, chairs scraping against the floor as they squirmed to see. Even Yuki's sarcastic mask slipped for an instant as curiosity sparked across her features.
Without thinking, Utsuki rose, her chair sliding back noisily. Her slippers barely touched the floor as she all but flew toward the entryway, her pulse roaring in her ears. Please. Please let it be him.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Toki.
His figure filled the frame—taller than she remembered, his hair disheveled, his clothes torn and caked with dust. His skin bore bruises and cuts, each one a silent testament to the trials he had endured. Yet his golden eyes glowed with unmistakable warmth.
Behind him stood Tora and Kandaki, both carrying themselves with the quiet pride of hard-earned growth. The three older men—Bernard, Ozvold, and Smith—kept a deliberate distance, watching silently, as though they knew this reunion was not theirs to intrude upon.
Utsuki's breath caught. For an instant, she thought her knees might give way beneath her. All the weeks of doubt, of longing, of unanswered questions—everything broke at once inside her chest.
"...Toki."
His name was barely a whisper. Then she moved.
She didn't care for composure, didn't care for formality, didn't care that the entire household might be watching. She crossed the threshold in a blur of pink silk and silver hair, and before she knew it, her arms were around him.
She held him as though he might vanish again if she loosened her grip. Her cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his shirt, her fingers trembling against his back. She didn't say anything—words were too small for the storm inside her.
For a heartbeat, Toki stood frozen, as though surprised. Then his arms closed gently around her, drawing her nearer. His embrace was steady, warm, grounding. For the first time in what felt like forever, she could breathe.
So it isn't a dream.
His voice brushed her ear, low and steady. "I'm here."
She shut her eyes. "I was so afraid…"
"I know," he murmured. "But I came back."
When she finally pulled back, their gazes locked. His eyes softened at the sight of her—her flushed cheeks, the shimmer of unshed tears. To him, she seemed like a vision spun from moonlight, fragile yet unyielding.
It was Leonard's smooth baritone that gently severed the spell. "If our guests are not too weary, I suggest we move this reunion to the dining hall. The meal is waiting, and I daresay the children will not sit still much longer."
Utsuki stepped back reluctantly, her fingers brushing once more against Toki's sleeve before releasing it. He gave her a faint smile, then turned to the others, nodding silently. Together they followed Leonard's lead back into the hall.
The warmth of the dining room struck Toki with unexpected force. The smell of fresh bread, roasted meat, and spiced vegetables filled his senses. The hum of voices—the children chattering, Suzume gently shushing them, Yuki scoffing at their excitement—wrapped around him like a forgotten melody.
Home.
He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this—the simple noise of family life, the clatter of dishes, the crackle of firewood in the hearth.
Suzume approached quietly, her hands delicate as she poured steaming tea into a cup and set it before him. "You look exhausted, Toki. Drink before your food gets cold."
He managed a grateful nod. "Thank you."
Across the table, Yuki leaned back with her arms crossed, shooting him a look that could have killed a lesser man. "You look like hell. Don't think bruises and dirt excuse you from responsibility."
Toki raised an eyebrow, lips twitching faintly. "It's good to see you too, Yuki."
The triplets burst into laughter, their voices overlapping as they bombarded him with questions.
"Did you fight real monsters?"
"Show us what you learned!"
"Did Kandaki get stronger? Did Tora beat you yet?"
Their energy was a storm in itself, but Toki felt only warmth. He glanced toward Kandaki and Tora, who both looked slightly embarrassed under the barrage of questions.
Dinner resumed, the long table alive with conversation. Yet even amid the bustle, Utsuki remained close. She didn't speak much, but her eyes followed Toki, as though to reassure herself that he was truly there.
When the plates were cleared and the last drops of tea consumed, Toki slowly rose to his feet. The chatter dwindled into silence, all eyes turning toward him. He rested his hand lightly on the back of his chair, golden eyes sweeping across the faces of those gathered.
"I'd like to say something."
His voice was quiet, but it carried easily through the room.
"Tora. Kandaki." His gaze lingered on them, steady and proud. "You've worked harder than anyone could ask. You've fought, bled, and pushed yourselves further than you thought possible. Tomorrow is the competition, and whatever the outcome, I am already proud."
The children straightened, their chests swelling with quiet pride.
Toki lifted his cup, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. "For Tora and Kandaki. May your hard work be rewarded."
There was a pause, then every hand around the table lifted their cups.
"To Tora and Kandaki," they echoed, the words resounding with warmth.
The children beamed, cheeks flushed with excitement. Kandaki ducked his head slightly, trying to hide his grin, while Tora clenched her fists under the table, determination blazing in her eyes.
As the toast ended, conversation resumed, lighter and brighter than before. Yet for Utsuki, one thought rang louder than all the laughter:
He came back. He came back to us.
She lowered her gaze, hiding the soft smile that curved her lips. Tomorrow held uncertainty, perhaps even danger—but tonight, with Toki beside her, she could allow herself this fragile peace.
And across the table, Toki glanced once more at her, as though sensing her thoughts. Their eyes met briefly, and for the first time in weeks, neither looked away.