(As their conversation dwindled, silence took over… but it wasn't a comforting quiet—it was a charged stillness.)
(Then… that silence shattered.)
Kyoji (in a sharp whisper):
"Did you hear that?"
(Hikaru didn't reply. He had already turned his body fully toward the shadows, eyes locked on the darkness beyond the trees. Footsteps… cautious, heavy, but approaching. They weren't animals.)
(In an instant, the campfire's light reflected off the edge of a blade.)
Hikaru (in a low but firm voice):
"It's them… the gang."
(Kyoji jumped up immediately, grabbing his sword, eyes on Hikaru.)
Kyoji:
"They saw the fire… came to investigate."
(Hikaru closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath… then opened them, a cold determination burning within.)
Hikaru:
"Maybe… it's finally time."
(From the shadows emerged a man—masked, large-built, an axe slung over his shoulder.)
Stranger (with a mocking tone):
"Oh? We didn't expect a little midnight picnic… a fire, and two close friends?"
Kyoji (leaning on his sword, smirking coldly):
"Sorry, this picnic is invite-only."
(Harsh laughter echoed through the trees… and two more men appeared.)
(But Hikaru didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the first man—then on the tattoo glowing on his neck—the same symbol he'd seen five years ago.)
Hikaru (barely audible):
"You were there… you were in my village."
(His voice rose, filled with a fury that scorched the air.)
Hikaru:
"And this night… won't end like that one did."
(He drew his sword, the flames reflecting off the blade… Kyoji turned toward him, eyes wide with surprise.)
Kyoji:
"Hikaru… are you ready?"
Hikaru (in a deep voice):
"I've been ready for nine years."
(And the battle began—not a fight, but a final chapter of a burned memory, rewritten with two blades, two hearts, and a fire that won't fade until the ashes are buried.)
(The forest air changed. The breeze no longer whispered—it paused, as if the woods themselves were watching.
Three gang members closed in, circling the fire like wolves testing their prey.
Hikaru stood firm, sword steady in his hand.)
First Man (with arrogance):
"Nice sword… you know how to use it? Or is it just for show?"
(Hikaru didn't respond. He made a single step—just one, but enough.
In a blink, he surged forward—his sword flashed like lightning—and the man reeled back, screaming, his hand bleeding.)
Kyoji (shocked):
"Damn…"
(But Hikaru wasn't stopping.
Memory guided his arm now, not reason—images of bodies, blood, fire, children's eyes…
Strikes swift, precise, merciless. As if hell itself spoke the language of the blade.)
(The second man tried to strike from behind—but Kyoji intervened, blocking with his sword, then grinned.)
Kyoji:
"Ah, finally some action."
(He clashed with him—quick on his feet, not as skilled as Hikaru, but he had something else: a touch of madness… and courage.)
(As for Hikaru, he faced the third man—the tallest and strongest.
Their swords clashed, sparks flew.
But in Hikaru's eyes… he wasn't just seeing a man—he saw every face from the past.)
Third Man (panting):
"Who the hell are you?!"
Hikaru (whispering, as if speaking to death itself):
"I am the shadow of that night…"
(With a single, decisive blow—the last sword fell.
Blood soaked the forest floor, mingling with the dew of night.)
(Kyoji stood beside him, exhausted but victorious.)
Kyoji (catching his breath):
"Only three? I expected more…"
Hikaru (gazing at the bodies, voice low):
"They were just the scouts… the real ones don't come first."
(Silence returned, broken only by the crackling fire.)
Kyoji (quietly):
"That means… the real battle hasn't started yet."
(Hikaru didn't answer. He looked deeper into the forest—as if something… or someone… was waiting.)
Hikaru:
"But it's coming… and I'm no longer the child I once was."
(Then he looked at Kyoji, his voice carrying a deadly truth.)
Hikaru:
"This time, I'll end it. No matter what it takes."