The rain-slick planks of Tatsuryu Pier 17 groaned under the weight of tension and heavy boots. Mizuki stood beneath a battered floodlight, gray hair damp and wild, clutching a trembling, bruised girl by the arm. His stare was all venom—trying hard to look like he owned the fucking world, but the twitch in his jaw said otherwise.
Through the sliding fog, Jisaku Todoroki stepped into view, duffel bag dangling carelessly from one shoulder. Even his silence had bite. Ten feet away, he halted, eyes locking onto Mizuki while a sardonic smirk ghosted his lips. Without a word, he let the bag drop; it hit the soaked boards hard.
He broke the quiet with a voice as flat and dry as gunpowder:
"You said bring cash, didn't you? I know you're getting old, but try to keep up."
Mizuki's grip tightened on the girl. He bared his teeth—a snarl, more rabid than tough.
"Pick it up. Be a good little dog and bring it over, or maybe you want to watch her find out how deep this river goes…"
Jisaku's brow arched, unamused, his next words laced with steel and acid:
"If you want your money so bad, try growing a pair and get it yourself. Or is this where you start begging?"
The girl whimpered, sodden sleeves drawn to her chin. Mizuki's confidence flickered, rage burning a hole in his composure as Jisaku stood his ground, refuse to play the villain's game.
Rain hit the pier in cold needles. Nobody moved. The standoff had begun.
Mizuki's smirk twisted into a wicked grin as he chuckled, the sound raw and full of dark delight.
"Oh shit, the little dog has some bark to him. Where was this confidence back in the Academy?"
"Must have stung, watching your sisters parade as the prodigies of your family while you were just the chakraless burden dragging them down."
The air thickened with tension as Mizuki's fingers cracked and began to move in swift, practiced hand signs. "I'll give you a taste of real power," he sneered, venom in every word, "consider it a gift."
Jisaku remained perfectly still, cold gaze locked on Mizuki, his right hand slowly beginning to glow with an eerie, mystic energy—a chilling, unnatural light at odds with the heat Mizuki was gathering.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Jutsu!"
A roaring fireball erupted from his palms, hurtling toward Jisaku with murderous force as Mizuki's laughter filled the pier, wild and unhinged.
Jisaku's right hand blazed with ghostly energy as the fireball hurtled toward him. He didn't flinch. The inferno struck his palm—and for a moment, red and gold flames battered against the surging mystic aura, heat simmering in the rain. Then, as he squeezed his fist, the fire collapsed, spiraled inward, and vanished in a shimmering haze, leaving only a faint whiff of smoke curling around his fingers.
Mizuki stared, mouth slack, eyes wide. His words came out in frantic, stumbling waves. "What the fuck—how the fuck did you do that? What the fuck are you?!"
Jisaku strode forward in silence, nothing but the wet slap of his boots and the savage glare in his eyes.
Panic set in. Mizuki jerked the girl upright, pressing a knife hard to her throat, voice cracking with the threat. "Stay back! You come any closer, I'll fucking gut her! You hear me? Kick the bag over! You want her alive?!
The white energy faded from Jisaku's hand. He paused, then walked to the bag and kicked it across the boards so it slid to Mizuki's feet.
A nervous, triumphant laugh broke from Mizuki as he shoved the girl aside and unzipped the duffel. The color drained from his face when he saw what was inside—row upon row of bloody, battered hitai-ate, the scratched metal plates caked with dried blood.
For a moment, the world was silent except for the rain.
Jisaku stood just a few feet away, his shadow long and cold in the pier lights. His voice was low and emotionless, sharp as a blade. "You really thought I was gonna bring you money?" He watched Mizuki's hands tremble. "I'm not your dog. Take a good look in the bag. Those belong to the sick bastards you call allies."
Mizuki looked up slowly, fear dawning in his eyes as Jisaku took a step closer. The storm was only just beginning.
Mizuki lay on the wet wooden pier, rain spattering down his face. He spat hard onto the soaked duffel bag, the moisture dripping and mingling with the dirt. Slowly, he pushed himself up, eyes burning with venom.
"This doesn't mean shit," he sneered through clenched teeth, voice rough and threatening. "I know exactly who the hell you really are. I'll tell everyone—unless you want your secret safe, you're gonna do exactly what I say. Are you gonna work for me? Your secret's safe with me… as long as you obey your master."
Jisaku said nothing. He walked steadily up to Mizuki, locking eyes with him coldly, the weight of unfinished business settling between them.
Without a word, Jisaku raised his index and middle finger. A ghostly white mystical energy flickered to life, sharp and ethereal, wrapping around his fingers like living light.
With a sudden strike, the energy shot forward, piercing Mizuki's chest like a spectral dagger.
Mizuki's eyes glazed over, pale and vacant, as his body collapsed silently to the pier.
Jisaku bent down, grabbed the duffel bag, and stood. He approached the trembling girl, held out a steady hand and smiled warmly.
"It's okay. You're safe now."
Tears welled in her eyes. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing quietly. Jisaku dropped the bag and gently rubbed her back, whispering soft reassurance.
"It's okay. Everything's okay."
Jisaku watched quietly as the girl was escorted through the worn gates of the Little Lantern Orphan Home. He raised a hand in a soft, steady wave. Her tear-streaked face looked back at him just once before she disappeared inside.
He sighed to himself, a quiet weight settling over his chest. The world around him felt heavy—both fragile and relentless.
Then his eyes rose to the gray sky above, the clouds moving slow and steady. "Mizuki… how the hell did you get through the veil?" he murmured, voice low and ragged with disbelief.
Without waiting for an answer, Jisaku turned and walked away, each step measured but purposeful, carrying the burden of truths yet uncovered.
The air was thick with tension and unanswered questions. The fight wasn't over. Not by a long shot.