The arena was silent.
The banners that once waved proudly now hung still, heavy with the tension in the air. The crowd, thousands strong, seemed to hold their breath as the king rose from his seat.
"This," he declared, "is the final match of the Grand Tournament. The strongest warriors of Majinwa stand before us, Rinz Izen of the wandering winds… and the black-eyed swordsman of legend, the heir of the Izen bloodline, Kinz Izen!"
The audience gasped. Izen. Both of them, from same clan.
Rinz froze. The world seemed to narrow until there was only one figure across the field, a man with the same face he'd once seen reflected in the river near their childhood home.
Kinz.
The brother he thought he'd lost to fire and screams years ago. The brother whose voice he hadn't heard since that night of sacrifice.
But this Kinz wasn't the boy from the past. He stood taller, leaner, his presence sharp as broken glass. The black in his eyes looked endless, a void carved by years of rage and grief.
"Rinz Izen," Kinz said, voice cold. "I never thought I'd see the monster who destroyed our home again."
Rinz took a step forward, his voice soft. "Kinz… you're alive."
"Alive?" Kinz laughed bitterly. "Because I wasn't there to be butchered like you were supposed to be? Because I wasn't at the altar when you burned everything down?"
Rinz's throat tightened. "I didn't burn it, Kinz. The fire...."
"Don't!" Kinz snapped, unsheathing his blade. "Don't you dare speak like you understand what I lived through."
The memory burned inside him like a brand.
He had been away that night, sent to deliver offerings to a nearby temple. He returned at dawn to smoke rising above the village, the air thick with ashes and screams. His father was gone. The temple was gone. The gods were silent.
And in the ruins, he found a single name whispered by the dying, Rinz.
At first, he refused to believe it. But when he found the burned pieces of his brother's training sword near the altar, something inside him broke. He ran for days, half-mad, until a group of passing soldiers found him collapsed by the road. They took him in, fed him, and trained him. Years later, when his talent with the blade became undeniable, he left to seek power, not for glory, but for revenge.
In every fight, he imagined Rinz's face. In every victory, he saw his brother fall again and again. And now, standing here, the ghost was real, flesh and blood, standing calm while everything in Kinz screamed for justice.
The king's hand dropped. The bell rang.
No cheers this time. Just the sound of two blades unsheathing, soft and final.
The brothers moved.
Their clash sent shockwaves through the arena. Sparks flew where their swords met, a storm of motion and will. Kinz's strikes were aggressive and unpredictable; years of rage turned into raw instinct. Rinz countered each blow with precision, calm, and measured.
The ground cracked beneath their feet. Dust swirled around them, hiding the two from view. Every collision echoed like thunder, every breath a war between past and present.
"You've grown strong," Rinz said, panting.
Kinz's eyes blazed. "Strong enough to end what you started!"
He swung with both hands, his sword glowing with mana. Rinz ducked under the arc, the blade barely grazing his hair. They circled again, neither giving ground.
Then, something shifted.
Kinz's body began to move differently, smoother, faster. The air around him shimmered faintly, like heat rising from the desert. The same glow flickered in Rinz's eyes. The two of them had crossed into the realm few ever touched, the Ultra Instinct.
The crowd gasped as their movements blurred, too fast to follow. They struck, parried, vanished, reappeared, blades cutting lines of light in the air . Each impact sent waves of energy rippling through the arena walls.
"Kinz!" Rinz shouted between strikes. "This isn't what we were meant for!"
"Don't lie to me, big brother!" Kinz's voice cracked under fury. "You took everything! You killed them!"
Rinz blocked another slash and shouted back, "I lost them too!"
But Kinz couldn't hear reason. Years of pain screamed louder than truth.
He lunged, Rinz deflected. Sparks. Dust. Another lunge, another parry. Neither slowed. Blood dotted the ground from shallow cuts, sweat stung their eyes, and still, they moved faster.
The king leaned forward, awed. "They're like monsters…"
Minutes stretched into eternity. Rinz's breath grew heavier, his limbs slower. But his mind, clear as ever. He saw his brother's movements perfectly: the tightening of his grip, the trembling in his shoulders, the rage in his stance.
He remembered Daigo's words: "Our blood finds peace only in battle."And Hana's soft voice: "Then fight that war too."
He understood now. Kinz wasn't the enemy. He was the boy Rinz had failed to protect, the mirror of what he once was, consumed by the same fire.
Rinz lowered his sword slightly. "You hate me because I lived. But if ending me gives you peace… then take it."
Kinz's expression flickered, just for a moment. "Don't pity me!"
He raised his sword high, his aura blazing white. Rinz exhaled slowly, his own aura fading, not from exhaustion, but acceptance.
The brothers charged one last time.
Two winds met.
The arena fell silent.
Kinz stood trembling, his sword extended. Rinz's blade lay on the ground beside him. For a heartbeat, neither moved, then Rinz's head slipped from his shoulders, rolling gently to rest in the dust.
Kinz dropped his sword, his breath ragged. The roar of the crowd rose, but it felt distant, meaningless.
"I did it," he whispered. "So why… why does it hurt?"
He fell to his knees beside his brother's body. There was no victory in him, only emptiness.
Rinz's eyes, even in death, seemed peaceful. A faint smile lingered on his lips.
For a brief, impossible moment, Kinz heard his brother's voice in the wind, calm, gentle, the way it was when they were young.
"Don't be sorry for me. Just live better than I did."
The world faded for Rinz. He didn't see the arena, or the blood, or the cheering crowds. He saw the mountains again, Daigo's forge, Hana's smile, the wind chime swinging in the sun.
He heard her laughter, soft and real. He smelled the mountain rain. He felt the warmth of the old man's hand on his shoulder.
And then, in his final breath, he whispered,"I'm sorry, Hana. I couldn't come back."
The wind carried his words across the arena, unheard by all but one, Hana, miles away on the mountain, standing by the window. She looked up suddenly, the wind brushing her hair, and for reasons she couldn't name, tears filled her eyes.
The king rose slowly. "The victor," he announced, "is Kinz Izen, the new champion of Majinwa!"
The crowd cheered wildly, but Kinz didn't move. He stared at his brother's body, his chest tight, his throat dry.
He'd thought killing him would bring peace. Instead, it brought silence, heavier than any grief.
He looked down at Rinz's ribbon, now stained red, and picked it up. It fluttered weakly in his hand, the last piece of the brother he hated and loved all the same.
When he walked out of the arena, he carried no trophy, only the ribbon.
And as he stepped into the night, the wind rose again, whispering through the streets of Majinwa.
The wind never dies. It only changes direction.