I burst into a fit of manic laughter, drawing everyone's eyes to me. Issai stepped forward, leaving Mikazuki behind, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Has reality made you go insane? What happened to all that talk about destroying anyone who dared lay a hand on someone precious to you?" he sneered.
"No, I was just amused at how easily you fell for it," I grinned, pleased that Mikazuki had caught on to my intentions. While everyone's focus shifted to me for that brief moment, she grabbed the chair she had been sitting on and hurled it toward us, followed by the bag I had thrown at Issai.
The chair crashed to the ground amidst the men surrounding us, offering a brief but crucial opening. I grabbed my bag mid-air and swung it at the man behind us blocking the exit. It struck him square in the face, sending him crashing to the ground. Without a second thought, I shouted to Tsukuyo, "Run! Don't look back!"
She wasn't foolish; she understood that even the slightest hesitation at that time could erase the narrow opening we'd created for her. With tears welling in her eyes, she swallowed the bitter sting of her emotions and sprinted through the exit, never once glancing back, just as Hayato had commanded.
A few of the men tried to follow her, but Mikazuki's gunshots rang out, taking them down from behind. Issai clicked his tongue by this turn of event and attempted to aim his gun at me, but I was faster than him. In a swift motion, I charged at him, slamming my shoulder into his chest and knocking the weapon from his hands. With a quick kick, I sent it flying toward Mikazuki.
At the same time, she bolted toward us, narrowly dodging a few gunshots aimed her way. In one fluid motion, she snatched the gun I'd kicked toward her as it slid across the wooden floor. Sliding onto her knees, she unleashed a barrage of shots, one from each hand, hitting targets on both sides with deadly precision.
She grabbed Issai, whom I had shoved in her direction with my shoulder charge, and yanked him upright, pressing the barrel of her gun against the side of his head. "Drop your weapons if you don't want him dead," she ordered coldly.
Issai's father raised his hands high and barked out, "Everyone, stop!" Good. He still cares about his son, after all.
"Why didn't you run away with Tsukuyo?" she asked, her voice low as I staggered to her side, clutching my shoulder to stem the bleeding.
During the earlier gunfire, when I tackled Issai, a couple of bullets were aimed at me too, and i couldn't avoid all of them—one of them striking me from behind, just a few inches above my heart. It wasn't fatal, but it came terrifyingly close.
"If I did, there's no way you would've made it out of here alive," I replied matter-of-factly.
She glanced at the blood on my shoulder, her expression tightening. "Are you alright?"
"This much is nothing," I said, though the sting was sharp enough to make my arm tremble. Still, it wasn't enough to bring me to my knees.
For a brief moment, she looked at me—really looked at me—her eyes narrowing slightly, as if questioning whether I was truly just a normal high school student.
We used Issai as a shield to make our way out, every step calculated and guarded. My focus was razor-sharp, learning from my previous mistakes, reminding myself not to let my guard drop in situations like this. The Kawaguchi clan wasn't from this city, so their influence here was limited. Once we were out, we'd be safe for a while—enough time to regroup and plan our next move.
But there were too many of their men scattered around, making it nearly impossible to keep track of every threat. That's when it happened—a shot rang out from our blind spot, striking Mikazuki's hand, the one holding the gun to Issai's head. She groaned in pain, momentarily losing control of her grip, giving Issai the precious window he needed.
I quickly scanned the direction the bullet came from, and it was her motherfucking uncle, the only one still holding a gun. Mikazuki had already warned them to drop their weapons—he wasn't supposed to have one. Had he been hiding an extra all along?
I clicked my tongue in frustration. As much as I hated to admit it, these bastards had been in this profession for years—they'd survived countless situations like this. I knew from the start it wouldn't be easy.
At the same moment Mikazuki was shot in the arm, she gritted her teeth and fired back with her other hand, forcing her uncle to retreat and cutting off any chance of a follow-up shot. The others, now unarmed, couldn't rush us immediately.
But then, someone kicked a katana off the ground, sending it spinning through the air—straight toward Issai. I noticed that, if he got his hands on it, Mikazuki will die. I jumped in the air, trying to catch it before it reach him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Issai's father, just as he picked up his gun and aimed it straight at me. Instinctively, I raised my arms to shield my head. He fired three shots. Two of the bullets tore through my arm, now raised to protect my head, while the third hit me in the ribs, shattering through the bone.
Pain erupted across my body as the internal bleeding surged into my mouth, and I could feel a trail of it escaping from the corner of my lips. Despite it all, I refused to lose consciousness. My teeth clenched so hard I thought they might shatter, but I fought to stay upright. In mid-air, as if on pure will, I managed to twist my body and kick the katana away just before it could reach Issai.
My shoes almost protected my feet, but not quite. The katana sliced through them, leaving a deep gash in my foot.
I crashed to the ground with a loud thud, the blood I'd been holding in my mouth spraying into the air as more poured from the bullet wounds across my body. My leg was mangled, useless. I couldn't even stand. The strength was leaving me fast, my body growing colder with every heartbeat, my vision blurring like fog over a cracked mirror from the rapid blood loose.
Through that haze, I saw Mikazuki crouched beside me, firing desperately, her expression twisted in panic as if trying to protect me.
But it was hopeless—too many enemies, no cover, and barely any ammo left. We were surrounded. We were finished.
Yet that wasn't what broke me.
What shattered me was seeing her, until her final breath, shielding me with her own body—taking bullets meant for me. And all I could do was lie there, helpless, powerless… watching.
Then came the final blow.
Issai stepped forward, eyes burning with hatred, and with a single swing of the katana, severed her head from her shoulders—completing his revenge.
I felt rage. Pure, searing rage.
Rage at myself—for failing to protect her.
Rage at the traitors—who sold her out for their own greed.
Rage at the Kawaguchis—for everything they'd done.
And that rage... I will carry it with me. To the next loop.
And the one after that.
And after that.
Until I completely destroy them.
-----
Now that I know their entire plan, I'm prepared to act. But before I make my move, there's something far more important I must do—ensure Mikazuki's safety.
The traitors are within her own clan. Aside from her uncle, I couldn't point them out to her beforehand. And because of that… I died. Again and again. Each time repeating the same moment of betrayal she suffered. Again and again, until I heard every single one of their names from her trembling lips—until I could write each of them down like a cursed list.
And with every loop, every reset, my judgment grew murkier little by little, swallowed slowly by the storm inside me.
Only the rage remained—burning, undying.
I slipped the list into Tsukuyo's hands, behind Issai's back. I could've confronted him at school, but it would've been useless—no proof, just suspicions. It would only make them more alert. This way nothing would have resolved.
After handing her the list, I laid everything out for Tsukuyo. The whole truth about her sister. About her "first ever friend." How Mikazuki had been protecting her all along, working in the shadows to keep her safe. I told her about the misunderstandings that had clouded her perception of her sister, the ones that had made her doubt her.
But the truth didn't end there. I revealed the far darker side of their lives—how both Mikazuki and Tsukuyo were in grave danger. How Issai's true identity was far more sinister than she'd realized. And how her uncle was going to betray them all.
"Get home quickly," I urged her. "And when you do, hand this list to your sister. Keep it quiet. If there's anyone she'll believe, it's you."
She stood frozen, staring at me with wide eyes and parted lips, her usual rude mask already crumbled before my eyes. I didn't blame her—it was a lot to take in, a lot dumped on her all at once, not to mention they are very serious. A whirlwind of truths and revelations that would shake anyone. She was probably wondering how I even knew any of this. But I didn't have the time to explain.
I grabbed her shoulders firmly, locking eyes with her. My gaze was sharper than ever, laced with urgency and a desperate plea.
"President, please," I said, voice low but intense. "Believe me. We don't have much time—she's in the most danger right now. I swear I'll explain everything later, but right now, trust me. She loves you more than anyone else."
Something in her eyes flickered—doubt fading, replaced by resolve. Maybe it was the desperation in my voice. Or the sincerity in my eyes. Whatever it was, she didn't ask any more questions. She just nodded, tightened her grip on her bag, and rushed out the door without looking back.
I watched her silhouette disappear into the distance, then clenched my fists—my part was about to begin.
Without wasting time, I headed to the nearest supermarket and grabbed a pair of dark jeans and a plain black, long-sleeved T-shirt. I changed into them quickly, and put my school uniform into my school bag. Next, I bought a new backpack and tucked inside it a black full-face mask.
From a nearby hardware store, I picked up two crowbars—heavy, cold, and familiar. My most trusted weapons. I slid them into the bag, their weight reassuring and a pair of gloves.
Back then, I noticed the man who first kidnapped me tailing me after I got off at the station—meaning it's safe to assume I had a narrow window to act freely right now. Because I have no plan to go to my station, my destination is Tanaka household.
I stuffed my school bag into a paid locker at the station, locking it tight before slinging the new backpack over my shoulder.
A cold smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I muttered under my breath, "Time to welcome some guests."
The current Tanaka household stood in a rural stretch of land. It was a considerably big estate, isolated from the nearest trace of civilization—typical of a Yakuza residence. With high walls, sprawling grounds, and an atmosphere thick with unspoken threats, it wasn't a place most dared to approach.
But to reach it, there was only one path—a narrow, weathered wooden bridge stretched over a shallow ravine, old yet sturdy. A natural chokepoint.
That's where Hayato chose to wait, on the other end of the bridge. He knew his "guests" had no choice. That bridge was the only way in—or out.
After a stretch of silence, the low rumble of engines echoed faintly in the distance. Hayato's eyes narrowed as five sleek black cars came into view, their presence slicing through the stillness like blades. No doubt—they were here.
Calmly, he slid the black full-face mask over his head, concealing every feature except his cold, focused eyes and put on the gloves. The transformation was instant. The teenage boy vanished. What remained was something else—something prepared to do what needed to be done.
He reached down, picked up the heavy rock he had prepared earlier, and began walking toward the center of the bridge, each step deliberate.
As the first car rolled onto the narrow bridge, the driver squinted through the windshield, his brows furrowing. A lone figure stood ahead, draped entirely in black—face concealed beneath a full mask, presence unnervingly calm.
"Boss," the driver said, voice tight with unease. "There's someone blocking the road. Looks like some kind of freak in black."
From the back seat, the head of the Kawaguchi clan—Issai's father—barely glanced up, his tone laced with disdain. "Tch. Probably just a road bandit, don't slow down—run him over and keep going, my son is waiting."
The driver hesitated for only a heartbeat before slamming his foot down on the accelerator, the engine roaring as the car surged forward. But just as they crossed a certain threshold, the masked figure made his move—hurling the large stone with precise force.
It smashed through the windshield with a thunderous crack, the glass spider-webbing instantly as some of the shattered glass gaze the driver in the face. With a startled cry, his instincts took over—his foot slamming down on the brake pedal, bringing the car to a screeching, chaotic halt in the middle of the bridge.
Because of that sudden and unexpected stop, the cars behind had no time to react. One by one, they slammed into each other in a chaotic chain of collisions, the sound of screeching tires and crumpling metal echoing through the otherwise quiet countryside.
Glass shattered, airbags deployed, and groans of pain filled the air. Every occupant suffered some form of injury—some with blood streaming down their foreheads from fractured skulls, others with arms or legs fractured or even broken, or deep cuts carved by shards of broken windows.
Yet despite the pain, fury burned brighter. One after another, they stumbled out of their vehicles, gripping pistols, knives, and katanas—battle-ready and seething.
"Who is this motherfucking lunatic?!" roared Issai's father, staggering out with blood trailing down the side of his face. His gun trembled in his grip, not from fear, but barely contained rage. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the lone figure at the center of the bridge, standing defiant like a ghost from their worst nightmares.
The figure dressed in all black stepped forward with deliberate poise, crowbars gripped firmly in each hand. Then, with a theatrical flair, they gave a slow, fancy exaggerated bow—like a host greeting nobles to a grand banquet.
"Welcome, guests," the masked voice rang out, laced with mock courtesy and icy venom. "I trust the opening act made an impression?"
They straightened up, tilting their head ever so slightly, eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than amusement.
"If not, don't worry… the real show is just about to begin."
Their tone was calm—too calm—like the eye of a storm just before the carnage begins.