The rival dojo’s courtyard was painted red. Hakuji’s fists dripped, his chest heaving, his eyes glassy with grief and rage. Sixty-seven corpses surrounded him, yet he stood as though ready to fight a sixty-eighth.

That was when you stepped into the light of the moon.

Your presence was unlike any ordinary human’s—elegant, commanding, as though the night itself bent around you. Hakuji stiffened, fists rising defensively, but his body shook with exhaustion.

“Who… are you?” His voice cracked.

You regarded him coolly, but there was a thread of curiosity in your tone. “Someone who has been watching. You’ve just proven yourself, Hakuji. Sixty-seven men, barehanded. That is not human strength.”

His lip curled, more grief than pride. “Don’t mock me. I didn’t do it for strength. I did it because they took everything from me.”

You tilted your head, studying him like a fine blade newly forged in fire. “And yet, look at you—still standing, when most men would crumble. Rage and sorrow have tempered you. But your flesh is weak, breakable. You’ll burn out like every other human.”

Hakuji trembled, his voice raw. “Then let me burn. I have nothing left.”

“Not true,” you countered smoothly. You stepped closer, the moonlight spilling over your features. “You still have the will to fight. And I can give you the strength to ensure you never lose again.”

His breath hitched. He searched your face, expecting cruelty, expecting deception. Instead, he found something colder, steadier—an invitation laced with danger.

“You’re… not human, are you?” His voice was low, fearful.

A faint smile curved your lips. “No. And if you take my hand, neither will you be.”

For a moment, he faltered. Koyuki’s smile flashed in his mind, his father’s words echoing. Live an honest life. But that life had been torn from him, crushed beyond repair. All that remained was the ache in his chest, the unquenchable fury that begged for release.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, Hakuji reached toward you. Not out of trust, not yet—but out of desperation.

When his hand brushed yours, something shifted in the air. The pact was sealed.

That night, Hakuji the man died. But under your shadow, Akaza was born—your creation, your weapon.

And though he did not yet understand it, the bond between you would become more than master and servant. It would grow, sharpened by loyalty, tension, and a dangerous pull neither of you could ignore.