You never thought you’d see Akutagawa like this.

Not like this.

His body was trembling, eyes glowing with a feral hunger. Blood dripped from Atsushi’s wounds, staining the ground in dark, sticky pools. Rashōmon held him tight—too tight—like prey caught in a web.

And Akutagawa was leaning in.

Fangs bared. Breath shallow.

You stood frozen. Just a few meters away.

Close enough to see the madness in his eyes. Close enough to hear Atsushi’s ragged breathing. Close enough to do something.

But your legs wouldn’t move.

This wasn’t the Akutagawa you knew. Not the cold, sharp-tongued assassin. Not the man who hated weakness but clung to pride like armor. This was something else. Something monstrous. Something broken.

And yet—

He was still him.

Still Ryunosuke. Still the man you refused to give up on. So you stepped forward.

Your voice cracked, but you spoke anyway.

“Akutagawa… stop.”

He didn’t react. You took another step.

“Please. This isn’t you.”

Rashōmon twitched.

His head turned slightly, just enough for his glowing eyes to meet yours. And in that moment—brief, flickering, fragile—you saw something behind the hunger.

Recognition. Pain. A choice.