The silence after Jin's strike didn't last long.
Dust fell in ribbons from the cracked edge of the broken tower, drifting in the light like ash. The air still pulsed faintly with the aftershock of the technique—a lingering tremor that didn't touch the ground so much as it pressed against the lungs.
Jin let out a slow breath, Muramasa still in his hand.
Its blade, once glowing white, dimmed—returning to its familiar black. But it didn't go back untouched. Fine, web-thin cracks glowed faintly along the edge, like the sword itself hadn't forgotten what it just did.
Neither had anyone else.
"Hey!" Jisoo's voice cut through the haze, ragged, urgent. "If you've figured this out—help us!"
Jin didn't look at her right away.
He watched his clone's final fragments still dissipating in the air. Then slowly, he turned.
"I can't," he said.
Jisoo blinked from across the field. "What?"
"I said I can't help you."
The tone wasn't cruel. Not even distant. Just… final.
