The abandoned building stood silent, its decaying walls bearing witness to the confrontation that was about to unfold. Moonlight filtered through the shattered windows, casting broken shards of silver across the dust-covered floor. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and rust, the echoes of a place long forgotten. A fitting battlefield.
I stood across from Ayane, my fists tightening as I measured her stance. She was calm, too calm—like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Her dark purple hair swayed slightly with the cold breeze, her sharp eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that burned through the distance between us.
This wasn't like before. This wasn't a test or a warning.
This was a fight to the end.
And I didn't want to hurt her.
I exhaled slowly, keeping my voice level. "You don't have to do this."
Ayane scoffed. "You still think you have a say in this, Ken?" She took a step forward, her movements fluid, dangerous. "This ends when one of us dies."
Her words were final, carrying a certainty that twisted something deep inside me.
I clenched my jaw. "I won't kill you."
Her lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. "Then you'll die."
And with that, she lunged.
I dodged, barely missing the strike aimed at my ribs. The air shifted as her fist grazed past me, fast—faster than I remembered. I twisted, countering with a low sweep to throw her off balance, but she jumped back effortlessly, landing with perfect control.
I wasn't going to win this by holding back.
I rushed in, aiming for her shoulder—not a lethal blow, just enough to weaken her—but she saw through it. She ducked under my strike and retaliated with a sharp kick to my side. I barely managed to block it, but the force still sent me sliding back.
Damn it.
She was strong. Too strong.
I had underestimated how much she had changed. I had planned to push her into a corner, force her to talk—but this wasn't the same Ayane I had once known. This wasn't the girl who had fought beside me, laughed beside me.
This was someone who had been sharpened into a weapon.
My stomach twisted with something unfamiliar—anger. Not at her.
At the man who had done this to her.
I could feel it with every strike she threw. The training, the precision, the raw strength behind her attacks—none of it was hers alone. Someone had honed her into this, fed her a reason to hate me, to see me as nothing more than an enemy.
And that infuriated me.
I moved faster, pushing her back with a rapid series of attacks. A punch aimed at her ribs—she blocked. A feint to her right before I twisted left—she saw through it. I went for her wrist, trying to restrain her, but she shifted her weight and slammed her knee toward my stomach.
I barely dodged in time.
This was getting dangerous.
She was strong enough that if I wasn't careful, she could kill me.
And yet—
She hadn't.
I noticed it now. The way her strikes always aimed to incapacitate, to hurt—but never to land a fatal blow.
Just like me.
We had been fighting for what felt like hours, both of us bleeding, both of us breaking—yet neither of us had gone for the kill.
Why?
I knew why.
And so did she.
We weren't enemies.
But we couldn't stop.
Not yet.
Ayane's knife flashed under the moonlight.
I saw it too late.
I barely moved in time, twisting my body to avoid a direct stab, but the blade still sliced into my side. Pain exploded through my nerves, hot and sharp.
I staggered back, pressing a hand to the wound. Blood seeped through my fingers.
Ayane didn't stop.
She came at me again, relentless, the knife poised for another strike.
I forced myself to move, dodging just enough to avoid another deep wound, but she was faster than before. Stronger.
I had to end this.
Ignoring the pain, I surged forward.
Ayane's knife slashed toward me—I grabbed her wrist before it could land. She struggled, but I twisted sharply, sending the blade flying from her grip. It clattered to the floor, lost in the debris.
I didn't stop.
I spun her around, using my weight to throw her off balance. She stumbled, and I used that opening to sweep her legs out from under her.
She hit the ground hard.
I pressed down, pinning her wrist, breathing heavily as I forced her down.
This was it.
The end.
Blood dripped from my waist, from her leg—both of us were barely standing, barely breathing.
Ayane glared up at me, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
I met her gaze, my voice steady despite the exhaustion gripping my body.
"It's over."
She didn't respond.
I tightened my grip. "Tell me who he is."
Silence.
"Tell me who turned you into this."
Her eyes flickered. Just for a second.
I pressed further. "Tell me, or I leave you alive."
For the first time, she hesitated.
I saw it—the slight widening of her eyes, the way her fingers curled slightly as if wavering.
She wasn't about to say the man's name.
But something else.
Her lips parted, and a single word slipped out, too soft to hear clearly.
"Stop."
It wasn't loud enough.
It wasn't enough to reach me in time.
Because before I could process it—
A sharp, searing pain tore through my back.
The world tilted.
The ground rushed up to meet me as my body collapsed forward.
I barely registered the sound of footsteps, the faint glint of a knife catching the dim light—
And then, darkness.
The last thing I saw before my vision blurred was Ayane, lying at the corner, her clothes torn from the fight, blood staining the fabric. I couldn't meet her eyes.
And then, everything faded.
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