The grand hall had turned into a battlefield.
Gunfire roared. The sharp crack of bullets echoed through the space, punctuated by the screams of dying men.
Akihiro barely heard any of it.
His focus was locked on Takeda, the bastard who had ordered their deaths, now making his way toward the exit, moving fast but not fast enough.
"You're not getting away," Akihiro muttered.
Then came the bullets.
The remaining guards opened fire, muzzle flashes illuminating the dim hall. The air became thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and blood.
Akihiro twisted, dodging the first volley, his body moving with unnatural speed. A bullet grazed past his cheek, burning hot, but he ignored it, already closing in.
Three men stood in his way.
The first aimed for his head. A stupid mistake.
Akihiro lunged, grabbing a champagne bucket from a nearby table. Without breaking stride, he flung it at the shooter's wrist—CRACK!—bone shattered as the man screamed, his finger involuntarily pulling the trigger and firing wildly into the ceiling.
Akihiro didn't stop.
He caught the rifle as the guard dropped it, yanking it free and flipping it barrel-first.
WHAM.
He swung it like a club, caving in the guard's skull with a single brutal strike.
Blood and brain matter splattered across the floor.
The second guard lunged with a knife.
Akihiro shifted, stepping into the attack instead of away. A feint. The blade barely missed his ribs as he grabbed the guard's wrist, twisting it with an unnatural amount of force.
The wrist snapped.
The knife fell.
Akihiro caught it mid-air and rammed it through the man's fucking eye.
The third guard hesitated—just for a second. But a second was all Akihiro needed.
He grabbed the body of the second guard and shoved it forward, using it as a human shield just as the last man fired.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three shots. Three hits. Straight through the corpse's back.
Akihiro threw the body aside and closed the distance in a blink.
He caught the last guard's head between his hands and drove his knee up, smashing it into the man's nose so hard that cartilage and bone shattered, sending shards into his brain.
The body crumpled.
More bullets.
Akihiro ducked low, using the chaos to keep moving toward Takeda.
But he wasn't alone.
Across the room, Mai danced through the hail of gunfire like a phantom.
If Akihiro was sheer brute force, then Mai was precision.
Bullets tore through the air, but she never stopped moving—every step, every twist of her body was a calculated flow of movement that kept her just out of harm's way.
One guard rushed in to grab her—stupid.
She pivoted, letting his momentum work against him, grabbing his outstretched arm and snapping it back at the elbow.
A sickening pop. A scream.
She snatched his pistol as it fell from his grip.
One graceful spin—and the barrel was at his chin.
She pulled the trigger.
BANG.
The bullet tore through his skull, spraying blood across the already ruined marble floor.
Another guard aimed a shotgun at her back.
She heard the click of the trigger.
She flipped, twisting in mid-air as the shot went off—BOOM! The pellets shredded a chair where she had been a split second before.
Before the guard could fire again, she was already on him.
A single kick—sharp, deliberate. Her heel crashed against his throat, collapsing his windpipe.
The man fell to the ground, choking on his own blood.
Mai exhaled. No wasted movement. No wasted energy.
While Akihiro left nothing but brutal carnage in his wake, Mai's kills were clean—not a single extra step taken, not a single wasted action.
And yet, despite their differences, the result was the same.
The guards kept falling.
Akihiro ripped the leg off a wooden chair and drove it through a man's neck like a fucking stake.
Mai took a broken champagne flute and used it to slice open another's throat in a single, elegant motion.
They moved in perfect sync, slaughtering their way forward.
And Takeda?
He was still running.
Akihiro spotted him just as he reached the grand staircase leading to the rooftop.
The motherfucker was trying to escape.
"No. Fucking. Way."
Akihiro surged forward—but a barrage of gunfire stopped him in his tracks.
Four new guards. All armed.
"Mai!" he barked.
"I got it," she said simply.
And then she was gone, moving like a shadow, weaving through bullets with inhuman grace.
Akihiro didn't wait.
He charged.
BACK IN TOKYO
Ren squatted near the bloodstained floor, resting his arms on his knees. The dim corridor stretched out in eerie silence, bodies littering the ground like discarded dolls. The air reeked of gunpowder, steel, and something deeper—something rotten.
His sharp gaze flicked up, locking onto the man standing before him.
A ghost of the past.
The man's dark eyes held a cold amusement, his lips curled in the barest trace of a smile. His presence was wrong—too still, too composed, too certain.
Ren exhaled, dragging a hand through his blood-streaked hair before lazily resting his chin on his palm.
Then, in that low, indifferent voice of his, he asked—
"Who the fuck are you?"
The man let out a slow chuckle, tilting his head as if Ren had just asked something amusing.
"Did Takeshi never mention me?" He stepped forward, boots clicking softly against the blood-slick floor.
Ren's expression didn't change. But somehow this guy knew who Takeshi was and his current role in the syndicate, the rat had been feeding them more information than they thought. Just from looking at him and his presence both ten and Jared instinctively knew that this was the mans Takeshi had warned them about. Itoshi.
"I don't give a shit."
Kaede, standing slightly behind him, not tensed at his words or presence, eyes flicking between the two men. She could handle him and kill him she thought to herself, but it would be better if it was ten, he would get the job done faster.
The man smiled. "Ah, I see. You're the quiet type. Good. I like that."
Ren didn't talk.
Itoshi laughed, a slow, deliberate sound. "That attitude of yours is going to get you killed."
Ren finally stood up. His movements were unrushed, almost bored, like none of this fucking mattered.
"So you're the one who was compared to the Umbra Division?" He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. "That's cute."
Kaede shifted slightly, readying herself, but Ren lifted a hand.
"Go." His voice was calm. Cold. Unyielding.
Kaede just stared blank.
"Find Yusuke." His gaze never left Itoshi. "I'll deal with this guy so they can reunite in hell soon enough."
Itoshi's smirk widened. "Bold. Your friend doesn't even seem bothered. Maybe she should stay and watch you die."
Kaede looked indifferent.
Ren exhaled slowly.
He wasn't carrying his blade. He had left it behind earlier in the chaos. That was annoying.
But not a problem.
His eyes flicked to his surroundings. The corridor was filled with debris—broken metal pipes, shattered glass, discarded weapons. Improvised tools of death.
He could work with this.
Without another word, he stepped forward and reached down—his fingers closing around a jagged piece of rebar, its end twisted into a sharp, makeshift point.
He tested its weight. Heavy. Not ideal, but it would do.
Itoshi watched him with interest.
"Improvising?" he mused. "I like that. Most men cling to their weapons like lifelines. You're different."
Ren spun the rebar in his grip, rolling his wrist before taking a loose stance. His dark eyes held nothing but emptiness.
"You sure do talk a lot."
For the first time, Itoshi's smile faded just a little.
BOOM! Kaede took off and sprinted past itoshi, he tried to grab her but then, Ren lunged, closing the gap in a blink. The rebar in his hand whistled through the air as he swung it straight for Itoshi's throat.
Itoshi sidestepped, narrowly dodging the attack, but Ren was already pivoting, using the momentum to drive his knee toward his ribs.
Itoshi caught it with his forearm—CRACK.
A heavy impact. But no hesitation.
Ren twisted, his foot snapping up toward Itoshi's head.
Blocked.
Itoshi retaliated with a lightning-fast strike toward Ren's exposed ribs. Ren angled his body just right, letting the hit glance off instead of landing full force.
A fraction of a second.
Ren shifted, driving the jagged rebar forward.
Itoshi barely evaded. A hair's breadth away from impalement.
For the first time, his expression flickered.
Ren smirked slightly. "Not smiling anymore?"
Itoshi exhaled, stepping back. His stance changed.
Ren's fingers tightened around his makeshift weapon. Ten knew it was only a matter of time before the poison started to take effect on his body. He had to end this quick.
Itoshi's tone was softer this time, almost mocking.
"…get ready because this is the day you die."
Ren rolled his neck, his smile faint—cold.
"If I had a yen for every time I heard that…." He spun the rebar in his grip once more, shifting his stance.
"You know you're not the first person to try that line on me, but you just might be the last."
"Hope you will be this arrogant when I'm killing you" retorted Itoshi
The fight was far from over.