Up on the rooftop, the rain had reduced to a fine drizzle, but the tension between Kuro and Ren remained thick and heavy. The two rivals stared each other down, their drenched clothing clinging to their bodies, their breaths visible in the cold air. Ren's sharp eyes were locked on Kuro's every move, while Kuro, biting his already-bleeding thumb, radiated frustration and anger.
Kuro's voice broke the silence, low and sharp like a blade. "You think showing up here makes you better than me? That you can outrun me, outdo me, outshine me?" He clenched his fists, the blood from his thumb dripping onto the rooftop. Ren, as clueless as ever, blinked a few times before tilting his head and adjusting his tone. "Uh… do we know each other?"
Kuro's face twisted in rage, veins popping as he shouted, "IT'S KURO, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
Ren's eyes widened, and he clapped his hands together in sudden realization. "Ohhh! Kuro! Right, I remember now. So, uh… what are you doing up here?"
Kuro, seething, grabbed what looked like a metal baton but turned out to be a flimsy plastic prop. He gripped it so tightly in frustration that it snapped in half. "Shoto ruined my reputation… my pride… EVERYTHING!"
But as Kuro looked up to continue his rant, he realized Ren was gone. The boy had already picked up the unconscious Endo and was casually walking toward the house.
Ren paused briefly, glancing back at the rooftop. "Shoto's not here, man. If you wanna talk to him, just catch him at school or something. Later!" He disappeared inside without a care in the world.
Kuro stood there in silence, his broken baton in hand, before letting out a primal scream of frustration, the weight of his defeat sinking in as the rain finally stopped.
Hina, Shoto, and Yuumo stood in front of Hikotu High—or what little remained of it. The school looked more like a forgotten relic of chaos than a place of learning. The walls were crumbling, the windows shattered, and graffiti scrawled across every surface. Handwritten spray-paint messages ranged from cryptic warnings to bold declarations of defiance. The air was thick with a sense of abandonment, as though the very ground beneath them carried the weight of countless battles.
Shoto let out a sigh, running a hand through his damp hair as he surveyed his outfit. He was wearing blue denim jeans, a plain black short-sleeve shirt, and a matching denim jacket. It felt out of place for the eerie setting. "Maybe we should've just worn our school uniforms…" he muttered, feeling oddly self-conscious.
Yuumo, who was wearing her usual attire with the addition of a bold red bandana tied across her head, twirled in place with a grin. "I don't know what you're talking about! I look amazing," she declared, striking a playful pose.
Hina, however, was all business. Dressed in an army-inspired outfit with sturdy combat boots, she carried her trusted kendo stick over her shoulder, ready for whatever awaited them inside. She tapped the toe of her boots on the cracked ground, as if testing their strength, before stepping toward the entrance. "I'm going in," she said flatly, her voice steady and focused.
Yuumo, still brimming with energy, followed closely behind her. Shoto hesitated, trailing behind with a growing sense of unease. As they approached the door, he reached out to open it—only to find it firmly locked. He frowned, tugging at the handle, but it wouldn't budge.
Just as he turned to call out to the others, a shadow fell over him. The familiar presence of danger made his blood run cold. Slowly, he turned around, and there he was—the wild-haired, scarred "Tetsuya" he had met before in the rain. The man stood silently, his piercing eyes locked on Shoto with a chilling smirk tugging at his lips.
Shoto's heart sank, fear flashing in his eyes. "Sh-shit," he muttered, taking a step back as the air seemed to grow heavier around him.
Meanwhile, inside the building, Hina and Yuumo were making their way down a dark, hollow hallway. The air smelled of dust and decay, the sound of their footsteps echoing ominously. Hina moved ahead, her kendo stick tapping against her shoulder as she walked with purpose toward the area where Tetsuya's throne was supposed to be. Yuumo lagged behind, her curiosity causing her to glance around at the graffiti-covered walls and broken lockers.
"Yup, this is definitely their kind of place," Yuumo muttered, scratching the back of her head absentmindedly. She sighed when she realized Hina had already disappeared ahead of her. "Hey, wait up!" she called, her voice carrying through the empty hallway.
Out of nowhere, Hikaru and Neko appeared, leaning casually against a row of battered lockers. The small cat suddenly sprang out of Hikaru's sweater, darting down the hall.
"Where are you going?!" Hikaru shouted after the feline, exasperated. He let out a long sigh and smoothed back his now-dry hair, his new outfit—a pair of black jeans and a fitted sweater—looking fresh and unbothered by the chaos around him. He didn't seem too interested in Neko's escape, his focus instead shifting to the sound of approaching footsteps.
The hallway grew tense as another figure emerged from the shadows. Izuru, Tetsuya's right-hand man, stepped forward. His blue-tipped hair gleamed under the dim, flickering light, and his glasses caught the reflection of Hikaru's sharp gaze. His cocky smirk and laid-back posture mirrored Hikaru's own energy, almost like staring into a warped mirror.
"So, you're the one stirring things up," Izuru said casually, adjusting his glasses. The way he carried himself spoke of dangerous confidence.
Hikaru gave a slow, knowing smile. "And you must be the loyal lackey. What's it like living in someone else's shadow?"
"Someone else's shadow?" Izuru repeated, his voice dripping with amusement. Slowly, he removed his glasses and casually crushed them in his hand, revealing they were nothing more than props. "These were just for aesthetic purposes," he said with a smirk, tossing the broken pieces aside. "But you've got to admit, the seven of you have been quite impressive so far."
Hikaru remained calm, his sharp eyes quietly analyzing Izuru's every movement. "Seven of us, huh?" he said flatly, his tone betraying neither curiosity nor concern.
Izuru's grin widened with confidence. "Oh yeah, seven. Let's see… Ryuji, the boxer. Ren, the track star. The troublemaker, Endo. The gamer, Yuumo. Your precious Student Council President, Hina. And of course, the reincarnated 'scaredy-cat king,' Shoto Kazami. Oh, and let's not forget his so-called 'right-hand man'…" He paused, leaning forward slightly as if to make his next words hit harder. "Hikaru."
Hikaru's expression didn't waver, but his silence spoke volumes as he listened. Izuru crouched down, his posture casual yet sharp, like a coiled spring. "I'll give you a shot," Izuru said, his tone dripping with mock generosity. "Why don't you try taking me down with those fancy bows and arrows you're so proud of?"
Before Izuru could finish his taunt, Hikaru made his move. Without hesitation, he pulled a small, metal object from his pocket. With a swift motion, it unfolded into a sleek, metallic bow. Reaching behind his back, Hikaru retrieved an arrow from a hidden quiver tucked into the waistband of his jeans. With lightning speed, he notched the arrow, drew the bowstring, and fired.
The arrow cut through the air with deadly precision, aimed straight at Izuru. But just as it was about to connect, Izuru vanished in a blur of motion. A tap on Hikaru's shoulder made him spin around, only to see Izuru standing behind him, wearing an infuriatingly smug expression. "You really should've let me finish," Izuru teased.
Hikaru instinctively leapt backward, putting space between them. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of what just happened. "That speed… it felt like Endo's teleportation," Hikaru muttered to himself. "No, it's different… but how?"
Izuru chuckled darkly as he dropped into a low stance, his body tense and ready like a sprinter at the starting line. The posture was unmistakable—it mirrored Ren's. Before Hikaru could react, Izuru darted forward at blinding speed. In a split second, he was upon Hikaru, delivering a punch with the force and precision of Ryuji. The blow connected with Hikaru's chest, sending him flying backward and crashing hard against the hallway wall.
The impact left Hikaru dazed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to catch his breath. He pushed himself to his feet, grimacing as pain radiated through his body. Izuru stood tall, flexing his hand as steam rose from his clenched fist. His smirk was colder now, more menacing.
"I, Izuru, have a little gift," he said, his voice calm and deadly. "I can copy abilities to my liking. And trust me, I don't just mimic them—I perfect them."
Hikaru wiped the blood from his mouth, his gaze narrowing. His posture straightened as he steadied himself, despite the ache in his ribs. "Great," he muttered, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. "This is going to get real annoying."