The air between us felt different now. No longer heavy with the tension of battle, but rather, it was lighter, almost... easy. The fight had stripped away whatever hostility we had towards each other, and in its place, a strange sense of camaraderie was starting to take root. It was odd. Just a few moments ago, Kazuma and I were at each other’s throats, fists flying, kicks landing, and now, there was a mutual understanding, an unspoken truce.

Kazuma stood in front of me, hands in his pockets, still wearing that damn smile. I never thought someone who punched so hard could smile like that. “You look like shit,” he said, laughing softly, his voice carrying none of the hostility it had before.

I chuckled, wincing at the pain in my ribs. “Yeah, well, you don’t look much better yourself.”

He shrugged, brushing off my words with a grin. “I’ve had worse.”

There was a pause, and then I said, “So… what now? Do we just go back to punching each other the next time we meet?”

Kazuma's eyes met mine, and for a second, I thought he was going to crack another joke, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked serious, thoughtful even. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I think I’ve had enough of trying to kill you for one day.”

I nodded, feeling the same. “So, are we... friends now? Or something like that?”

He laughed again, this time louder, almost in disbelief. “Friends? Hell, I didn’t think someone like you would even ask that.”

“Well, someone’s got to break the ice, right?” I replied, grinning despite the pain in my jaw.

Kazuma’s smile softened, and he stepped closer, offering his hand. “Yeah. Friends.” His voice was quieter, almost as if he wasn’t sure about the word himself. But his hand stayed there, extended towards me.

I looked at it for a moment before taking it. His grip was strong, firm, but not aggressive. It was strange to think that the same hand that had been trying to knock me out just moments ago was now reaching out in friendship.

For a second, we stood there, shaking hands, and I realized that the fight had been more than just fists and kicks. It had been a test, a trial to see what the other was made of. And now, after everything, there was respect—mutual respect.

Ryo, who had been watching from the sidelines with the others, finally stepped forward. “Well, I didn’t expect this,” he muttered, his eyebrows raised. “One minute you’re beating each other to a pulp, the next you’re shaking hands.”

Kazuma smirked. “Guess that’s how it goes sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t make a habit out of it,” Ryo said, rolling his eyes. “We’re not running a fight club here.”

I could feel the tension draining away from the scene, and I finally allowed myself to relax. My body still ached from the fight, but there was a strange sense of peace settling in.

“So, what now?” I asked, glancing between Ryo and Kazuma.

Ryo was the first to answer. “Now? Now we get you two cleaned up before someone sees this mess and starts asking questions. You look like you’ve both been hit by a truck.”

Kazuma shrugged. “I feel like I have.”

I glanced at him, then at Ryo. “Where do we go?”

Kazuma gave me a sidelong look. “We could head back to my place. It’s nearby, and I’ve got stuff for, you know, fixing people up.”

“Your place?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Kazuma said. “You’ll like it. It’s quiet, not far from here. Besides, if you stay out in public like this, someone’s bound to call the cops.”

I wasn’t sure what I expected from Kazuma’s place, but it wasn’t much. After all, the guy seemed like the type to live in a bare-bones apartment with nothing but a bed and some bandages lying around. But still, I found myself nodding.

“Alright. Lead the way.”

Kazuma smiled again, this time less of a grin and more of a real smile. “Let’s go then.”

We started walking, the adrenaline from the fight wearing off and being replaced with exhaustion. I could feel my body protesting with each step, but I pushed through the pain. Kazuma walked ahead, his posture still relaxed despite the bruises and cuts covering his face. Ryo and the others followed behind, keeping their distance but close enough to keep an eye on us.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

As we made our way down the street, I couldn’t help but think about how strange it all was. Just hours ago, I didn’t know much about Kazuma, except that he was a tough opponent. Now, we were heading to his place like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“What’s your story, anyway?” I found myself asking. Kazuma glanced back at me, his expression unreadable.

“You mean why I fight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Kazuma was quiet for a moment before answering. “Let’s just say... I didn’t have much of a choice.” He left it at that, and I didn’t push him further.

We reached his place after a few more minutes of walking. It was a small, nondescript building, nothing flashy or special about it. Kazuma led us inside, and I was surprised at how clean it was. It wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t the run-down mess I’d imagined either.

“Make yourself at home,” Kazuma said, throwing a towel at me as he rummaged through a cabinet. “There’s a first-aid kit somewhere around here.”

As I caught the towel, I couldn’t help but smile. This was the start of something—something that felt right, even if I didn’t fully understand it yet. Maybe it was the fight, or maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was part of something real. Something bigger than just me.

----------------------------------------

The scene shifts into a dimly lit room, the air thick with an ominous silence. The girl, who Kaito had saved earlier, now appeared before a man seated on a low platform. His legs were crossed, and his face was obscured by the shadows, leaving an aura of mystery around him. Her steps were deliberate, showing no sign of hesitation, and once she stood before him, she bowed deeply, her long hair falling forward, barely concealing her expression of unwavering resolve.

Without any pleasantries, she cut straight to the heart of the matter, her voice steady yet detached. "Looks like we found him," she said nonchalantly, her words hanging in the air like a cold breeze. "He's back."

The man, still seated, remained motionless for a moment, as if processing her words. Then, a low, cold chuckle reverberated through the room. It wasn’t the laugh of amusement, but one that spoke of something darker—something calculated. His hands, resting on his knees, tightened slightly, and then, with slow deliberation, he stood up.

As he did, the dim light revealed more of his figure. His black hair fell in disheveled strands around his face, framing sharp, cat-like pupils that gleamed in an unnatural blue. His eyes alone could send a shiver down anyone’s spine—cold, piercing, as if they could strip away the very essence of someone’s soul with just a glance.

His long coat swayed with his movement, and as he turned, the intricate marking on the back of it became visible—one single Japanese character that read "Destroy." The marking itself seemed to pulse with a sense of menace, like a promise of what he was capable of. The girl’s gaze remained steady, unfazed by the display. She knew exactly who she was dealing with.

"You’re sure it’s him?" the man asked, his voice smooth but with an underlying edge that hinted at suppressed violence.

She straightened her posture and nodded. "There's no doubt about it. The way he fights, the strength he showed—no one else fits the description." Her tone carried a certain weight, as if she'd been waiting for this moment, as if this revelation was not just news, but a long-awaited turning point.

The man smirked, his blue eyes flickering with something darker. "So, the prodigal child returns." He stretched his neck slightly, his muscles tensing as though he was preparing for something. "And what does he want this time? Revenge, redemption? Or is he still chasing that hollow sense of justice?"

The girl shrugged, keeping her gaze straight ahead. "That, I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter, does it?"

His smile widened, and for a brief moment, his sharp canines were visible—another sign of the predator he truly was. "No. It doesn't."

The girl shifted slightly on her feet, her earlier calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, her voice softer now, though it still held its edge of nonchalance.

The man took a few steps forward, the soft echo of his boots hitting the ground filling the room. He approached her slowly, but deliberately, until he was standing just inches away from her. The faint scent of blood and steel seemed to linger around him, making the air around them heavier.

He raised a hand and gently placed it on her shoulder, his touch surprisingly light. "Watch him. See how far he's willing to go." He paused, his gaze locking with hers, the intensity of his cat-like eyes piercing through the air. "But don’t intervene. Not yet."

The girl nodded, understanding the weight of his words. She had been trained for this, after all—trained to be patient, to watch, and to strike only when the moment was right. There was no rush, no need to force anything. Everything had its time.

"And if he starts to become a problem?" she asked, a trace of curiosity slipping into her tone.

The man’s smile returned, colder and more menacing than before. "Then... you’ll know what to do." His words dripped with an unsettling certainty, as if the fate of anyone who opposed him was already sealed.

She bowed her head again, acknowledging his command. "Understood."

With that, the conversation was over. The girl turned on her heel and exited the room, her steps echoing down the hallway as she disappeared into the shadows. The man, left alone, walked toward the large window that overlooked the city. He stood there for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the bustling streets below with a sense of detachment.

For a moment, his expression softened, but then his eyes flickered with that same dangerous gleam. "It's been a while since we've had some real entertainment," he murmured to himself. "Let’s see if you still have what it takes... Kaito."

As he spoke the name, the marking on his back, the single word "Destroy," seemed to pulse with a dark energy, as if it too was anticipating what was to come. Whatever plans he had, whatever dark thoughts were swirling in his mind, one thing was clear—he was ready for the chaos that Kaito's return would undoubtedly bring.

And chaos, it seemed, was exactly what he thrived on.