Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The heavy silence in the kitchen didn't last. The door swung open with a sharp, familiar click, and Rudo stepped inside, practically radiating a cloud of pure, concentrated agitation.

To Rudo, this base wasn't just a roof over his head—it was his home, and the people in it were his entire world. Which was exactly why Rudo was currently so incredibly pissed off.

This was the second time in a matter of days that his family's space had been entirely disrupted. Just two nights ago, Rudo had been the one to spot Jabber's unmistakable, chaotic shadow lingering right outside Zanka’s bedroom. 

And now, the lunatic had returned, bolder than ever. Hearing the massive commotion from his quarters last night had made Rudo’s blood boil. The fact that Zanka had encountered that Alpha alone on the terrace—again—made Rudo's chest tighten with a protective, angry anxiety.

Rudo’s eyes immediately swept the room under a tense brow. He didn't miss the faint, lingering smell of expensive tobacco smoke drifting around Enjin that wasn't coming from his pheromenes, nor did he miss the fresh pile of black ash resting on the floor beneath the window where Zanka had just destroyed the note.

"You let him get away," Rudo muttered, his voice tight and sharp with frustration as he marched straight toward the counter. He stopped right next to Zanka, his posture rigid. "I heard the shouting last night. Why didn't you wake me up? We could have cornered that lunatic before he jumped off the railing."

Enjin took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a thick cloud into the morning air. "The idiot is fast, Rudo. By the time I opened the window, he was already dangling like a broken toy and making a mockery of the whole base."

"He shouldn't have been here at all," Rudo snapped, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He turned his gaze back to Zanka, trying to read his brother’s stoic face. "What did he want anyway? He doesn't just show up to make a scene and yell nonsense at Enjin. Did he touch anything"

Rudo glared suspiciously at the fresh ash by the window, his protective instincts on absolute high alert. Then, uncrossing his arms, he took a step closer to Zanka. His rigid posture softened just a fraction, though his eyes remained intensely focused as he looked at the empty plate on the table, and then back up at his brother.

"Enjin yesterday mentioned something before he shut the window up," Rudo said, his voice dropping into a lower, deeply skeptical tone as he pressed a step nearer, leaning in slightly. "Is it true? Did that trash actually have the nerve to say he brought gifts for you and Enjin?"

He glared briefly at Enjin, who suddenly became very interested in the ceiling, aggressively exhaling another thick cloud of premium smoke.

Rudo turned back to Zanka, his jaw tight with frustration. "What is he playing at, Zanka? He's a criminal. First he's creeping around your window two nights ago, and now he's throwing a circus on the balcony acting like he belongs here. If he thinks he can just buy his way into this base, or near you, I'll kick his ass myself."

Rudo kept his eyes locked on Zanka, his jaw clenched as he waited for an answer. His chest hove with every breath, entirely wound up by the sheer audacity of Jabber’s continuous intrusions. He wanted a strategy, a plan to hunt the Raider down, or at the very least, a shared sense of outrage from his older brother.

Instead, Zanka simply turned around, entirely unfazed by the storm brewing inside Rudo. He reached onto the lower shelf of the counter and pulled out the large, intricately decorated pastry box, setting it down with a soft, deliberate click.

Box, that wasn't there if he recall the reaction from his father. 

Rudo blinked, his angry tirade instantly dying in his throat as Zanka pried the lid open. The rich, sweet scent of high-end frosting and fresh, delicate pastry cream immediately filled the gap between them, cutting straight through the heavy aroma of Enjin’s cigarette smoke.

Without a word, Zanka picked up a beautifully glazed tart—decadent, perfect, and completely out of place in their gritty, everyday life—and held it out directly toward Rudo.

"Eat this," Zanka said, his voice as calm and steady as a flatline. "You're making too much noise for a Thursday morning."

Rudo stared at the pastry dangling in front of his face, and for a second, his brain completely short-circuited. Then, a sharp, stinging wave of disbelief and hurt hit him right in the chest. He looked from the perfectly frosted sweet up to Zanka’s blank expression, his eyes widening.

He was actually offering it to him.

"Are you serious right now?" Rudo asked, his voice cracking slightly as a mix of betrayal and pure offense took over. He took a sharp step back, refusing to even touch the plate. "You're actually keeping them? Zanka, that piece of trash literally trespassed onto our base, crept around your window, and you're treating his bribery like it's a breakfast buffet!"

He felt a sudden, bitter lump in his throat. To Rudo, accepting anything from Jabber was like letting the enemy win, but seeing Zanka act so casual about it felt like a door being shut in his face. It was as if Zanka didn't care about the danger, or worse, didn't care that Rudo was only trying to protect him.

"I don't want his damn leftovers," Rudo muttered, his glare shifting from the pastry box to Enjin, who suddenly coughed into his fist and turned his back completely, trying to hide the fact that he had eaten of them himself.

Rudo turned back to Zanka, his fists clenching tightly at his sides as the drama of the situation weighed heavily on him. "If you think a frosted tart is going to make me forget that a psycho Alpha is stalking you, you're wrong. You shouldn't be taking anything from him, Zanka. None of us should."

Rudo stared at the pastry dangling in front of his face, his jaw practically locked in a mix of offense and pure, agonizing temptation.

He hated Jabber. He truly, deeply loathed everything that chaotic psycho stood for. But as the rich, heavenly scent of sweet glaze and perfectly baked dough hit his nose, Rudo’s stomach betrayed him with a cruel, silent twist. Anyone who knew Rudo knew he had a massive, undeniable weakness for sweets—a secret craving that was incredibly hard to satisfy in a place like this.

Zanka didn't lower his hand, his blue eyes remaining completely fixed on him, entirely aware of the brutal internal war raging behind Rudo's angry expression.

"Take it," Zanka repeated calmly. "Before Enjin changes his mind and try to eat the box."

Rudo's eyes darted from Zanka's deadpan face to the exquisite tart, his chest heaving. His pride was screaming at him to turn around and storm out of the kitchen, to prove a point that their family couldn't be bought by a criminal's sugary bribes. But the pastry looked so good. The frosting was practically flawless, a rare luxury he hadn't seen in months.

With a sharp, deeply frustrated huff, Rudo violently snatched the tart from Zanka's hand.

"I'm only taking it so it doesn't go to waste," Rudo muttered defensively, his voice tight as he took a huge, aggressive bite just to stop himself from talking.

The moment the flavors hit his tongue, a wave of pure bliss nearly wiped the angry scowl right off his face. It was frustratingly delicious. Rudo chewed quickly, his glare returning as he pointed the half-eaten pastry at Zanka like a weapon.

"But this changes nothing," Rudo grumbled through a mouthful of crust, trying desperately to maintain his dramatic stance while simultaneously savoring every single crumb. "He's still a creep. And the next time I see him outside your window, I'm throwing a chair at him. I don't care how many bakeries he robs for you."

Rudo was still aggressively chewing his way through the last piece of the tart, his mind locked in a fierce battle between absolute culinary satisfaction and deep moral outrage. He swallowed the final bite, dusting a stray crumb off his chin, and crossed his arms again, determined to bring the heavy, serious mood back into the kitchen.

But the tension was immediately broken from across the room.

"You know," Enjin’s deep voice rumbled, cutting through the silence.

Rudo shifted his gaze over to the large Alpha. Enjin was still standing near the counter, leaning back with a serious air that didn't match the father figure he usually was. He cast a slow, completely unsubtle glance toward the large bakery box resting between Zanka and Rudo.

"I only had one of those cream-filled ones today" Enjin muttered, clearing his throat as his thick fingers tapped against his coffee mug. He looked at Zanka, his brow furrowing into a look of heavy, commanding authority that fooled absolutely no one. "As a matter of security and quality control, I should probably inspect another one. Pass the box."

Rudo’s jaw nearly dropped. He stared at Enjin in absolute disbelief. First, he discovers his father figure had been secretly indulging in Jabber's contraband sweets, and now the man was openly demanding seconds? The betrayal felt staggering. Rudo opened his mouth to protest, to yell at Enjin for losing his dignity over a bit of sugar, but Zanka beat him to it.

Zanka didn't move an inch. He didn't even slide the box a millimeter closer to Enjin's side of the counter. Instead, he just calmly closed the cardboard lid with a soft, definitive click, placing his palm flat on top of it.

"No," Zanka said, his voice entirely flat and unbothered.

Enjin paused, his dark eyes narrowing as his chest swelled. "What do you mean, no? I'm the one who had to deal with that lunatic screaming poetry under the balcony."

"You said the crust was stale," Zanka replied, his deadpan blue eyes locking onto Enjin without a single hint of fear. "And you already have one. Any more and you'll be too sluggish to run the morning drills."

Rudo's eyes darted back and forth between them like he was watching a high-stakes standoff. He felt a sudden, twisted sense of vindication seeing Zanka completely shut down the big man, even if the whole conversation was entirely ridiculous.

Enjin looked like he wanted to argue, his broad shoulders tensing as he let out a loud, deeply offended huff. But knowing Zanka, there was absolutely no arguing once his mind was made up. The large Alpha just aggressively snatched his coffee mug off the counter, muttered something completely incomprehensible under his breath about "ungrateful kids," and stomped toward the kitchen door.

Rudo stood there, watching the dramatic display, his stomach full of premium pastry but his mind still utterly exhausted by the chaotic reality of his family.

The heavy thud of the kitchen door closing behind Enjin left a sudden, ringing silence in the room. Rudo stood there, his arms still tightly crossed, his mind a turbulent mix of lingering sweetness from the pastry and deep, protective anxiety. He kept his eyes fixed on the closed cardboard box under Zanka’s hand, waiting for the usual deflection or the quiet dismissiveness his brother always used to protect his privacy.

Instead, Zanka let out a slow, quiet breath. He didn't pull his hand away from the box, but his posture relaxed slightly as he looked directly at Rudo.

"You need to stop winding yourself up," Zanka said, his voice dropping into a rare, open tone that caught Rudo completely off guard.

Rudo blinked, his rigid stance faltering just a fraction. He wasn't used to Zanka volunteering information, especially not about the chaotic Raider who had been circling their lives. He braced himself, a sudden spike of nervous tension hitting his chest as he waited to hear what his brother was finally going to admit.

"Jabber didn't rob a bakery for these, Rudo," Zanka continued, his blue eyes steady and completely serious. "He bought them. Legally. He went out of his way to get high-quality sweets because he knew they were a luxury here."

Rudo’s brow furrowed, a scoff rising in his throat. "Bought them? A criminal like him? You actually believe that?"

"Yes," Zanka said simply, cutting off Rudo's rising protest with a calm wave of his hand. "Just like he spent the money to bring three packs of premium cigarettes specifically for Enjin. He isn't trying to cause a scene or compromise this place, Rudo. He's trying to make an impression."

Rudo stared at him, his mind struggling to process the image of the wild, theatrical Alpha actually taking the time to carefully purchase gifts for his family. It felt completely wrong, entirely out of character for a Raider, and it only made Rudo feel more uneasy. His protective instincts flared again, a deeper worry settling into his gut.

"Why?" Rudo asked, his voice dropping into a tense, quiet whisper as he stepped a fraction closer. "Why would he care about making an impression on Enjin? Why is he doing all of this for you?"

Zanka looked at him for a long moment, the honesty in his expression completely bare. "Because he wants me as his partner. He's serious about it, Rudo. It's not a game or a passing joke to him."

The words hit Rudo like a physical blow to the chest. He froze, his breath catching in his throat as the full weight of the situation finally settled over him. It wasn't just a random stalker or a reckless criminal causing trouble for amusement. Jabber was actively pursuing Zanka, courting him with an intensity that Enjin had already picked up on, and he was doing it in earnest.

Rudo looked down at the empty space on the counter where his plate had been, a sudden, heavy wave of drama and protective dread washing over him. His older brother—the anchor of their small family—was being targeted by the most chaotic Alpha outside their walls, and worst of all, Zanka didn't seem to be pushing him away nearly as hard as Rudo wanted him to.

The reality of Zanka's words seemed to crash over Rudo all at once, shattering his anger and leaving a cold, hollow vacuum in its place.

The anger that had been keeping him upright completely drained out of him, replaced by a sudden, violent spike of panic. It wasn't the tactical panic of a fighter facing an enemy; it was a deeply buried, almost infantile terror—the raw, suffocating fear of a child about to watch his world split down the middle.

Rudo took a sharp, unsteady step back, his arms dropping to his sides. His chest heaved, but he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. He stared at Zanka, his older brother, the absolute anchor of his life, and suddenly Zanka felt miles away, already slipping out of the base, out of their reach.

"No..." Rudo whispered, his voice cracking as the drama of the realization completely broke through his tough exterior. He stepped forward again, almost frantically, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the counter just to stay grounded. "No, Zanka, you can't be serious. You can't actually be considering this."

"Rudo—"

"Don't!" Rudo cut him off, his voice rising, thick with a desperate, uncontainable fear. Tears of pure frustration and panic pricked the corners of his eyes, though he fiercely tried to blink them away. "He's going to take you away from here. That's what Alphas like him do! They take what they want and they drag them back to their own world!"

The words started spilling out of him in a frantic, unstructured rush, the heavy burden of his deepest insecurities finally ripping wide open.

"If you go with him... if you let him into your life, you're going to leave us behind," Rudo cried out, his voice trembling violently as he looked at Zanka with wide, pleading eyes. "You're going to get caught up in his chaos, in his world, and you're going to forget about this base. You're going to forget about Enjin. You're going to forget about me!"

He took a sharp, ragged breath, his knuckles turning white against the counter. The fear of abandonment was a living, breathing monster in his chest right now. To Rudo, family was everything, but it was also fragile—something that could be torn apart if one piece decided to walk away.

"You're my brother," Rudo choked out, the raw, childish terror completely bared. "But if you leave with him, if you move on and start a life out there... we won't be your family anymore. You'll replace us. You'll look back at this place and we'll just be... leftovers. Please, Zanka. Tell me you're not going to leave me behind."

Rudo felt the firm, heavy weight of Zanka’s hand on the back of his neck. That simple, slow, and deliberate contact acted as an anchor, instantly pulling him out of the painful spiral of panic he had sunk into.

"Look at me, Rudo," his brother’s voice commanded. It wasn't loud, but it possessed a calm so deep and unshakeable that the ringing of terror in Rudo’s ears finally began to dissipate.

Rudo blinked hard, fighting back the hot sting in his eyes, and forced his gaze to meet his older brother’s steady blue eyes. His own chest was still rising and falling erratically.

"Take a breath," Zanka ordered softly. Rudo let out a shaky exhale, listening with his heart in his throat. "First of all, nobody is going anywhere. I am standing right here in this kitchen, and I am not packing a bag. Jabber being loud and theatrical outside doesn't change where I sleep at night."

Rudo felt Zanka's thumb press lightly against the tense muscle of his shoulder. His older brother’s warmth was the only thing keeping him grounded in his spot, preventing his legs from collapsing under the weight of the childish anxiety he had just confessed.

"Second, get those foolish ideas out of your head right now," Zanka continued, and Rudo could hear his brother's tone softening, revealing a sincere warmth he rarely let through his usual stoic mask. "You, Enjin, and this base... you are my family. That isn't a title that just gets wiped away because someone else enters the picture. Family isn't a limited resource, Rudo. Having room for someone else doesn't mean I throw you out to make space."

Rudo swallowed hard, a tight knot forming in his throat. Hearing those direct words was finally causing the cold vacuum in his chest to fade away.

"Even if—and that is a very distant, hypothetical if—things change down the road and I decide to give him a chance, it doesn't mean I leave you behind," Zanka explained calmly, locking his eyes onto Rudo's so that there could be absolutely no doubt. "It would just mean our circle gets a little bigger, and God knows we'd have to deal with his chaotic nonsense together. But you will always be my brother. Enjin will always be the stubborn old man we have to look after. Nothing Jabber does, and nothing I decide, is ever going to change that. Understand?"

Rudo looked down at Zanka’s hand and then toward the floor, letting the weight of his brother’s maturity wrap around him. The panic was no longer suffocating him; the absolute certainty that he was still protected, and that his place by Zanka's side was safe, finally calmed the pup inside him, letting him breathe in peace.

Rudo stood perfectly still for a moment, letting the heavy silence of the kitchen settle around them. The frantic, hammering beat of his heart finally began to slow down, anchored by the solid grip of Zanka’s hand on his neck. He took another deep, ragged breath, the faint, sweet scent of the high-end pastry still lingering in the air, a strange contrast to the heavy emotional storm that had just passed.

Slowly, Rudo nodded, his jaw relaxing just a fraction. "Yeah. I get it."

Zanka gave his shoulder one last, firm squeeze before letting his hand drop, stepping back to give Rudo his space. He turned back toward the counter, his usual stoic demeanor sliding seamlessly back into place as if the raw, honest reassurance he had just given hadn't happened at all. He reached out and slid the box of pastries a little closer to Rudo's side.

"Good. Then eat another one if you're still hungry," Zanka said, his voice returning to its perfectly flat, unbothered monotone. "Just don't let Enjin catch you, or I'll have to listen to him complain about favoritism for the next days."

A small, involuntary huff of laughter escaped Rudo's nose, the last remnants of his panic completely dissolving. He looked at the closed cardboard box, then glanced over his shoulder toward the door where Enjin had stomped out just minutes ago. The mental image of their massive, terrifying father figure throwing a tantrum over a frosted cream tart was enough to make the whole situation feel almost normal again.

Rudo reached out, his fingers hovering over the lid of the box for a split second before he pulled his hand back, shaking his head. He wasn't going to let Jabber's expensive bribes win that easily, even if his stomach was giving him an enthusiastic green light.

"No, I'm good," Rudo muttered, crossing his arms over his chest again, though this time his posture was defensive out of stubbornness rather than fear. He looked at Zanka, his eyes narrowing into a sharp, protective squint. "But I'm still keeping an eye on that window. And if that psycho Alpha thinks a few fancy boxes of sugar mean he can just show up whenever he wants, he's going to find out how hard I can throw a kitchen chair."

Zanka didn't look up, but the tiny, almost invisible twitch at the corner of his mouth told Rudo everything he needed to know.

"Fair enough," Zanka replied quietly, picking up his glass of water. "Just make sure it's not one of the good chairs. Enjin fixed the legs on those last week."

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‘⸊ˎ

By the time the sun climbed high into the sky, the suffocating tension from the morning had finally begun to settle into a quiet, familiar routine around the base.

Riyo leaned against the doorframe of the common room, idly tugging at the edge of her thick grey leg warmers where they met her short black shorts. To anyone passing by, she looked entirely relaxed, her mind seemingly miles away. But behind that casual facade was the sharp, calculating mind of a former assassin—a past she couldn't completely shake, no matter how peaceful their days became.

To Riyo, Zanka wasn't just a fellow member of the base; he was a brother, family. And while she had spent the morning cracking jokes and teasing everyone about the ridiculous spectacle Jabber had caused on the terrace, a cold, sharp knot of worry had been tightening in her chest the entire time.

She knew exactly what Jabber was capable of. She knew because she had been forced to face that chaotic Alpha head-on during their brutal confrontation inside the trash beast. She knew how most Alphas work in the dark of the world were they all live. 

Riyo’s eyes darkened slightly as she looked down at her hands, the phantom weight of her weapon crossing her mind as she remembered their fight against the Raiders deep within that mechanical nightmare. She still remembered the absolute panic of that day—the raw, desperate instinct that had taken over when Zanka’s life was on the line.

She hadn't hesitated to pull the trigger, but even in that split second of terror, Enjin's strict rule echoed clearly in her mind: no killing. Being banned from taking lives under Enjin's leadership meant she had to suppress her deadliest instincts. With the precision only a former assassin could manage under pressure, she had deliberately aimed away from his vitals, unleashing a ruthless volley of gunfire that completely emptied an entire magazine into Jabber's non-lethal zones right there in the chaos of the beast.

The fact that the lunatic still circling Zanka months later like a persistent shadow, made her blood run cold.

She glanced down the hallway, hearing the faint sound of Rudo and Enjin bickering in the distance. The heavy drama of the morning had passed, but Riyo couldn't bring herself to drop her guard. Riyo knew the dangers of the past had a way of creeping back. She adjusted her posture, a quiet, deadly resolve settling over her features. She had emptied a clip into Jabber once inside that trash beast to protect her brother, and if that smiling freak pushed his luck too far near their home, she wouldn't hesitate to do it again—even if she had to keep him alive while doing it.

Riyo pushed herself off the doorframe with an almost imperceptible sigh. Walking in silence, the soft fabric of her thick leg warmers brushing quietly against the floor, she made her way down the hallway until she found Zanka in one of the base's secondary rooms. He was cleaning part of his gear with the same absolute parsimony and calm that always characterized him, as if the morning's chaos had never even happened.

Riyo crossed her arms and leaned against a nearby table, watching him in silence for a couple of seconds before breaking the ice with her usual teasing tone, trying to mask the tension that was still tightening in her chest.

"Well, if it isn't the man of the hour," she said with a sideways smirk, tilting her head. "I didn't know the Raiders did home deliveries for fine pastries now. If I'd known, I would have asked Jabber for some chocolate cupcakes the last time I had him in my sights."

Zanka didn't even look up from his task, though a faint exhale showed he had heard her.

"Rudo already made enough noise for today, Riyo," he replied in his typical flat voice. "Don't you start too."

Riyo’s smirk faltered a bit, softening into something more genuine. She let her arms fall to her sides and took a step toward him, abandoning the joking tone. Her dark eyes scanned her older brother’s face, looking for any sign of discomfort or strain that he might be insisting on hiding.

"I'm serious, Zanka," she said in a low voice, letting her worry filter subtly through her words. "Rudo goes crazy because he's a kid and he gets scared, but... I was there inside that trash beast. I know how persistent and deranged that Alpha is. I don't like him walking around here like it's his own backyard."

Zanka paused the movement of his hands for a brief moment, listening intently, though he kept his gaze fixed on his gear.

"It's under control," Zanka said, his steady tone meant to reassure her. "He's not going to do anything stupid inside the base."

Riyo drifted her gaze toward the window, watching the daylight outside. Her assassin's mind was still calculating perimeters, blind spots, and trajectories, but her sisterly heart just wanted to make sure they wouldn't drop their guard.

"I hope so," Riyo murmured, shrugging casually, though her posture remained alert. "Just... be careful. I wouldn't want to have to waste another full magazine on him. Enjin would get really mad if my hand slips this time and I can't avoid his vital zones."

Zanka finally stopped what he was doing and set his cleaning cloth down on the table. He turned his head slightly, his calm blue eyes fixing onto Riyo with that patient, unshakeable look he always wore when dealing with the family's antics.

"You're not going to slip, Riyo," Zanka said, his voice dropping into a quieter, more grounded tone. "Your precision is the only reason we aren't dealing with a corpse and a very furious Enjin right now. I know you're worried. But Jabber isn't here to start a war with the base."

Riyo let out a soft, dry laugh, though there wasn't any real humor behind it. She leaned her weight back against the table, crossing her ankles. "A war? No. But chaos follows him like a leash, Zanka. Alphas like him don't just stop because you ask them to nicely. He's reckless, he's loud, and the fact that he's trying to buy his way into your good graces with premium sugar and tobacco makes my skin crawl."

She looked down at her grey leg warmers, idly adjusting the fabric around her short black shorts, but her mind was flashing back to the cramped, suffocating interior of the trash beast. She could still hear the echoing roar of gunfire, could still smell the acrid scent of smoke, and remembered the terrifying speed at which Jabber moved. Even with a magazine's worth of lead buried in his non-vital zones, the man had barely blinked. Dealing with an enemy who smiled while bleeding was a nightmare for any assassin, because people like that didn't follow the rules of survival.

"Rudo thinks he's going to steal you away," Riyo continued, her voice dropping into a rare, vulnerable whisper as she looked back up at Zanka. "He's terrified you're just going to walk out that door and forget about us. I know you told him you wouldn't... but I also know what happens when someone like Jabber decides they want something. They don't give up. They don't care about the collateral damage left behind."

Zanka walked over to her, his movements fluid and completely devoid of the tension that seemed to be gripping everyone else in the base today. He stopped a couple of feet away, looking down at her with the quiet gravity of an older brother who understood exactly what she was trying to say without her having to spell it out.

"I am not collateral damage, Riyo," Zanka stated firmly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "And neither are any of you. Jabber can bring all the pastries and cigarettes he wants, but he doesn't dictate what happens in this house. If he steps over the line, I'll handle him. And if I can't, I know exactly who has my back."

He offered her a very faint, almost imperceptible nod—a silent acknowledgment of the weapon she kept close and the lethal skills she possessed.

Riyo stared at him for a long moment, letting his words settle over her. Slowly, the tight, rigid line of her shoulders relaxed. She let out a long, slow breath, a familiar, slightly mischievous smirk finally creeping back onto her face as she shook her head, an entirely different thought taking root in her analytical mind.

"You know..." Riyo murmured, pushing herself off the table and tilting her head thoughtfully. "If he really is going to keep coming back here, I don't just want to watch from a distance anymore. The next time he shows up, I want to be right there. I want to see everything."

Zanka raised an eyebrow, silently waiting for her to elaborate.

"I want to analyze him up close, see how he operates when he isn't trying to tear us apart," Riyo explained, her eyes gleaming with a mix of professional curiosity and sisterly protectiveness. "I actually want to talk to him. If this guy is seriously trying to court you, I need to look him in the eye and figure out what's really going on in that twisted head of his."

She walked toward the door, stopping just at the threshold to look back over her shoulder at Zanka, her smirk widening.

"And honestly? If he's going through the trouble of buying those expensive sweets for *us* to share and high-quality tobacco specifically for Enjin, he's doing it wrong," Riyo added with a playful shrug. "He brought gifts for the old man and technically for you, but he left the rest of us out. The next time he comes around, he better bring a proper, individual gift for Rudo to calm his nerves, and he definitely owes me one too. A girl has standards, Zanka. If he wants to win over the family, he has to pay the tax to everyone."

Zanka didn't say a word, but the subtle, amused twitch of his lips was answer enough. He turned back to his gear, picking up the cleaning cloth as if the conversation was officially over, completely unbothered by her demands.

Riyo let out a soft snort and finally stepped out into the hallway, her thick grey leg warmers keeping her footsteps entirely silent against the cold floor. As she walked away from Zanka’s room, the playful smirk faded from her face, replaced once again by the cold, calculating focus that had kept her alive for so many years.

She wasn't actually interested in whatever trinket or luxury Jabber might bring to buy her silence. Her mind was already running through the logistics of the next encounter.

If Jabber came back—and based on what Zanka had said, the Alpha was stubborn enough to do it—she wouldn't hide in the background. She would be right there in the room, watching the way he shifted his weight, analyzing the micro-expressions on his face, and checking to see if his movements were favored by the old wounds she had given him inside the trash beast. An assassin never stopped reading targets, and Jabber was the most unpredictable target they had ever faced.

As she neared the common room, she heard Rudo’s voice, still pitched a bit high and defensive, arguing with Enjin about something completely trivial. Riyo leaned her head back against the corridor wall, a small, quiet sigh escaping her lips.

Rudo was still a kid, reacting with raw, territorial panic because he didn't know how to handle the threat of their small family dynamic changing. Enjin was too stubborn and set in his ways to see the deeper emotional storm brewing under his own roof. That left her.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her dark eyes reflecting the dim light of the hallway. She had promised Zanka she would keep things civil, and she would honor Enjin's rule about not taking a life. But if that chaotic Raider thought he could just stroll into their base, upset her brothers, and disrupt the only real home she had ever known without facing her first, he was in for a very rude awakening.

Riyo tapped her fingers rhythmically against her arm, a sharp, dangerous smile finally touching her lips. Let him come, she thought. Let's see if he can handle the family tax.

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‘⸊ˎ

The suffocating silence in the corridor was a bitter pill for the twenty visiting Hell Guards to swallow. Standing inside the Cleaners' base under a fragile peace agreement, they felt completely stripped of their authority. Their faces exposed everything—shock, confusion, and a deep, long-festering resentment toward their hosts.

To any standard military unit, an unidentified freak marching right up to the perimeter would mean an immediate red-alert lockdown. But the Cleaners just treated the breach like an annoying chore. Near the common room entryway, two of the sideline Hell Guards watched the surreal scene, their voices dropped to a venomous whisper.

"They aren't even pulling security," one muttered, rubbing his tense face. "If some unknown lunatic pulled that stunt at our main barracks, heavy ordnance squads would have turned him to ash. Here? They just let the boxes sit there."

"Because it’s Zanka," the second guard spat, narrowing his eyes at the stoic, blue-eyed executioner who was calmly tuning his equipment. "Of course the universe has to revolve around him."

For the twenty guards, Zanka was a permanent bruise to their pride. They had all endured the same brutal academy training alongside him, but while they sweated and bled just to get by, Zanka belonged to a clan so naturally gifted that everything he did looked effortless. They utterly loathed him for it. And now, seeing their flawless academy rival become the target of a bizarre, aggressive courtship by an anonymous freak was driving them insane with jealousy.

"An anonymous stalker dropping off high-end pastries," the first guard whispered, shaking his head. "And the freak didn't even bring anything for the rest of the household. Just for him."

"And look at her," the other added, his eyes following Riyo as she walked right past their huddle without a care in the world. "She’s just strolling around like she owns the place, completely ignoring the fact that their security was just breached."

"Close your pathetic mouths," a sharp voice snapped, cutting the gossip short.

Barris shoved his way to the front of the huddle. The brown-haired Alpha, sporting his notoriously hideous hairstyle, glared at the sideline guards. As a textbook sycophant who couldn't stand anyone else getting attention, he immediately tried to mimic a commanding aura just to look important. "If the Cleaners are relaxed, it’s because they have it under control. Don't act like you low-ranks understand how real field operations work just because you're panicking."

Right behind him, acting like a literal shadow, Vane crossed his arms and sneered. The blue-haired Beta didn't waste a heartbeat before spinning a pathetic, defensive lie to mask his own glaring weakness and lack of skill from their actual time in the field. "Exactly. Why would we waste our energy drawing weapons on a civilian delivery guy? We could see from a mile away the idiot wasn't a real threat. It wasn't worth our time to step in, so we let the Cleaners deal with their own trash. If he had actually been dangerous, I would have dropped him before he even touched the door."

The other guards didn't even bother to hide their disgust at the transparent excuse.

Standing beside them, Mina kept her eyes glued on Riyo's movements. A shameless, blatant copycat who couldn't form an original identity to save her life, Mina sardonically shifted her posture, leaning against a structural pillar and crossing her legs in a desperate, pathetic attempt to perfectly mimic Riyo’s casual, confident stride. Trying to mask her blatant imitation with manufactured disdain, Mina fixed a spiteful glare on Zanka. "Honestly, Zanka always expects everyone to cater to him. This whole anonymous admirer thing is probably just a ridiculous stunt to distract from how much he slipped up when we were out in the field. It's so transparent."

"Oh, but don't you see? It's fascinating," Kira purred softly, closing out the group.

The Alpha had her long black hair pulled back into a high, painfully tight ponytail, and she wore the lingering, sweet smile of a professional fake friend—the kind of person who only ever got close to people to pry into their personal lives, digging up secrets and weaknesses to weaponize later. Her eyes darted greedily toward Zanka. "An anonymous suitor who leaves gifts exclusively for the head of the house and the object of his affection, completely ignoring everyone else? It's a classic psychological wedge. I think I'll go talk to Zanka... see how he's really handling the stress of being pursued by a complete unknown. He looks so desperately lonely over there."

The sideline guards shifted away from the toxic quartet, the air in the corridor turning foul with the group's petty, unadulterated envy.

Ultimately, despite the backstabbing comments and the embarrassing posturing simmering among the old academy ranks, none of the twenty Hell Guards were stupid enough to actually step across the line. Barris, Vane, Mina, and Kira could talk all the garbage they wanted to comfort their own bruised egos, but they knew they had to stay out of the way, keep their hands off, and just watch. Because whenever Zanka's mysterious suitor decides to bring his chaotic nonsense back to the Cleaners' base, they are going to handle it their own way—and the Hell Guards would have nothing to do but watch the fallout.

The suffocating silence in the corridor broke the exact moment Zanka stopped tuning his gear. Without saying a word to the surrounding huddle or acknowledging the heavy stares, the stoic, blue-eyed executioner simply turned on his heel. Riyo didn't need a formal command; she instantly fell into step right beside him, her thick leg warmers and short shorts cutting a sharp, unbothered figure against the cold concrete corridor as they left the wing behind.

All twenty visiting Hell Guards stood completely frozen, their bare faces locked onto the siblings' retreating backs. It was a silent, mesmerizing display of absolute indifference to the perimeter crisis that left the entire group of academy observers staring in awe.

Once the pair disappeared around the corner toward the exit, fourteen of the guards scattered, muttering under their breath as they retreated back to the safety of the guest quarters. They wanted no part in whatever the family was doing next.

But a small, venomous fracture of the group couldn't just let it go. Driven by a desperate need to find a flaw to exploit, Barris, Vane, Mina, and Kira instantly tracked their movement. Right behind them followed Jiro and Rei, the two gossiping Omega guards who simply couldn't curb their petty curiosity. The six of them quietly trailed the siblings through the inner thresholds of the base, eventually slipping out into the training grounds.

The moment they peered through the entrance, the landscape of the training courtyard opened up before them.

It was a wide, austere urban courtyard locked between towering, multi-story brick and concrete facilities with rows of grid-paneled windows. The ground was an expansive stretch of flat, grey paving stones, marked heavily by white-painted lines that double-functioned as a makeshift sports court and tactical sparring grid. Street lamps with dark iron frames hung rigidly from the walls, casting a grim shadow over the colorful, chaotic graffiti tags and elaborate spray-painted murals that defaced the lower concrete barriers. Wooden benches with dark metal armrests were scattered near the walls, and a lone basketball hoop stood like a silent sentinel against the industrial backdrop.

Zanka and Riyo walked directly into the center of this open stone field, completely ignoring the towering industrial pipes breathing steam far above the building rooftops. Hiding just inside the shadow of the main double-doored entryway, the six hidden Hell Guards kept their unmasked faces low, watching through the stone pillars.

Down in the center of the court, the siblings finally stopped. Zanka unslung his Jinki, the Lovely Staff, its presence instantly shifting the atmosphere on the pavement as he gripped it with practiced ease.

Opposite him, Riyo reached down to the cloth pouch she always kept fastened at her waist. With a swift, fluid motion, she drew her own Jinki—the Riiper scissors. The moment they cleared the pouch, the weapon expanded enormously, the massive, lethal blades gleaming under the dim overhead lights. She fell into a low, aggressive stance, ready to leverage her unique combat style where she fights primarily with her legs, her thick leg warmers anchoring her firmly against the stone floor.

Watching the weapons manifest, a sharp contrast divided the hidden observers. While the core four narrowed their eyes in familiar spite, the two Omegas completely lost their breath. Jiro and Rei had never seen a real Jinki deployed before, and the sheer, sudden pressure of the weapons left them paralyzed.

"What the hell is that...?" Jiro gasped, his voice cracking as he gripped the cold stone frame of the door, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. "She pulled that from a tiny pouch and it just... grew. The sheer weight ratio alone should be physically impossible for a kid to manage!"

"Look at the glare on those blades," Rei whispered right next to him, his scowl momentarily faltering into pure shock as his chest heaved. "Is that... what an actual executioner's weapon feels like? The air around them completely changed the second they drew them..."

Barris scoffed loudly from the front of the huddle, his eyes burning with an intense, bitter jealousy as he stared at the glowing Jinkis. He crossed his arms so tightly his muscles strained, desperately trying to devalue the weapons to save his own pride. "Get a grip, you low-ranks. You're losing your minds over overblown, oversized toys," the Alpha hissed, his voice dripping with forced contempt. "A real soldier doesn't need to rely on magical, showy crutches to win a fight. Jinkis are just loud, unrefined tools for people who lack real, systematic academy discipline. Let them flash their family steel all they want; raw metal means nothing without military precision."

Vane immediately leaned in over Barris's shoulder, his blue-haired shadow casting over the concrete as he sneered at Riyo's stance, eagerly jumping on the chance to back up the lie. "Exactly. That stance is a disaster waiting to happen," Vane claimed with a forced, arrogant smirk. "Scythe-legs or not, fighting exclusively with your lower limbs leaves your center of gravity completely exposed to a rapid vanguard counter. If I were the one in that ring right now instead of Zanka, I’d have those giant scissors stripped from her grip before she could even balance her weight. The Cleaners rely entirely on raw Jinki output because they completely lack our technical training."

The two Omegas didn't even look at Vane, completely ignoring the transparent, pathetic excuse as they remained transfixed by the sparring ring.

Standing beside them, Mina's knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of the structural pillar. Her eyes were glued to Riyo's movements, burning with an intense, suffocating fury. She sardonically shifted her posture, crossing her legs and tilting her chin in a desperate attempt to perfectly mimic Riyo’s casual, lethal stance—but the imitation felt hollow, and it was driving her insane. Without a Jinki of her own, she couldn't replicate the terrifying, majestic pressure Riyo was exerting over the courtyard. She ran a hand through her hair, her voice trembling with raw, unadulterated venom. "It's not fair... Look at her just playing around with a weapon like that. If I actually had a Jinki to match my skills, I could execute that exact same leg-vanguard formation flawlessly. She's nothing special; she just has the tools I'm being denied."

"Oh, but that's exactly what makes this whole session so incredibly fragile," Kira purred softly from the back of the group.

The Alpha adjusted her high, painfully tight ponytail, her sweet, venomous smile widening as she watched Zanka raise his staff. Her eyes glinted with the anticipation of a professional predator looking for a mental crack. "Zanka acts like he’s perfectly composed, but no one handles a chaotic stalker crossing lines into their base without gaining some psychological baggage. He's pushing himself through a standard routine just to prove he's unbothered. The moment Riyo pushes him hard enough on those stones, that hidden frustration is going to bleed into his movements. I can't wait to see him lose his perfect, untouchable composure when the stress finally catches up to him... and I'll be right there to console him when he falls apart like i always supossed to do in the past. "

Jiro and Rei shifted uncomfortably away from Kira's false warmth, but their eyes remained glued to the pavement, still completely shaken by their first real glimpse of Jinki combat.

Down in the center of the court, completely oblivious to the pathetic audience spying from the margins, Zanka's cold blue eyes locked onto his sister. Riyo met his gaze, a sharp, confident smirk playing on her lips. The heavy metal of their weapons caught the overhead light, and as the first strike swung, the six envious Hell Guards could do nothing but watch from the shadows.

The heavy, resounding *clack* of the Riiper blades snapping shut was the only signal they needed. Down on the paved grid, the intense stillness shattered instantly as Zanka and Riyo lunged into motion, kicking off a swift, fluid friendly spar.

Even as an exercise between siblings, the speed was staggering. Riyo spun low, her thick leg warmers brushing the grey stones as she launched herself into a fierce, inverted sweep, using the massive weight of her oversized shears to vault her body into a succession of lethal, rhythmic leg strikes. Zanka moved with a terrifyingly calm precision, shifting his weight across the white-painted court lines just enough to intercept her. The Lovely Staff blurred in his hands, deflecting the heavy blades with a series of sharp, metallic cracks that echoed loudly off the towering brick facilities. They weren't trying to maim each other, but the sheer kinetic force behind every strike sent visible shockwaves of dust rippling across the pavement.

While the six spies stood completely frozen behind the pillars, transfixed by the dazzling exhibition, two figures materialized from the deep shadows of the main facility corridor.

Kyoka and Goka approached the double-doored entryway with absolute, ghostly silence. They didn't make a single sound, stepping into the edge of the threshold just a few paces behind the envious huddle. Neither of them wore their gear or visorless gas masks, exposing their features completely to the dim light of the training grounds.

Kyoka stood tall, her sharp eyes instantly locked onto the fluid combat dance taking place on the stone field. Her expression was entirely unreadable—stoic, analytical, and completely devoid of the petty malice that corrupted the academy promotion in front of her. Beside her, Goka leaned his massive frame casually against the interior wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Unlike the frantic, defensive postures of Barris and Vane, Goka looked at the battlefield with a quiet, heavy authority, his gaze shifting back and forth between Zanka's flawless deflections and Riyo's aggressive leg-vanguard rotations.

The six hidden guards were so thoroughly consumed by their own complex mix of awe and bitter jealousy that they didn't even notice the two newcomers anchoring themselves at the rear of the doorway.

"Look at that recovery," Jiro whispered under his breath, his hands trembling against the concrete stone as he watched Riyo seamlessly twist out of a sweeping staff strike. "She didn't even lose her footing on those uneven paving stones. It's like the Jinki is just a natural extension of her body."

"She’s over-committing to the upward arc," Vane muttered stubbornly, though his blue hair was matted with a cold sweat as the metallic clang of another collision rang out. "If Zanka actually drove the Lovely Staff downward into her anchoring leg instead of checking his power, she'd be grounded. I’m telling you, it’s all flashy showmanship."

Barris didn't even offer a response this time. His eyes were wide, burning with a raw, suffocating envy as he watched Zanka parry a blinding triple-strike from the Riiper without shifting his core even an inch. Every perfect movement from the executioner was a physical strike to Barris's desperate pride, proving right in front of his face that the gap between them hadn't closed at all.

Mina watched Riyo land a high, spinning kick against the staff, her jaw clenched so tightly her muscles ached. She continued to helplessly mimic Riyo’s balanced stance against the pillar, but without the magnificent, terrifying weight of a Jinki to tether her to the space, she just felt small, hollow, and furious.

From the very back of the small huddle, Kira kept her sweet, venomous smile fixed on Zanka's face, searching through the flying dust for any sign of a mental slip. "He’s blocking beautifully like always," she purred in a dangerous whisper witham soft blush in her face, her high ponytail swaying slightly. "But he's striking a fraction of a second faster than usual. The pressure from that anonymous admirer is making him anxious to finish the routine. Just a little more weight on his shoulders, and that perfect composure is going to crack right wide open."

Directly behind her, Kyoka’s eyes narrowed slightly as she overheard the venomous commentary, though she remained perfectly still, a silent, imposing sentinel watching the toxic promotions rot from the inside out.

Down on the court, completely unbothered by the growing audience in the shadows, Zanka shifted his grip on the Lovely Staff, spinning the weapon into a low defensive guard as Riyo rebounded off a wooden bench with a sharp, confident smirk. The dust swirled around their ankles, the heavy steel of their Jinkis catching the grim overhead light as the friendly clash drove deeper into the stone ring.

The rhythmic, metallic symphony of the spar intensified, echoing off the high brick walls as Zanka and Riyo pushed the pace. Riyo used the massive momentum of her Jinki to propel herself, executing a breathtaking aerial twist. She swung her legs in a sweeping crescent, the giant blades shearing through the air just inches from Zanka’s chest. Without breaking his flawless posture, the omega pivoted on the grey paving stones, using the staff to catch the inner pivot of the scissors. A brilliant shower of friction sparks illuminated the grim graffiti tags behind them, casting fleeting shadows over the court.

Right behind the toxic quartet, Kyoka and Goka remained enveloped in the deep gloom of the doorway, watching the spectacle with the cold, critical eyes of seasoned veterans. They didn't move an inch, completely undetected by the six envious academy guards in front of them.

"Damn it... she’s shifting her weight entirely into the blade's rotation," Jiro muttered, his wide eyes reflecting the sudden flash of sparks. He subconsciously pressed closer to the stone pillar, completely captivated. "She’s treating a high-tier Jinki like it weighs nothing at all."

"It's reckless," Vane hissed immediately, though his arrogance was rapidly crumbling into a defensive panic. He wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead, his blue hair disheveled as he desperately tried to look like a superior tactician. "She’s leaving her upper torso completely unguarded during that aerial spin. If Zanka wasn't holding back, he could easily thrust the butt of that staff directly into her ribs. It’s pathetic that the Cleaners consider this elite training."

From the dark behind him, Goka silently scoffed, a tiny, imperceptible twitch of his jaw showing his absolute disdain for Vane's clueless analysis. Goka knew exactly what Riyo was doing—she wasn't leaving an opening; she was baiting a counter-thrust just to trap the staff between her massive blades. But he kept his mouth shut, letting the idiot drown in his own delusion.

Barris gripped his own arms so tightly his knuckles turned a ghostly white. His brown hair cast a dark shadow over his eyes, which burned with a raw, humiliating jealousy. He had spent his entire academy life trying to match Zanka’s shadow, comforting himself with the lie that bloodline status was the only difference between them. But watching the effortless, mathematical precision of Zanka's parries on the uneven stone grid tore that lie to shreds. Barris felt physically sick watching it.

Beside him, Mina’s breathing became shallow and ragged. The sheer, majestic pressure vibrating off Riyo’s giant scissors was a constant, mocking reminder of what she lacked. She tried to mirror Riyo’s low, balanced recovery stance against the concrete wall, but without a Jinki to anchor her soul to the battlefield, she just felt like a hollow, pathetic copycat. The fury in her chest was suffocating.

Kira, completely oblivious to Kyoka’s chilling glare boring into the back of her head, leaned forward slightly. Her sweet, venomous smile twitched with eager anticipation. "He intercepted that strike a fraction of a millimeter wider than the last one," she whispered, her voice laced with false, toxic concern as her high ponytail swayed. "The cracks are forming. He’s trying so hard to maintain that stoic, unbothered older brother persona, but that anonymous suitor's gifts are eating him alive from the inside out. Keep pushing him, little sister... let's see how ugly it gets when the flawless executioner finally snaps."

Before the echo of her whisper could even fade, Riyo dropped low to the pavement, her thick leg warmers dragging through the dust as she used the Riiper as a heavy anchor, launching a devastating, blindingly fast upward kick aimed directly at Zanka's chin.

Zanka’s cold blue eyes didn't even blink. With a terrifyingly fluid motion, he spun his adored Jinki into a vertical shield, absorbing the massive kinetic impact with a resounding CRACK that rippled across the courtyard, sending a thick cloud of dust swirling around their ankles. Both siblings froze for a split second in the center of the court lines, their eyes locked, completely unaware—and entirely unbothered—that the shadows behind them were crawling with the foul, pathetic envy of the Hell Guards.

The devastating upward kick from Riyo’s Jinki collided with Zanka’s vertical shield with a force that defied imagination. But the horrific CRACK that rippled through the courtyard didn't come from their weapons.

Both Jinkis remained perfectly flawless, their polished steel gleaming untarnished under the grim overhead lights. The Cleaners themselves stood completely untouched, their breathing steady and their frames entirely intact. Instead, the sheer, staggering kinetic pressure blew straight downward, fracturing the heavy grey pavement beneath their feet. A spiderweb of deep, jagged fissures shot violently across the white-painted court lines, sending chunks of stone and a thick, blinding cloud of dust swirling violently around their ankles.

Through the haze, Zanka and Riyo froze for a split second, their eyes locked in the center of the ruined stone ring. Riyo’s sharp, confident smirk didn't fade for an instant, and Zanka’s cold blue eyes remained entirely unfazed.

Behind the stone pillars, the massive shockwave of the impact forced the hidden observers to recoil. Jiro and Rei both let out a muffled gasp, instinctively throwing their arms up as a spray of grit rattled against the concrete frame of the entryway.

"The... the pavement just shattered," Jiro stammered, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the doorframe for balance. "They didn't even hit each other directly! Just the wind from that block tore the stones apart!"

Rei couldn't even muster a sarcastic reply. His unmasked face was pale, his eyes wide with a profound, paralyzing shock as he stared at the freshly cracked crater in the middle of the basketball court. The sheer, overwhelming reality of an executioner's true output had completely silenced his petty doubts.

Vane, however, was practically shaking, his blue hair disheveled as he desperately tried to blink away the dust. "A-arbitrary structural damage," he hissed, though his voice cracked under a wave of defensive panic. "Any brute can break old concrete if they swing hard enough! It proves nothing about their actual technical recovery. If Zanka had pushed his vanguard advantage instead of just standing there like a statue, she’d be completely vulnerable right now!"

Barris didn't say a word. He just stared at the unbroken, pristine surface of Zanka's Jinki. His arms were crossed so tightly his fingers dug painfully into his own sleeves, his brown hair casting a dark, miserable shadow over his eyes. The fact that the ground had literally given way before Zanka’s guard would even budge was a suffocating, humiliating blow to his pride. He looked physically ill, completely crushed by the realization of just how unreachable his rival truly was.

Beside them, Mina’s eyes burned with a chaotic, helpless fury. She stared at Riyo, who was casually balancing all her weight on one leg atop the fractured stone without a single wobble. Mina sardonically shifted her own posture against the pillar, desperately trying to lock her legs into the same imposing stance—but without the stabilizing, terrifying gravity of a Jinki to anchor her soul, she just felt small, hollow, and utterly pathetic.

At the very back of the huddle, Kira quickly recovered her sweet, venomous smile, though her high ponytail trembled slightly from the residual vibration of the strike. "Oh, it's getting so delightfully heavy out there," she purred in a malicious whisper, her eyes greedily tracking the dust settling around Zanka. "He had to exert a massive amount of internal energy to keep his balance flawless after an explosive drop like that. The stress from that anonymous suitor is making him over-compensate. One more heavy exchange, and that pristine, older-brother composure is going to splinter right alongside the pavement... and I'll be right there to catch him."

Directly behind her, the deep shadows seemed to grow noticeably colder. Kyoka and Goka hadn't moved an inch, remaining completely undetected by the frantic quartet. Goka silently crossed his massive arms, a dark, knowing smirk playing on his features as he looked down at Vane and Barris with absolute, silent contempt. He knew the idiots couldn't even begin to comprehend the level of control it took to break the floor while leaving the opponent's weapon completely undamaged.

Beside him, Kyoka’s sharp eyes narrowed into a chilling, stoic glare that bored directly into the back of Kira's neck. Her expression was completely unreadable, acting as an imposing, silent sentinel watching the toxic promotions rot in their own bitter envy while the siblings down on the court prepared for the next strike.

The dust had barely settled over the fractured pavement when the two figures in the center of the courtyard moved again. There was no hesitation, no fatigue, and absolutely none of the mental strain or emotional cracks that Kira had been desperately praying to see.

Instead, the friendly spar shifted into an even more synchronized, breathtaking rhythm. The girl let out a short, sharp laugh, using the massive blades of her giant shears to execute a series of dizzying, rapid-fire strikes that blurred through the air. The executioner met every single one of them. His staff spun in a flawless, mesmerizing orbit around his body, deflecting her heavy leg-vanguard rotations with a sequence of perfectly rhythmic, crisp metallic rings. They weren't fighting with frustration; they were flowing together with the absolute, untouchable synergy of two elite fighters who knew each other's movements down to the millimeter.

Behind the stone pillars, Kira’s sweet, venomous smile widened to its absolute limit. She leaned so far forward her high ponytail practically brushed the concrete frame, her eyes gleaming with a manic, desperate expectation.

"Look at the speed... he's rushing! He's absolutely desperate to shut her down because his mind is completely spiraling!" Kira purred loudly, her voice dripping with triumphant, toxic warmth as she prepared to witness the mental breakdown she had been predicting. "The anonymous suitor has broken him! Watch his left shoulder—he's over-extending! He’s going to lose his temper and lash out any second now! He's cracking, he's finally—"

Right in the middle of her sentence, the girl on the court threw a blindingly fast, deceptive fake-sweep, immediately transitioning into a powerful vertical drop-kick.

The executioner didn't lash out. He didn't lose his temper. Instead, with absolute, serene composure, he casually spun his staff with just two fingers, catching the exact focal point of the giant scissors' heavy cross-hilt. With a single, effortless twist of his wrist, he redirected the entire massive kinetic force of her attack completely away from himself, guiding her smoothly back onto her feet right next to him.

The momentum dissolved into nothing. The two down on the stones instantly brought their weapons to a relaxed, resting position, completely intact and perfectly in sync. The executioner extended a hand, calmly helping the girl balance on the cracked stones, and she just offered him a wide, proud, confident smirk, bumping her shoulder against his in a clear sign of a perfectly successful, harmonious training session. There wasn't a single shred of friction, anger, or stress between them.

Kira’s voice died instantly in her throat.

Her venomous words hung in the dead air, exposed as an utterly delusional, embarrassing fantasy. The absolute, flawless harmony of the fighters made her psychological "analysis" look completely ridiculous.

"Huh...?" Kira stammered, her face turning a bright, burning crimson as her manufactured smile shattered into a look of sheer, humiliating disbelief. She stared at the peaceful, smiling figures on the pavement, her hands shaking at her sides. "But... but the pressure... the psychological wedge... he was supposed to snap..."

An uncomfortable, heavy silence fell over the small huddle of spies. Jiro and Rei quickly exchanged sideways glances, burying their lower faces in their hands to smother the snickers they couldn't control. Barris and Vane subtly shifted their weight away from Kira, looking thoroughly embarrassed to even be associated with someone who had just read the entire situation layout-loud so terribly wrong. Mina let out a sharp, mocking scoff, rolling her eyes in pure disdain at Kira's profound failure.

Kira stood entirely frozen, her mouth opening and closing like a fish as the raw, humiliating weight of her mistake crushed her pride in front of her peers. She felt smaller than ever, utterly exposed in her own toxic delusion.

And yet, none of the six guards had any idea that the shadows directly behind them had grown entirely cold.

Deep within the pitch-black gloom of the facility corridor, just two paces behind Kira’s trembling shoulders, Kyoka and Goka stood completely motionless. They were like two ghosts melted into the dark, their bare, unmasked faces faintly catching the distant reflection of the courtyard lights. They hadn't uttered a single sound. They hadn't breathed a word.

Goka stood with his massive arms crossed over his chest. While a dark, slow, knowing smirk played on his heavy features at the sheer absurdity of Kira's failure, his eyes remained completely cold, hardened by a deep, underlying displeasure. The constant, pathetic attempts from the academy promotion to diminish the executioner's capabilities were entirely unwelcomed; to a seasoned veteran who understood the sheer gravity of real combat, listening to low-ranks weaponize petty gossip against a superior asset was nothing short of irritating.

Beside him, Kyoka loomed like an imposing, stoic sentinel. Her sharp, analytical eyes didn't blink, boring a literal hole straight through the back of Kira’s neck. A subtle, tight clench of her jaw betrayed her severe lack of amusement. Her absolute professional contempt wasn't just directed at Kira's terrible tactical reading, but at the sheer lack of discipline the entire group displayed by standing in the dark, actively praying for a frontline defender's mind to fracture under external pressure.

The six academy promotions remained completely oblivious to the dangerous shift in temperature behind them, their backs turned to the hidden veterans as they kept their eyes glued to the pavement ahead.

Down in the center of the court, completely unaware of both the envious huddle and the silent superiors watching from the dark, the two fighters gracefully reset their stances. The heavy metal of their weapons caught the grim overhead light as they prepared for the next round, leaving the secret audience in the corridor trapped in a heavy, suffocating stillness.

Down on the shattered stone field, the brief moment of stillness dissolved as quickly as it had formed. Riyo stepped back, the massive blades of the Riiper dragging across the fractured pavement with a harsh, screeching metallic ring that made the hidden observers wince. She shifted her footing, her thick leg warmers anchoring her firmly on the uneven stone lines, and offered Zanka another sharp, challenging smirk.

Without a word, the executioner accepted the invitation.

Zanka rolled the Lovely Staff over his shoulders in a fluid, hypnotic arc, his cold blue eyes locking onto his sister as he initiated the next clash. He lunged forward, his movements so deceptively fast that his silhouette blurred against the backdrop of the towering brick facilities. The staff became a continuous, spinning wall of kinetic force, driving straight into Riyo’s perimeter.

Riyo didn't give an inch. Instead of retreating, she leveraged her unique combat style, dropping her torso low to the ground and using the immense weight of her giant scissors as a heavy counterweight. She launched herself into a succession of blinding, aerial leg strikes, her legs snapping through the air with terrifying velocity. Every time the heavy steel of the Riiper collided with the Lovely Staff, a crisp, deafening *BANG* reverberated off the grid-paneled windows high above, accompanied by a shower of violent friction sparks that momentarily illuminated the colorful graffiti on the concrete barriers.

Behind the stone pillars, the six spies could barely keep up with the sheer speed of the exchange.

Jiro and Rei stood with their mouths slightly open, their unmasked faces completely pale as the shockwaves of the combat rippled all the way to the entryway. The sheer pressure of two high-tier Jinkis being wielded with such effortless, casual mastery was completely crushing whatever little academy pride they had left.

Beside them, Barris and Vane were dead silent. Vane’s blue hair was matted with cold sweat, his previous technical excuses dying in his throat as he watched Riyo seamlessly transition from a high-altitude spin into a flawless, defensive guard without a single wobble on the broken stones. Every strike Zanka parried with mathematical precision was a direct, humiliating blow to Barris's ego. The gap between their skills wasn't just wide—it was a bottomless chasm, and the absolute lack of the "emotional cracks" they had predicted made their envy taste like ash.

Mina remained tightly pressed against the structural pillar, her knuckles white as she sardonically forced her own posture to mimic Riyo's low, aggressive center of gravity. But the imitation felt more pathetic by the second. Without a Jinki to generate that magnificent, terrifying authority, she just felt like a hollow, invisible ghost watching a realm she wasn't allowed to touch.

And Kira, still burning a deep, humiliating crimson from her previous layout-loud failure, kept her eyes frantically glued to Zanka’s face. She was desperately searching through the flying dust for even a microscopic twitch of frustration, any sign that the anonymous suitor's luxury gifts were weighing on his mind. But there was nothing. Zanka’s composure was an unbreakable, pristine fortress.

None of them dared to speak a word, thoroughly chastised by Kira's massive blunder and the heavy, uncomfortable silence of their own defeat.

Yet, the air directly behind them remained thick with an entirely different kind of danger. Just two paces back, completely melted into the pitch-black gloom of the facility corridor, Kyoka and Goka stood like two judging deities. They hadn't moved a fraction of an inch. They hadn't let out a single breath.

Goka’s massive arms remained tightly crossed over his chest, his dark, heavy features hardened into a mask of silent, profound displeasure. His cold eyes tracked the back of Barris and Vane's heads, utterly disgusted by how these academy promotions spent their energy praying for a vanguard asset's mental collapse instead of studying the master class defense unfolding right in front of them. Beside him, Kyoka’s stoic, chilling glare remained locked onto the huddle. The tight, rigid line of her jaw signaled a dangerous level of professional contempt. To her, the six guards weren't just envious; they were a systemic embarrassment to the discipline of the base.

Down in the center of the court, the intensity of the friendly spar reached its apex. Riyo executed a ferocious, spinning sweep, the massive blades of ther deadly Jinki snapping shut with a resounding metallic echo directly against the center grip of the Lovely Staff. The impact sent another violent ripple through the ground, widening the spiderweb cracks in the pavement and sending a fresh cloud of grey dust swirling around their ankles, keeping the hidden audience trapped in a state of absolute, suffocating awe.

The deafening CRACK of the massive blades snapping shut against the center grip of the staff didn't dissipate; instead, the accumulated kinetic energy reached a volatile breaking point.

With a blinding flash of friction sparks, a final, catastrophic shockwave detonated outward from the clash. The sheer force of the rebound tore through the center of the training courtyard, fracturing what remained of the grey paving stones into loose gravel. The violent repulsion blasted Zanka and Riyo backward, forcing both siblings to skid heavily across the ruined white court lines until they were separated by nearly the entire length of the open field.

When the dust partially cleared, the absolute silence of the courtyard returned, heavy and suffocating.

Neither of them had fallen, but the raw magnitude of the impact left its mark. Riyo stood in a low, wide stance, her breath finally catching as her thick leg warmers anchored her against the loose debris. In her hands, the massive, lethal blades of her Jinki were visibly vibrating, the high-tier steel humming with a low, resonant tremor from the sheer force of Zanka's block. Opposite her, Zanka remained standing tall, his cold blue eyes locked fixedly on his sister. He held his adored Jinki in a tight, unyielding grip, though the weapon's shaft shivered continuously against his palm, absorbing the residual kinetic feedback of the clash.

For several agonizing seconds, the siblings simply stared at each other across the ruined pavement in absolute, unbroken silence. The competitive fire between them hadn't died; if anything, the adrenaline of the friendly spar was pushing them toward a much more serious exchange. Their knuckles whitened around their handles, their postures shifting lower as they prepared to lunge back into the epicenter of the crater to finish the fight.

But before their boots could even leave the stone, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the heavy air from the eastern wing of the facility.

"That is enough!"

Enjin stepped out into the dim light of the training grounds, his posture radiating a stern, undeniable command that instantly froze the courtyard. Walking directly behind him were Corvus and Semiu, their faces grim as they took in the sheer structural devastation of the tactical sparring grid.

The moment Enjin's gaze landed on the shattered paving stones, the fractured crater, and the dust settling over the defaced concrete barriers, Zanka and Riyo’s aggressive stances melted away into pure, unadulterated embarrassment. The fierce, untouchable pride they had displayed during the entire session evaporated instantly under the disappointment of their superiors. They were elite executioners, yet they had just torn up an entire section of the base's infrastructure over a standard friendly warmup.

Flushing with a silent, heavy shame, both siblings immediately deactivated their weapons to signal their submission.

With a swift, fluid motion, Riyo lowered her arms; the enormous, terrifying silhouette of the scissors shrunk instantly, folding back down into its original, harmless size before she quietly slipped it away into the cloth pouch fastened at her waist. Beside her, Zanka relaxed his grip on his weapon. The shifting atmosphere on the pavement dissolved as the high-tier Jinki retreated, leaving the staff looking like nothing more than an ordinary, unassuming wooden bastón in his hand. Both siblings kept their unmasked faces low, standing in a tense, sheepish silence as they waited for the lecture to begin.

Behind the stone pillars, the six hidden spies were so thoroughly captivated by the sudden arrival of Enjin's group that the air in the entryway changed without them realizing it.

"They... they actually stopped," Jiro whispered in a trembling breath, his eyes wide as he watched the massive Jinkis simply vanish into thin air. "The pressure just... completely died..."

Kira didn't even hear him. She was staring at the ground, her face still burning a deep, humiliating crimson from her completely ruined psychological analysis, utterly trapped in her own failure.

And that was exactly the moment the shadows behind them collapsed entirely.

"Fascinating show, wasn't it?"

Goka’s booming, heavy voice didn't just break the silence—it detonated like a flashbang directly behind the huddle.

All six Hell Guards violently jumped, several of them letting out muffled shrieks as they spun around in pure panic. Their unmasked faces turned a sickening, ghostly white as they recoiled against the stone pillars.

Standing just inches from them, completely blocking the exit back into the facility corridor, were Kyoka and Goka. The two veterans had finally stepped out of the pitch-black gloom, their imposing figures fully illuminated by the grim overhead street lamps.

Goka let out a deep, mocking laugh that echoed brutally off the brick walls, his massive arms crossed tightly over his chest as he looked down at the cowering promotions with absolute, unbridled contempt. His dark features twisted into a dangerous smirk. "You geniuses spent the last twenty minutes out here praying for an executioner's mind to fracture, and you didn't even notice two veterans logging every single word of your pathetic, bitter little gossip circle... About a Nijiku."

Beside him, Kyoka loomed like an executioner herself. She didn't laugh. Her sharp, analytical eyes didn't blink, boring a literal hole straight through Kira’s sweating forehead with a chilling glare of pure professional disgust. The tight, rigid line of her jaw signaled that the time for silent monitoring was officially over.

"Your academy training teaches you to analyze enemy weaknesses," Kyoka said, her flat, monotone voice cutting through the trembling huddle like an ice pick. "Yet all I see standing here are six low-ranks weaponizing petty envy because your own skills are too hollow to mimic what's out on that field. You are a systemic embarrassment to the discipline of this base."

Barris and Vane stood entirely paralyzed, their blue and brown hair matted with a fresh, freezing layer of cold sweat as they looked down at the floor, unable to even meet the eyes of their superiors. Mina’s hands shook at her sides, her sardonic copycat posture completely shattered as she was forced to face just how pathetic her imitation truly was.

"Well?" Goka sneered, his voice dropping into a low, threatening rumble that made Jiro and Rei squeeze closer together in terror. "The Cleaners are out there waiting. Are you going to go out there and explain your 'field dynamics' to them, or are you going to crawl back to the guest quarters like the useless audience you are?"

Without a single word, completely crushed under the humiliating weight of their absolute exposure, the six spies broke. Jiro and Rei practically bolted down the corridor, while Barris, Vane, and Mina hurried after them, leaving a trembling, utterly broken Kira to frantically scramble away into the dark, entirely ruined by the bitter, ridiculous reality of their own toxic delusion.

The chaotic clatter of the fleeing Hell Guards finally faded down the concrete corridor, leaving a heavy, ringing quiet in the entryway. Kyoka and Goka didn't move immediately. They stood shoulder to shoulder in the dim light of the iron-framed street lamps, their unmasked faces turned back toward the shattered courtyard.

Goka slowly uncrossed his massive arms, the trace of amusement on his heavy features dying completely, leaving a somber and weighed expression. He stared at the distant silhouette of his youngest brother, who was still lowering his head in front of Enjin, holding that simple wooden staff.

"Look at him," Goka muttered, his rough voice carrying a thick tone entirely devoid of any teasing. "He's become a beast, there's no denying that. But damn it all if it brings me any joy. Every time I see him master that miserable piece of wood with such precision, all I can think about is what a waste this all is."

Kyoka didn't break her gaze from the deep fissures in the pavement, but the line of her jaw tightened in a rigid, severe manner, betraying that the technical mastery she had just witnessed brought her no peace.

"His synchronization rate and control of residual energy are flawless," Kyoka declared in her usual flat, detached tone, though her words distilled an implicit rejection of the entire scene. "But the refinement of an exotic weapon does not compensate for the loss of his true potential. Zanka was trained to dominate the battlefield with the technical purity of our lineage, not to rely on the biological anomalies of a Jinki."

"Exactly," Goka grunted, slamming his fist against the stone frame of the pillar, releasing the frustration that seeing his younger brother in this position caused him. "He would have been a thousand times better off if he had never become a Giver. If he were nothing more than a waste of a Cleaner, scrubbing away the loose ends of others. He was supposed to be a Nijiku. His place was with us, leading the clan with the steel and discipline we raised him with—not crawling in this damn subterranean swamp."

To the two older siblings, every spark of genius Zanka displayed on the court was not a victory; it was a painful reminder of his betrayal and his fall. Watching him become an elite executioner only made it more intolerable that he had fled, turning his back on his own blood and abandoning the Nijiku clan to find refuge in a foreign organization.

Kyoka closed her eyes for a brief moment, turning her back completely to the light of the training courtyard to melt once again into the gloom of the corridor.

"He took the path of external resistance instead of internal discipline," Kyoka sentenced coldly. "The fact that he can destroy the ground without damaging his sister's hilt only proves he is applying our doctrine within a corrupted structure. A warrior of the Nijiku clan does not need to flee to find his strength. His current evolution is undeniable, but it remains the result of a cowardly choice."

Goka let out a snort heavy with disdain and resentment, turning around to follow his older sister's steps into the depths of the facility.

"Yeah. He's gotten strong, but he's gotten strong the wrong way," Goka concluded in a bitter whisper, disappearing into the darkness. "I'd rather see him fail a thousand times using our swords than see him win perfectly with the toy his flight gifted him."

The two veterans ventured deeper into the hallway, leaving behind the echo of the industrial steam pipes and the uncomfortable silence of a younger brother who, in the eyes of his family, was still completely lost.