An hour had passed since the audacious break-in at the Association's headquarters. The apparent calm in Elysia's living room stood in stark contrast to the chaos likely gripping the organization at that moment. Sitting comfortably on the couch, Akira faced Yumi, his eyes closed and his head resting casually against a cushion. Between his nimble fingers, a thin wooden stick twirled with hypnotic grace. The silence in the room was broken by Yumi's composed voice.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked, her eyes carefully studying Akira's impassive face.
Without opening his eyes, Akira replied calmly, "For now, we wait for her to wake up." He was referring to Elysia, still unconscious in the next room.
Yumi nodded thoughtfully. After a brief pause, she continued, "I see. And the Heart?"
At those words, a faint smile curved Akira's lips. He sat up slowly, opening his eyes to meet Yumi's gaze. "As for the Heart of Belthegus, I'll make something worthy of its rank," he replied enigmatically, pulling out the dimensional pouch containing their precious loot.
Observing Akira's cryptic smile, Yumi seemed lost in thought. "I wonder…" she began, leaving her sentence hanging.
Intrigued, Akira raised his eyes to her. "What? What is it?"
"Why do you seem so different from the other Otsutsuki children?" Yumi asked, her tone suggesting she didn't expect a real answer. "We all live for the glory of our clan, but you… it's like the clan doesn't matter to you."
The question seemed to amuse Akira, who responded with a hint of disdain, "Why should I care about the clan?"
Yumi's eyes widened at this bold reply. A mischievous smile played on her lips as she retorted, "Aren't you afraid? I could have you killed for treason."
The threat, far from intimidating Akira, only deepened his amusement. A mocking laugh escaped his lips, tinged with an exasperated sigh. "Why would you do that? Just like me, the clan means nothing to you," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "The only thing tying us to the clan is the name, nothing more."
As they exchanged these weighty words, the door suddenly opened. Elysia appeared in the doorway, her face marked by fatigue and confusion. Her eyes, still clouded with sleep, swept the room, lingering on Akira and Yumi in turn.
"What… What happened?" she asked, her voice still hoarse, one hand pressed to her head as if to dispel the lingering fog of unconsciousness.
Akira and Yumi exchanged a quick glance before the young man spoke. "You passed out," he explained simply.
Elysia frowned, clearly trying to piece together her memories. "I… I remember the weapon workshop, and then…" Her eyes widened suddenly as the events flooded back. "The vault! The stones! What did you do?"
Akira stood slowly, approaching Elysia with a confident stride. "We took what we needed," he replied calmly, his eyes locked on hers.
"I see…" Elysia nodded slowly, shaking her head as she realized there was no turning back. "What do we do now?" she asked, her voice betraying a mix of resignation and curiosity.
"For starters, you'll need to gather your old team, and of course, convince them to come," Akira said, leaning close to Elysia's ear and whispering threateningly, "or I'll have to go get them myself."
"O-Okay…" Elysia agreed reluctantly. "What are you going to do in the meantime?" she asked.
"Next," Akira continued, "I'm going to see someone who'll be very useful."
"I've got to go now. See you later," Akira concluded, turning away with his hands in his pockets.
---
The dilapidated streets stretched endlessly, bleak and silent under the gray sky. Crumbling buildings with broken windows loomed on either side of the road, their empty frames gaping like hollow sockets. The cracked asphalt was littered with debris, old newspapers, and trash carried by the wind. A light breeze swirled dead leaves and papers, the only movement in this frozen, abandoned landscape.
In this ghostly setting, Akira walked with a cheerful step, a steaming bag of takoyaki in hand. His smile stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desolation. He inhaled the tantalizing aroma wafting from the bag with delight.
"Wow… it's always a treat to eat these," he exclaimed, popping a piece into his mouth.
The umami flavor exploded on his tongue as he savored the soft texture of the dough and the crispiness of the octopus. A contented sigh escaped him as he continued his walk, seemingly indifferent to the grim atmosphere around him.
His steps led him to a jewelry store—or what was left of it. The faded sign hung crookedly above a dusty, empty storefront. The barren shelves inside spoke of the shop's long abandonment. Yet, Akira stopped in front of the closed door and pressed the doorbell.
*Dring… dring…* The chime rang out, its sound oddly out of place in the deserted street. Akira waited a moment, then pressed again. Silence fell, oppressive.
Suddenly, a gruff voice rose behind him: "Didn't you see it's closed?"
Akira turned to face a man in his forties. He wore a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, revealing muscular, weathered forearms. In his calloused hands, he carried several plastic bags filled with groceries.
"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" the man continued, frowning. His hard gaze scrutinized Akira with suspicion. "Besides me, no one lives here anymore," he added, brushing past Akira to head toward the shop's door.
Akira studied him for a moment, calmly chewing his takoyaki. The man had rugged features, a face weathered by years and troubles. His steel-gray eyes seemed to have seen more than their share of hardships. Despite his apparent gruffness, something in his demeanor betrayed a weariness, as if he carried an invisible burden.
"I'm looking for someone named Hernandez," Akira finally said. "Can you tell me where to find him?"
At the mention of the name, the man froze. His shoulders stiffened slightly, and a shadow passed over his face. He stood still for a moment, lost in thought, before slowly turning to Akira.
"Where did you hear that name?" he asked in a low voice, almost a growl. Then, shaking his head, "No, that's not even the question… What do you want?"
His tone carried both annoyance and a hint of curiosity, as if he were torn between dismissing the intruder and learning more.
A playful smile danced on Akira's lips as he took another bite of takoyaki. "Isn't it obvious?" he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
The man stared at him for a long moment, clearly trying to unravel the mystery of this young man who had appeared out of nowhere. Finally, without a word, he turned away and opened the shop's door. He was about to close it behind him when Akira wedged his foot in the doorway.
"You're not even going to offer me a glass of water, old man?" he teased, his smile widening.
A flash of anger crossed the man's eyes, quickly replaced by resignation. He let out a deep sigh, as if carrying the weight of the world. After a moment's hesitation, he opened the door wide, letting Akira enter before carefully closing it behind them.
The shop's interior was as dilapidated as its exterior suggested. Dust coated the surfaces in a fine gray film, and the air was heavy with a musty smell. The once-shining display cases were empty, save for a few abandoned stands. At the back of the room, a massive counter dominated the space, topped by a tarnished mirror.
The man headed toward a hidden door, disappearing briefly into what seemed to be a back room. The sound of rustling plastic bags was heard, then he reappeared, empty-handed. With his back to Akira, he asked in a weary voice, "What does a young guy like you want with me?"
Akira didn't beat around the bush. "I want you to forge me a sword," he declared simply.
A heavy silence fell over the room. The man stood still, as if frozen by the unexpected request. Slowly, he turned to face Akira, his face a mask of disbelief mixed with suspicion.
"A sword?" he repeated, as if unsure he'd heard correctly. "Are you messing with me, kid?"
Akira shook his head, his expression turning serious. "Not at all. I need a sword, and I was told you're the best… Hernandez."
At the sound of his name, the man flinched. His eyes narrowed, studying Akira with distrust. "Who told you about me?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
"You're kind of famous, aren't you?" Akira replied with a shrug. "The important thing is, I'm here, and I need your services."
Hernandez—for it was indeed him—remained silent for a moment, thinking. His gaze shifted from Akira to the door, as if debating whether to throw him out. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh.
"Listen, kid," he began in a tired voice, "I don't know why you're here or what you think you know, but that era is over. I don't make swords anymore, not for a long time."
Akira didn't seem surprised by the refusal. "Since Belthegus?" he said with a small smile.
"..." The words hit Hernandez like a blow. His face darkened, and a flicker of pain passed through his eyes.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch…" Akira sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Look, old man, I don't care what happened, and I don't need to know. But you *will* make me that sword."
After a moment of silence, Hernandez spoke, "Fine," he said in a hoarse voice. "We'll get started. But I'm warning you, kid, I'm not promising anything."
Akira nodded. "We'll see," he said. "Let's do this."
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