The docks were quiet.
By the time they got there it was already dark.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet. The abandoned kind. The kind that clung to rusted cranes and hollowed-out warehouses, to salt-crusted railings and broken windows that hadn't seen light in years.
They walked in silence—Yukari leading, Derek behind her, Sophia and Ren trailing at a distance. Their footsteps echoed off the concrete, swallowed by the vast emptiness of the industrial graveyard.
The warehouse loomed ahead.
Yukari pushed open the door.
It groaned—a long, rusted sound—and swung inward.
The interior was exactly as she remembered it. Broken crates. Shattered glass. The faint smell of salt and old blood. Moonlight spilled through holes in the roof, casting pale columns across the concrete floor.
She stepped inside.
Her eyes drifted to the far wall—still cracked from where Yuki had been thrown. To the floor—still scarred from Seri's vines.
Nostalgia.
She ran her fingers along a rusted beam as she walked past.
This is where Yuki fought. This is where he almost died.
She stopped in the center of the warehouse and turned.
Derek stood across from her, roughly thirty feet away. His jaw was tight. His shoulders squared. His orange eyes burned with quiet determination.
Ren and Sophia settled against the far wall—spectators to a fight that hadn't even started.
"This will be entertaining," Ren muttered.
Sophia said nothing. Her golden eyes were fixed on Yukari, unblinking.
Derek raised his fists. A proper fighting stance—feet planted, guard up, chin tucked.
Yukari didn't move.
She stood with her hands in her pockets, posture loose, expression bored.
Derek gritted his teeth.
"You fought Giyu with a sword." His voice echoed off the walls. "Why don't you get it? You're gonna need it."
Yukari removed one hand from her pocket.
She stretched it toward him—palm open, fingers spread.
A second passed.
Then the wall behind Derek exploded.
A sword burst through the concrete—dark blue sheath, white lines decorating the surface, light blue hilt with a black handle. It flew past Derek's head with such speed that his hair whipped sideways and his clothes fluttered. He felt the wind of its passage against his cheek.
Yukari caught it.
The blade slapped into her palm with a sharp crack. She didn't even look at it. She simply lowered her arm and laid the sword on the ground.
"I don't need it."
Derek stared at her.
His eyes flicked to the sword—gleaming in the moonlight—then back to her face.
"You needed it against Giyu." His voice was sharp. "Do you think you can win without it?"
Yukari tilted her head.
"But you don't have a weapon."
She raised both fists—not a guard, just a gesture. Mocking. Almost playful.
"And let me ask you something."
Derek's eyes narrowed.
"Who's the best fighter you know when it comes to hand-to-hand combat?"
He paused.
The question caught him off guard. He thought about it—really thought about it. His mind cycled through names. Renjiro. Ren. Mika. Seri.
Then he remembered.
The tournament.
Yuki's movements. Erratic. Unpredictable. Brutal.
The way he had slipped inside Renjiro's guard like water through cracks. The way he had grappled and twisted and forced submission with nothing but leverage and will.
"That would be Yuki," Derek said quietly.
Yukari smirked.
"Who do you think taught him how to fight?"
Her tone shifted—proud, warm, almost maternal.
"Yeah. It was me."
Derek scoffed.
"Yuki is still weak." The words came out before he could stop them. "He's the weakest of us all. You boast as if he could actually win in a real fight with any of us."
He didn't mean it cruelly. There was no malice in his voice—just belief. He genuinely thought Yuki was weak. He had fought him. He had won the tournament. He knew Yuki's limits.
But Sophia's frown deepened.
She stood against the wall, arms crossed, golden eyes sharp. Something flickered in her expression—something cold.
She had seen Yuki's memories. She had felt his pain. She had lived through his childhood in flashes of blood and stone and silence.
Calling him useless was like calling a survivor weak for bleeding.
"I don't know why you, Seri, Sophia, and even Ren think he's so strong." Derek's voice grew louder, more heated. "What kind of person is he that you think he can handle anyone?"
He was trying to get under Yukari's skin. That was all. A verbal jab before the physical ones.
But Sophia wasn't Yukari.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Her jaw tightened. Her golden eyes burned.
He doesn't know. He has no idea what Yuki went through. What he survived. What he—
Ren noticed.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice low. "Calm yourself."
Sophia didn't move.
Derek continued.
"Yuki is good at hand-to-hand combat, sure. But he's not a master. And don't even get me started about how he's practically useless when it comes to Kizo."
Sophia's nails dug into her palms.
She was at her limit.
Then Yukari spoke.
"Yuki is more skilled than you are."
Her voice was quiet. But it cut through the warehouse like a blade.
Derek turned back to her.
Yukari raised her head—and smiled.
Not a smirk. Not a cold, detached expression.
A real smile. Bright. Proud.
"When he was ten years old," she said, "he killed twenty-three grown Kizo users. On his own. No help. No training. Just a broken child in a cabin with nothing left to lose."
The warehouse went silent.
"And note this—" Yukari's voice hardened. "The person you claim is weaker than you came second in the Strongest Student Tournament. He cleared an entire stage without using his Kizo."
She took a step forward.
"Yuki—my brother—is very strong."
Her smile widened, blinding.
"That's why I'll have to teach you a lesson for speaking about him that way."
Yukari kicked off her shoes.
They clattered against the concrete—discarded, forgotten.
She began hopping lightly from side to side, bare feet against the cold floor, fists loose at her sides.
Derek watched her movements.
His blood ran cold.
That stance. Those small, bouncing steps. The way her weight shifts—
He had seen it before.
In the tournament. In the Crucible Field. In the finals.
She's just like him.
Derek entered his stance—deeper, tighter, more guarded.
He waved a hand.
Light gathered in the air around him—arrows of pure radiance, dozens of them, forming in a spiral above his head. They gleamed like tiny suns, each one humming with concentrated energy.
He didn't hold back.
The arrows launched.
They screamed through the air—streaks of white and gold—and closed in on Yukari from every angle.
She didn't move.
The arrows struck.
BOOM.
The explosion was deafening. A wall of light and force erupted from where Yukari stood, obliterating the entire entrance of the warehouse. Concrete shattered. Steel beams groaned and twisted. A massive hole gaped open in the wall, moonlight pouring through the smoke and dust.
Derek panted.
He had put everything into that attack. Everything.
The dust hung thick in the air—a curtain of grey that obscured everything. He couldn't see her. Couldn't hear her. Couldn't sense her.
Ren leaned forward.
Sophia held her breath.
The dust began to settle.
Then—
A voice behind him.
"Did you get her?"
Derek spun around.
Yukari stood there.
Unscathed.
Not a scratch. Not a speck of dust on her clothes. Her blue hair swayed gently, as if stirred by a breeze only she could feel.
She was smiling.
"You missed."
Derek's eyes widened.
How—
She moved before he could finish the thought.
Her fist drove into his gut.
CRACK.
The sound was sickening—a deep, wet impact that echoed through the warehouse like a thunderclap. A shockwave rippled outward from the point of contact, shattering what remained of the windows and sending debris skittering across the floor.
Derek's eyes bulged.
Blood erupted from his mouth—a hot, metallic spray that painted the air.
His body lifted off the ground. He flew upward—too fast, too hard—and slammed into the steel beams on the ceiling. The metal groaned under the impact, bending inward.
He hung there for a moment—suspended in the air like a broken puppet.
Then he fell.
He hit the ground face-first.
Thud.
Blood pooled beneath his mouth. His vision blurred. His organs screamed. He could feel something wrong inside him—something torn, something bleeding that shouldn't be.
She... she's not human.
Yukari stood over him.
She watched as he struggled to push himself up—arms trembling, breath ragged, blood dripping from his lips.
"Don't tell me you're done," she said softly.
Her voice was calm. Almost gentle.
"Entertain me."