[July 25, 2005 — 4:01 A.M. | 19th Ward, Abandoned Courtyard]
"I told you to run!"
His father's roar shook the courtyard, kakuja plates gleaming under the harsh white of floodlights. His voice carried fury — but beneath it, terror.
Hayato didn't answer. His shards burst outward in a jagged flare, the crimson glow slicing across the air. He landed beside his father, mask dripping with sweat, eyes burning red through the slits.
Hoshino's lips pulled back into a grin that was all teeth and grit. "So it's true. Bastion breeds." His blade gleamed, arcs of light chasing down its jagged edge. "Two walls for the price of one."
The squad wavered, guns snapping between the two figures. Shouts cracked across the comms: "Second ghoul confirmed! Orders?!"
But the orders didn't matter. The fight was already breaking loose.
The Father
His chest heaved under the weight of kakuja armor, each breath loud, ragged, monstrous. He could feel the hunger clawing at him, the wild edge of losing control. And now — his son stood here, defiant, shards blazing.
Damn you, boy. Why didn't you run?
But he couldn't waste the thought. Doves swarmed like ants. Hoshino pressed forward, blade striking with unnatural precision, forcing him to block, block, block — until the steel found another crack in his plating. Blood splattered across the ground.
His roar tore free, claw sweeping wide, scattering investigators like dolls.
Hayato
Every step felt like fire in his veins, his kagune burning him from the inside. His shards spread jagged and uneven, but he forced them into a crude arc, launching a spray of crimson projectiles.
They tore through the squad's line, one man collapsing with shards buried in his leg. Another dropped his rifle as crystal ripped through his arm.
"Smaller one's aggressive! Keep distance—!"
Hayato darted forward, his shard-arm striking out. The blade-edge scraped a rifle aside and split the metal in half. His breath tore at his lungs, every movement too heavy, but he didn't care. I'm not weak. Not anymore.
Together
For a heartbeat, father and son moved as one. The father's armored bulk absorbed fire, deflecting bullets with plates that sparked crimson. Hayato cut through the gaps, shards darting past his father's guard to tear at the Doves too slow to retreat.
The squad faltered. They'd trained for one A+ ghoul. Not two.
But Hoshino didn't falter. His blade sang as it carved into the father's chest again, biting deeper this time, sparks and blood flying.
Hayato saw it — the opening — and with a cry, lunged at Hoshino's flank. His shard-arm slashed, the jagged blade tearing through the investigator's coat and cutting a line across his side.
Hoshino staggered — only for his free hand to shoot out, slamming Hayato back with terrifying force. The boy hit the ground hard, his mask cracking down the side.
The father's eyes widened. "Hayato!"
Shimizu
Her hands shook around her spear. Her lungs still rattled from the earlier blow. But her eyes — wide, stunned — drank in the scene.
He's holding them both back. An A+ with kakuja… and his son. And still, Hoshino hasn't fallen. He—
Her thoughts cut short as her gaze slid to her superior's face — his expression wasn't discipline, wasn't cold focus. It was rage. Rage at the squad. Rage at her.
Rage that his glory was slipping away.
Hayato
He pushed himself up, shards trembling. Blood dripped down his chin, his mask cracked, vision blurry. But his eyes — his eyes still burned red.
I can't run. Not now. Not ever again.
He staggered forward, shards flaring, his father's roar echoing behind him.
And for the first time in his young life, Hayato charged headlong into a real battlefield — his father's fury and the Doves' fire closing in from all sides.
[July 25, 2005 — 4:09 A.M. | 19th Ward, Abandoned Courtyard]
The courtyard was carnage.
Broken rifles and shattered quinques littered the ground. Investigators limped, bleeding, their formation shredded. Bastion stood in the center, crimson plates jagged and wild, his monstrous silhouette blotting out the floodlights. At his side, Hayato's shards quivered, blood dripping from his mask.
For a moment, the Doves faltered. Their eyes darted from the hulking kakuja to the smaller figure beside him, shards glowing faintly in the haze.
"Two of them…" one whispered, voice cracking. "How the hell do we—"
"Hold the line!" another barked, but the steel in his voice cracked.
Morale wavered.
Bastion snarled, his claw sweeping wide. Two men went down, blood splattering across broken stone. Hayato darted forward, his jagged arm slashing into the leg of another. He screamed, falling, shards tearing deeper.
The Doves reeled, panic flashing across their faces.
But then one voice cut through the fear.
"Look at them!" a squad leader shouted. "It's a child! And that monster's kakuja is already burning out — look at his plates!"
All eyes snapped back.
And they saw it.
The father's plating was slower now, heavier, each movement dragging. The glow in his crimson eyes flickered, not steady. His chest heaved with every breath, kakuja form shuddering.
And Hayato — panting, trembling, his shards uneven, blood staining his mask — looked less like a partner, more like a boy throwing himself into something far too big.
A ripple went through the squad.
"They're not invincible!" one cried. "They're breaking!"
Shouts rose. Quinques leveled again. Boots stamped forward. The Doves regained their line, their fear tempered into grim resolve.
Hayato's father tried to raise his arm again, but his kakuja faltered. The crimson claw stuttered, retracting halfway, his breath ragged. Hoshino saw the opening, eyes narrowing, and his blade cut down with all the weight of years of experience.
The steel bit deep into the father's side.
Blood sprayed, hissing against crimson plates. The ghoul staggered, dropping to one knee. His breath was ragged, wet.
"Tou-san!"
Hayato's scream split the night. He rushed forward, shards retracting as he fell to his knees beside him. His hands trembled as they pressed against the wound, blood hot and sticky between his fingers.
His father's eyes met his, burning, pained, but sharp. His voice was low, ragged. "Hayato… listen to me. Run."
Hayato's chest clenched. "No — I won't leave you, I can fight—"
"You'll die," his father cut him off, teeth gritted. "And every step you take here makes it worse. You're weak. Still weak." His bloodied hand gripped Hayato's shoulder, iron even now. "I can take care of them. But not with you here. Go."
The courtyard stilled for a heartbeat.
Even the Doves, circling closer, faltered at the rawness of it — the great wall on his knees, his son clutching at him. Their weapons wavered. Some looked dumbfounded, others uneasy.
But orders cracked through. "Advance! Finish them!"
Boots pounded. Quinques raised.
Hayato's father snarled, forcing himself upright. His kakuja plates shuddered, his silhouette monstrous once more. He staggered into their line, shielding his son behind his bulk. His roar split the night:
"GO!"
Hayato's breath broke in his chest. Tears burned behind the cracked mask. His shards trembled faintly at his back, torn between fear and rage.
He wanted to fight. He wanted to bleed with him. But his father's words cut sharper than any quinque.
You're weak. You're making this worse.
And deep down, he knew it was true.
Hayato's fists trembled, his chest burning, but the truth was carved into him. He couldn't turn the tide. His shards quivered faintly, useless against so many. His body screamed with exhaustion.
He was only slowing his father down.
His eyes blurred with tears behind the cracked mask. He turned, legs coiling, and ran.
The world became a blur of shadow and stone as his feet slammed against the ground. He had always been fast — faster than most even as a child. Now that speed saved him. He cut through the alleys like a blade, his body a streak of red eyes and shattered light.
Behind him, he heard it.
A roar. A crash. And then the sickening sound of steel finding flesh.
He risked one glance over his shoulder.
Hoshino's blade was buried deep in his father's side, crimson plates shattering under the force. His father convulsed, staggering, blood spraying across the stone.
Hayato's heart cracked. His cry tore from his throat, raw and breaking, echoing through the empty ward.
"T—Tou-san!"
But his legs didn't stop. They carried him forward, faster, faster, until the floodlights and shouts blurred behind him.
"Smaller one's fleeing!" a Dove barked. "Pursue! Don't let him vanish!"
Boots thundered. Floodlights swung. Quinques raised.
But Hayato was born fast. His father's bloodline burned in his veins, and the night itself seemed to bend around his sprint. He darted left, then right, shards bursting from his back to shatter brick and throw dust into the air. Bullets cracked past him, sparking against walls, but none caught.
Still, he cried as he ran. His chest heaved, lungs burning, throat raw from the sound tearing out of him. Tears streaked beneath his mask, mixing with blood and sweat.
His heart begged him to turn back, to throw himself into the storm, to die with his father.
But his father's voice thundered louder in his skull than even the gunfire.
You're weak. You're making this worse. Go.
So he ran. Into the dark. Into the alleys of the 19th Ward, hunted, heartbroken, and utterly alone.