[July 27, 2005 — 2:48 A.M. | Northern Edge of the 19th Ward, Seno Estate]
The air grew heavier the deeper they walked. The service roads gave way to older streets, long abandoned, where ivy crawled up stone walls and the windows of broken houses stared hollow into the night. At the very end rose a gate of black iron, taller than three men, its bars twisted into shapes that looked like claws.
Hayato slowed as they approached, his chest tight. He could feel it — a pressure in the air, thick with RC particles. Ghouls lived here. Many of them.
His mother's grip tightened on his wrist. She didn't speak, but he felt the tremor in her hand.
Two masked figures stepped from the shadows by the gate. Their movements were smooth, practiced — not like common ghouls, but disciplined. One raised a lantern, pale light spilling over Hayato and his mother.
The first figure tilted his head. His voice came muffled behind the mask.
"…You came back."
Hayato's mother lifted her chin, though her voice wavered. "Let us through."
There was a pause. Then the gate groaned open, iron scraping stone.
Inside lay the Seno Estate.
[Inner Courtyard]
It was nothing like the crumbling ward outside. Here, the buildings were intact, stone and dark wood, their walls draped in red banners. Lanterns burned dimly, casting a crimson glow over the courtyard. Figures stood in clusters, their eyes faintly glowing in the dark, watching as Hayato and his mother were led in.
The murmurs started almost immediately.
"She came back."
"After all this time?"
"And with the boy…"
The words cut into Hayato like knives. He kept his head down, but he could feel every eye on him.
At the far end of the courtyard, a set of steps led up to a wide hall. There, beneath the hanging banners, stood a handful of figures — elders, their masks ornate, their presence heavy.
The one in the center spoke, his voice deep, echoing across the stone.
"…So. You return to us after all these years."
Hayato's mother bowed her head, though her shoulders were rigid. "I had no choice."
The elder's eyes narrowed faintly. "No choice." He let the words linger, tasting them. Then his gaze fell to Hayato.
The weight of it nearly made the boy stagger. The elder's eyes scanned him — the blood on his clothes, the faint shimmer of shards still dormant under his skin.
"This is the boy," he murmured. "The one we were told of."
Another elder leaned closer, whispering, though Hayato still heard. "Hybrid traits. It shows in his eyes. In his stance. Strong blood, wasted in hiding."
The first elder's lips curved faintly, but it wasn't a smile. It was something colder.
"You chose to come back here. Surprising… after all the fear and distance you've shown us."
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing into Hayato's.
"Let us see, then… whether the blood you carry is worthy of the name Seno."
[Seno Estate — Great Hall, 3:12 A.M.]
Hayato stood in the center of the stone floor, his mother at his side. Her shoulders were tense, her hand clutching his, though her voice stayed silent.
At the highest seat, the head of the clan leaned forward. His mask was simple — black lacquer, thin slits for eyes — but his presence pressed like a stone on the chest. He raised one hand and snapped his fingers.
Two attendants emerged from the side halls, dragging something heavy. They let it fall at Hayato's feet with a wet thud.
Raw meat. Still dripping. Still warm.
The clan head's voice was calm, but edged like glass.
"Eat."
Hayato stared at it. His stomach twisted, hunger gnawing sharp inside him. His body screamed to obey. But his fists clenched, his jaw tight.
Slowly, he raised his eyes from the bloodstained floor to the dais above.
"…No."
The word was quiet but steady.
Murmurs rippled through the hall. The attendants stiffened, some shifting in disbelief.
The clan head tilted his head slightly. "No?"
"I'm not an animal," Hayato said, voice firmer this time, though his hands trembled. "I won't crawl for scraps."
The silence stretched, heavy.
Then the clan head leaned back in his chair. His voice carried across the stone like thunder.
"Then you will be tested."
[Seno Estate — Great Hall, 3:19 A.M.]
The circle widened. Attendants stepped back to the edges of the stone floor, lanterns casting long shadows. The two fighters stood opposite Hayato, their kagune flaring in the dim red glow.
The first was tall, broad-shouldered, his skin pale under the mask. His kagune burst from his back in jagged crimson slabs — a Kōkaku. The armor spread down his right arm, forming a shield that gleamed wet and heavy.
The second was leaner, his stance low and predatory. From his shoulders flared thin, bladed wings, glimmering sharp in the firelight — an Ukaku. Shards formed and dissolved at his fingertips, ready to fire at will.
Hayato's throat tightened. His shards twitched, forming an uneven arc at his back and a jagged blade along his forearm. The glow of his hybrid kagune pulsed faint, unsteady. He was hungry, weak, but his eyes stayed locked on them.
The Kōkaku moved first. His shielded arm swung down in a heavy arc, the strike cracking stone where Hayato had stood a heartbeat before. Hayato darted left, his speed saving him, his shard-arm lashing out. Sparks flew as his blade scraped harmlessly against the shield.
Too dense… I can't cut through it.
Before he could recover, the Ukaku fired. Shards screamed across the air, whistling like arrows. Hayato's eyes widened as he threw himself down, shards cutting past him, one slicing deep across his shoulder. Blood splattered the stone.
He hissed in pain, rolling back to his feet. His arm trembled, but he lifted his shard-blade again.
The Kōkaku pressed forward, shield bashing him hard in the chest. The impact rattled his ribs, sent him sprawling across the floor. He coughed blood, his vision swimming.
"Yield," one of the attendants muttered coldly from the edges. "He's finished."
But Hayato pushed himself up, teeth gritted, shards trembling. He staggered forward, chest heaving, and roared — a boy's roar, cracked and desperate, but loud enough to silence the whispers.
"I won't."
The Ukaku sneered behind his mask, wings flaring. He fired again — a barrage this time. Crimson shards rained down like bullets, sparking against stone, cutting shallow lines across Hayato's arms and legs. His mask split further, blood dripping down his chin.
But he kept moving. Dodging when he could, enduring when he couldn't. His shards flared, deflecting two, then three — before shattering under the onslaught.
The Kōkaku lunged again, shield crashing into his side. Hayato was hurled against the stone wall with a sickening thud. His breath tore out in a gasp, his vision blurring.
His mother's scream echoed through the hall. "Stop this! He's just a child!"
The clan head silenced her with a hand. His eyes never left Hayato.
The boy staggered upright, blood dripping from his side, shards trembling faintly at his back. His body screamed to fall — but his legs obeyed his will.
For her. For him. For me.
Hayato launched forward, his shard-arm lashing out in a jagged arc. The Ukaku leapt back, wings flaring, but not fast enough. Hayato's blade caught his side, tearing a shallow line of blood across his ribs.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
The Kōkaku slammed him down a heartbeat later, shield crushing into his back. Pain lanced through him, his face striking stone, blood spilling from his nose. His limbs shook, too weak to rise again.
But he didn't yield. His fingers clawed at the floor, shards twitching weakly at his back. His body tried to collapse — but he forced it up, inch by inch, until he was kneeling, glowing eyes locked on his opponents.
"I… won't… fall."
The Ukaku's breathing was ragged, his hand pressed to his bleeding side. The Kōkaku's shield arm lowered slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the mask.
At the dais, the clan head leaned forward, his voice carrying across the silence.
"…Enough."
The fighters froze, then stepped back.
Hayato swayed where he knelt, chest heaving, blood dripping freely. His mother rushed to his side, catching him before he collapsed. Her sobs echoed through the hall, muffled against his hair.
But in the eyes of the clan, there was no pity. Only judgment.
And in the silence that followed, the clan head's voice rang like iron.
"He did not yield."
[Seno Estate — Great Hall, 3:19 A.M.]
The circle widened. Attendants stepped back to the edges of the stone floor, lanterns casting long shadows. The two fighters stood opposite Hayato, their kagune flaring in the dim red glow.
The first was tall, broad-shouldered, his skin pale under the mask. His kagune burst from his back in jagged crimson slabs — a Kōkaku. The armor spread down his right arm, forming a shield that gleamed wet and heavy.
The second was leaner, his stance low and predatory. From his shoulders flared thin, bladed wings, glimmering sharp in the firelight — an Ukaku. Shards formed and dissolved at his fingertips, ready to fire at will.
Hayato's throat tightened. His shards twitched, forming an uneven arc at his back and a jagged blade along his forearm. The glow of his hybrid kagune pulsed faint, unsteady. He was hungry, weak, but his eyes stayed locked on them.
The Kōkaku moved first. His shielded arm swung down in a heavy arc, the strike cracking stone where Hayato had stood a heartbeat before. Hayato darted left, his speed saving him, his shard-arm lashing out. Sparks flew as his blade scraped harmlessly against the shield.
Too dense… I can't cut through it.
Before he could recover, the Ukaku fired. Shards screamed across the air, whistling like arrows. Hayato's eyes widened as he threw himself down, shards cutting past him, one slicing deep across his shoulder. Blood splattered the stone.
He hissed in pain, rolling back to his feet. His arm trembled, but he lifted his shard-blade again.
The Kōkaku pressed forward, shield bashing him hard in the chest. The impact rattled his ribs, sent him sprawling across the floor. He coughed blood, his vision swimming.
"Yield," one of the attendants muttered coldly from the edges. "He's finished."
But Hayato pushed himself up, teeth gritted, shards trembling. He staggered forward, chest heaving, and roared — a boy's roar, cracked and desperate, but loud enough to silence the whispers.
"I won't."
The Ukaku sneered behind his mask, wings flaring. He fired again — a barrage this time. Crimson shards rained down like bullets, sparking against stone, cutting shallow lines across Hayato's arms and legs. His mask split further, blood dripping down his chin.
But he kept moving. Dodging when he could, enduring when he couldn't. His shards flared, deflecting two, then three — before shattering under the onslaught.
The Kōkaku lunged again, shield crashing into his side. Hayato was hurled against the stone wall with a sickening thud. His breath tore out in a gasp, his vision blurring.
His mother's scream echoed through the hall. "Stop this! He's just a child!"
The clan head silenced her with a hand. His eyes never left Hayato.
The boy staggered upright, blood dripping from his side, shards trembling faintly at his back. His body screamed to fall — but his legs obeyed his will.
For her. For him. For me.
Hayato launched forward, his shard-arm lashing out in a jagged arc. The Ukaku leapt back, wings flaring, but not fast enough. Hayato's blade caught his side, tearing a shallow line of blood across his ribs.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
The Kōkaku slammed him down a heartbeat later, shield crushing into his back. Pain lanced through him, his face striking stone, blood spilling from his nose. His limbs shook, too weak to rise again.
But he didn't yield. His fingers clawed at the floor, shards twitching weakly at his back. His body tried to collapse — but he forced it up, inch by inch, until he was kneeling, glowing eyes locked on his opponents.
"I… won't… fall."
The Ukaku's breathing was ragged, his hand pressed to his bleeding side. The Kōkaku's shield arm lowered slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the mask.
At the dais, the clan head leaned forward, his voice carrying across the silence.
"…Enough."
The fighters froze, then stepped back.
Hayato swayed where he knelt, chest heaving, blood dripping freely. His mother rushed to his side, catching him before he collapsed. Her sobs echoed through the hall, muffled against his hair.
But in the eyes of the clan, there was no pity. Only judgment.
And in the silence that followed, the clan head's voice rang like iron.
"He did not yield."