[Seno Estate — Hayato's Quarters, 3 Days Later]
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar. Dark wood beams crossed stone walls, lantern light casting shadows across carvings that twisted like vines. The air smelled faintly of smoke and blood — not his own this time, though it lingered at the edge of memory.
Hayato blinked, breath shallow. His body ached with every movement, bruises blooming deep under his skin. He pushed himself upright, wincing as sharp pain lanced through his ribs.
The memories returned like glass cutting through fog.
The hall. The shield slamming into his chest. The rain of Ukaku shards tearing across his arms. The stone cold against his face, blood pooling beneath him. His mother's sobs, drowned beneath the clan head's decree.
He did not yield.
Hayato's jaw tightened. He hadn't fallen. Not completely. And that was enough for them.
A voice stirred from the doorway. Calm, deliberate.
"You've been unconscious for nearly two days. Awake, but drifting. They've been watching."
Hayato turned his head. A man stood just inside the room, tall and composed. His mask was plain, bone-white, set aside for now to reveal sharp features and pale eyes that gleamed faintly in the lantern light.
"Vernon," the man introduced, his tone carrying the weight of routine. "I've been ordered to oversee you. To explain where you stand."
He stepped closer, folding his hands behind his back.
"The clan is… divided. Some saw your refusal as strength. Others as arrogance. They expected a boy to break. Instead, you bled and stood again. That unsettles them." His pale eyes lingered on Hayato, unblinking. "Unsettled is dangerous."
Hayato's stomach twisted. He lowered his gaze, shards twitching faintly under his skin, like restless wings.
Vernon continued, his voice smooth, almost clinical.
"Your mother has been placed in the women's wing. Watched, but unharmed. The elders debate her fate in whispers, but they are focused on you now. You carry blood they value. They want to see if you grow into it… or if you die before you can."
Hayato clenched his fists against his knees. His father's voice rang sharp in his head: You're weak. You're making this worse.
Vernon tilted his head, studying him. "You understand, don't you? Your fight in the hall wasn't just a test. It was a declaration. You are no longer simply a boy who survived the Doves. You are a piece in their game. They will sharpen you — or they will break you trying."
Silence stretched. Hayato swallowed hard, his throat raw. "…And if I refuse?"
For the first time, Vernon's lips curved — not a smile, but the barest echo of one.
"Then you won't live long enough for the Doves to find you again."
The silence stretched after Vernon's warning. Hayato kept his eyes low, fists clenched so tight his nails cut his palms. His chest still burned with every breath, but what weighed heavier was the emptiness — the hole where his father had once stood.
Then Vernon sighed, a faint, almost human sound. His tone softened, just enough to break the edge of his earlier calm.
"…I owe you an apology, Hayato."
The boy looked up, surprised.
Vernon's pale eyes lingered on him, unblinking. "For your father."
Hayato's breath caught. His shards twitched faintly at his back. "…You knew him?"
"Yes." Vernon folded his hands behind him again, gaze turning toward the lantern light. "Most of the clan disdained him. They saw Bastion as nothing more than a brute — a rogue who once fed on his own kind, beneath their so-called 'noble' bloodlines. To them, he was an embarrassment."
His lips pressed thin, the faintest bitterness in his voice. "But I knew him differently. I saw him change."
Vernon's eyes flicked back to Hayato, sharp now. "I watched him turn from a predator into something else. A wall. A shield. He stopped hunting ghouls for strength and started fighting for something more important. For you. For your mother. For a life not ruled by hunger or clan decrees."
Hayato's chest tightened. His throat ached. "…Tou-san…"
"He was not perfect," Vernon continued, steady but not cruel. "He was scarred by what he had done, and by what he had lost. But he chose. Few ghouls do." He exhaled slowly. "The clan never forgave him for leaving them behind. But I respected him for it."
Vernon crouched then, so his pale eyes were level with Hayato's.
"You are his son. You carry his blood, but more importantly, you carry his choice. And here, among these walls, that will either be your greatest strength… or what destroys you."
Hayato swallowed, vision blurred with the sting of tears. His voice was small, but firm. "…Then I'll make it my strength."
For the first time, Vernon's expression shifted — not into warmth, but into something sharper. Approval.
"Good."
He straightened, his tone regaining its cool precision. "Then remember this: the elders will test you again and again, not to see if you are strong, but to see if you can be broken into their shape. Do not yield to their cruelty. But do not waste your defiance, either. Choose when to stand. That is what your father did best."
Hayato nodded, his fists steady now.
Vernon turned to the door. "Rest. Your body needs it. Soon, training will begin — and they will not hold back simply because you are young."
As the door closed behind him, Hayato curled his hands tighter, the echoes of his father's roar and Vernon's words clashing in his head.
I'm weak. I make things worse.
But I can choose. I can make it strength.
He lay back, the lantern shadows crawling over the ceiling, and swore he would not fall again.
[Seno Estate — Training Yard, 4 Days Later]
The courtyard reeked of old blood and wet stone. Torches flickered against high walls, their light bouncing off dark stains that never washed clean. Rusted weapons lined the racks, though no one here relied on steel.
Hayato stood barefoot in the center, his ribs still sore, his shoulder bandaged where the Ukaku shards had torn him. He kept his back straight anyway, his jaw set.
Vernon circled him like a shadow, arms folded behind his back.
"The clan does not raise children," Vernon said flatly. "They forge weapons. You will not be spared because of your age. You are expected to fight, to endure, to kill when ordered. If you do not…" His pale eyes fixed on Hayato. "…you will be discarded."
Hayato's stomach tightened, but he didn't flinch.
Vernon's voice lowered, quieter, almost for him alone. "Listen well. I can teach you to sharpen what you already have. Your speed. Your hybrid shards. But I cannot change the nature of this place. It will break you if you let it."
Hayato nodded slowly, his hands curling into fists. "Then I won't let it."
Vernon studied him for a moment longer, then raised a hand.
Two masked clan youths stepped forward, older than Hayato — perhaps fifteen, their kagune already strong. One bore a Bikaku tail, whipping lazily behind him, the other a Rinkaku, tendrils twitching like serpents.
"Your opponents," Vernon said.
Hayato's breath caught, but his shards flared faintly at his back, jagged and uneven, his arm-blade forming with a shimmer. His legs trembled from hunger, but his eyes glowed red.
The Bikaku rushed first, tail slamming into the ground where Hayato had stood. Hayato darted left, faster than expected, shard-arm lashing. Sparks flared as it clashed against the tail's armored hide.
The Rinkaku swept in from the side, tendrils striking like whips. One wrapped around Hayato's leg, yanking him off his feet. He hit the stone hard, breath tearing from his lungs.
Pain screamed through him. His vision blurred.
This clan is evil. They want me broken. They want me chained.
He pushed himself up, teeth gritted, shards quivering. His father's voice burned in his head. You're weak. You're making this worse.
Hayato roared, his shards flaring outward in a jagged spray. Crimson shards shot into the Rinkaku's tendrils, tearing shallow cuts before they retracted. The older ghoul hissed and recoiled.
Hayato staggered to his feet, chest heaving.
He wasn't winning. He knew that. But he wasn't breaking either.
I'll take their training. I'll take their strength. But one day, I'll walk out of here. On my own. Strong enough to never need them again.
He wiped the blood from his mouth, eyes burning as he raised his shard-arm again.
"Again."
Vernon's pale eyes lingered on him, unreadable. But for the first time, he gave the faintest nod.
The fight was just beginning.