[Seno Estate — Courtyard, February 2006 | Night]
Snow clung to the stones, lantern light flickering across the frost. Hayato stood at the gate with Vernon beside him, the photograph of the rogue ghoul tucked into his sleeve.
"This is not a trial," Vernon said quietly, his breath misting in the cold. "It is an order. Do it, and the clan will allow you to remain. Fail…" His pale eyes flicked down to Hayato. "…and they will make sure you never get another chance."
Hayato's shards flickered faintly under his skin, restless. He clenched his fists. "I won't fail."
Vernon studied him for a long moment, then gave the faintest nod. "Then go."
The gates opened, and Hayato stepped into the cold night.
[19th Ward — Derelict Warehouse District]
The rogue ghoul stank of hunger. Hayato smelled him before he saw him — RC scent sharp and rotten. The man crouched over a half-eaten corpse in the corner of the warehouse, his kagune half-formed, a ragged Rinkaku with two tendrils twitching weakly.
Hayato's chest tightened. He was no Dove, no soldier. Just a boy forced to play executioner.
But he remembered Vernon's voice: direct your will into the form.
He exhaled slowly. His shard-arm flared into being, denser than before. Behind him, fractured Ukaku shards fanned into a jagged arc.
The rogue's head snapped up, eyes wide. He roared and charged, tendrils snapping out.
Hayato moved. His body burned with speed, legs carrying him low and fast across the cracked floor. A tendril lashed down — his shard-blade cut across it, sparks and blood spraying.
The second tendril whipped at his side. He spun, Ukaku shards firing in a burst. Crimson knives pierced the tendril mid-swing, tearing chunks free.
The rogue staggered, bellowing.
Hayato lunged, driving his shard-arm into the man's chest. Blood splattered hot across his face, his mask splitting further. The rogue convulsed, tendrils flailing once before collapsing limp against the floor.
The warehouse went quiet.
Hayato stood shaking, his shard-arm dripping, his lungs burning. His first kill outside the training yard. Not survival. Not defense. A task. An order.
His father's voice echoed in his head: You're weak. You're making this worse.
He clenched his teeth, forcing the thought back. No. I did it. I didn't yield.
[Seno Estate — Hayato's Quarters, Later That Night]
He staggered back into the estate near dawn, his clothes torn, his body bruised. Vernon met him at the gate, pale eyes flicking once to the blood. He said nothing — only nodded.
Hayato dragged himself to his quarters, his legs trembling. He opened the door, expecting silence.
But on the low table sat a folded piece of parchment.
He froze.
His mother's handwriting, delicate and steady despite everything, marked the outside. His name.
Hayato's chest tightened, his breath caught. His hands shook as he reached for it.
The lantern light flickered across the ink as he unfolded the letter.
And in the silence of his room, the world shifted again.
[Seno Estate — Courtyard, February 2006 | Night]
Snow clung to the stones, lantern light flickering across the frost. Hayato stood at the gate with Vernon beside him, the photograph of the rogue ghoul tucked into his sleeve.
"This is not a trial," Vernon said quietly, his breath misting in the cold. "It is an order. Do it, and the clan will allow you to remain. Fail…" His pale eyes flicked down to Hayato. "…and they will make sure you never get another chance."
Hayato's shards flickered faintly under his skin, restless. He clenched his fists. "I won't fail."
Vernon studied him for a long moment, then gave the faintest nod. "Then go."
The gates opened, and Hayato stepped into the cold night.
[19th Ward — Derelict Warehouse District]
The rogue ghoul stank of hunger. Hayato smelled him before he saw him — RC scent sharp and rotten. The man crouched over a half-eaten corpse in the corner of the warehouse, his kagune half-formed, a ragged Rinkaku with two tendrils twitching weakly.
Hayato's chest tightened. He was no Dove, no soldier. Just a boy forced to play executioner.
But he remembered Vernon's voice: direct your will into the form.
He exhaled slowly. His shard-arm flared into being, denser than before. Behind him, fractured Ukaku shards fanned into a jagged arc.
The rogue's head snapped up, eyes wide. He roared and charged, tendrils snapping out.
Hayato moved. His body burned with speed, legs carrying him low and fast across the cracked floor. A tendril lashed down — his shard-blade cut across it, sparks and blood spraying.
The second tendril whipped at his side. He spun, Ukaku shards firing in a burst. Crimson knives pierced the tendril mid-swing, tearing chunks free.
The rogue staggered, bellowing.
Hayato lunged, driving his shard-arm into the man's chest. Blood splattered hot across his face, his mask splitting further. The rogue convulsed, tendrils flailing once before collapsing limp against the floor.
The warehouse went quiet.
Hayato stood shaking, his shard-arm dripping, his lungs burning. His first kill outside the training yard. Not survival. Not defense. A task. An order.
His father's voice echoed in his head: You're weak. You're making this worse.
He clenched his teeth, forcing the thought back. No. I did it. I didn't yield.
[Seno Estate — Hayato's Quarters, Later That Night]
He staggered back into the estate near dawn, his clothes torn, his body bruised. Vernon met him at the gate, pale eyes flicking once to the blood. He said nothing — only nodded.
Hayato dragged himself to his quarters, his legs trembling. He opened the door, expecting silence.
But on the low table sat a folded piece of parchment.
He froze.
His mother's handwriting, delicate and steady despite everything, marked the outside. His name.
Hayato's chest tightened, his breath caught. His hands shook as he reached for it.
The lantern light flickered across the ink as he unfolded the letter.
And in the silence of his room, the world shifted again.
The parchment trembled in Hayato's hands as he unfolded it. The ink was steady, but each word cut deeper than the last.
My son,
If you are reading this, then I am gone.
Forgive me. I never wanted to leave you, but staying here has taken me apart piece by piece. Every day they strip something from me — my voice, my warmth, the mother I want to be for you. If I remain, I will become nothing but a shell the clan uses to bind you. And I cannot let them break you through me.
Your father was a wall. He stood so you could survive. I am not as strong as him. I cannot shield you the way he did. But I can step away, so you do not spend what little fire you have left trying to protect me.
Hayato… you must live. Not for the clan, not for their name, not even for me. Live for yourself. Grow strong enough to leave this place. Strong enough to carve your own path.
I love you more than my own life. Remember that, even when the clan tells you otherwise.
Be brave, my son. Be free.
— Mother
The letter slipped from his fingers, fluttering onto the floor. Hayato sat frozen, his breath ragged, tears streaking down his face unchecked.
He wanted to scream. To run. To tear the walls of the estate down stone by stone. But he didn't. His shards trembled faintly at his back, restless, but he forced them still.
His mother was gone. By choice, or by desperation, he didn't know. But her words burned into him like fire.
Grow strong enough to leave this place.
His fists clenched. His eyes glowed faint in the lantern light, sharp despite the tears.
"I will," he whispered. His voice cracked, but it carried. "I'll live… and I'll leave."
The silence of the estate pressed around him, the weight of the clan heavy as ever. But in the hollow of his chest, beneath the grief, a vow had taken root.
He would endure.
He would sharpen.
He would escape.
And when he did, he would carry both of them with him.