[15th Ward — Abandoned Market Row, 12:47 A.M.]
The rusted door loomed at the end of the row, streaked with dried handprints that had long since turned black. Every instinct in Hayato screamed to stay away. But instincts weren't just for fleeing — they were for listening.
He crouched low, fingers brushing against the cracks in the stone. The scent here was overwhelming: thick, heavy with RC particles, layered with human blood both fresh and old. Jackdaw had made this his den.
Hayato whispered under his breath, words more to himself than Vernon.
"He wants me to come straight in. He's waiting."
From the shadows behind him, Vernon's voice carried low, calm, but edged with expectation.
"And what will you do?"
Hayato's shards twitched under his skin, forming faint glimmers along his back. His jaw tightened. "…I'll make him come out."
He moved quickly but quietly, dragging his shard-arm along the stone wall, carving deep scratches into it. Sparks flared faintly, echoing in the empty market row. Then he shattered one of the rusted stalls with a single blow, the crash echoing down the alley.
The sound was bait.
Hayato stood in the open now, shard-arm lowered, his glowing eyes scanning the dark.
Silence answered.
For a long moment, only the drip of water and the hum of a broken sign filled the air. Then—
A voice, sharp and mocking, slipped from the shadows.
"…A little cub. They sent me a cub."
Hayato's chest tightened. His eyes darted toward the broken windows of the building above.
The voice laughed, low and ragged. "I smelled you before you came close. Too clean. Too sharp. Not like the rats here."
Then the figure dropped from the roof, landing in a crouch ten meters ahead. His grin matched the photograph perfectly — teeth bared, lips split, eyes wide and hungry. Two crimson Rinkaku tendrils snapped out from his back, twitching like restless snakes.
Jackdaw straightened, his head cocking at Hayato. "You're small. But you shine. A pretty thing." He licked his teeth, his grin stretching wider. "I'll take you apart slow. Piece by piece."
Hayato's shards flared into being, his shard-arm gleaming with dense crimson, fractured Ukaku shards fanning behind him like jagged glass. His voice cracked but held steady.
"I'm not here to be eaten."
Jackdaw's laugh echoed sharp. "Then bleed for me."
The tendrils lashed forward, striking like whips. Hayato darted to the side, his shard-arm clashing against one with a shower of sparks. The impact rattled his bones, the strength behind it far greater than the rogue he'd faced before.
The second tendril swept low, catching his legs. He staggered, shards bursting reflexively from his back in a scatter. Crimson knives cut across the alley, grazing Jackdaw's arm and drawing a shallow line of blood.
Jackdaw hissed, his grin never fading. "Sharp, cub. But not sharp enough."
Hayato's chest heaved. His ribs screamed with every breath, but his eyes burned red as he raised his shard-arm again.
I won't yield. Not here. Not to him. Not to anyone.
Vernon's pale figure stood in the shadows, watching, silent. His voice had told him before: Choose when to stand. Choose when to strike.
Hayato tightened his grip, shards trembling, ready for the next blow.
The Rinkaku tendrils lashed again, snapping across the alley with the hiss of steel through air. Hayato dropped low, shards scattering from his back in a burst. They struck the ground, sparking as they ricocheted against stone. One grazed Jackdaw's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
Jackdaw touched the cut with two fingers and stared at the smear of red. His grin widened, teeth gleaming in the half-light.
"Cute. The cub bites."
He lunged. The tendrils slammed down, shattering stone as Hayato twisted aside, the air whistling as one skimmed past his ear. The ground split where it landed, dust rising in a choking cloud.
Hayato's shard-arm slashed across another tendril. Sparks flew, crimson ichor spraying into the air. Jackdaw hissed, but the injury only made him laugh harder.
"Yes!" His voice cracked with hunger and mania. "Yes! Don't break yet—let me enjoy you!"
Another tendril whipped, catching Hayato across the shoulder. Pain tore through him, white-hot, staggering him sideways. He hit the wall hard, the impact rattling his ribs. Blood ran warm down his arm, dripping onto the cobblestone.
Too strong… his Rinkaku hits harder than I can block outright.
Hayato staggered, panting, but forced his legs to steady. His shards flickered, trembling between collapse and sharp bursts. His father's voice echoed in the back of his mind—Don't waste movement. Choose your strike.
Jackdaw's eyes glowed wild in the dark. He twisted his tendrils, snapping them together like whips. "Come on, cub! Stand up for me! Show me the shine!"
Hayato bared his teeth, his shard-arm rising again, his eyes burning crimson. He steadied his breath. "I'm not your meal."
The tendrils lashed down, and Hayato burst forward. Instead of retreating, he closed the distance. His shard-arm clashed against one tendril, deflecting it aside, while his Ukaku shards fired in a tight arc. Three struck Jackdaw's shoulder and thigh, sinking deep.
The larger ghoul snarled, stumbling back a step. "Little wretch—!"
Hayato's chest burned, his lungs screaming, but his legs carried him forward again. His shard-arm came down in a jagged strike aimed for Jackdaw's chest.
The Rinkaku crossed just in time, catching the blade, sparks erupting as crimson met crimson. They strained, locked in place, Jackdaw's grin wide, Hayato's teeth clenched with effort.
The alley shook with the clash, and the boy's body trembled from the weight of it.
But he did not yield.
And as the pressure built, Hayato felt something deep within his kagune shift—like molten stone hardening, like fractured glass sharpening into new form.
The clash burned through Hayato's arms, his legs buckling under the pressure of Jackdaw's strength. The Rinkaku writhed, pressing harder, forcing him inch by inch toward the ground. His shard-arm groaned with cracks, fractures running along its crimson surface.
It's not enough… I'll break—
The thought nearly tore him down, but another voice rang sharper in his skull: his father's roar, seared into memory. You're weak. You're making this worse.
Hayato snarled through his teeth. Then I'll stop being weak.
Something snapped.
Not bone. Not stone. But inside him.
His shard-arm shuddered, then thickened, jagged lines of crystal spreading further up his shoulder, plating over his ribs in a crimson lattice. The cracks sealed as the arm hardened, heavier, denser. At the same time, the shards at his back flared, no longer scattering wildly — but aligning, sharpening into a controlled fan of blades that hovered like fractured wings.
Jackdaw's eyes widened. "What—?!"
Hayato roared, the sound raw and tearing at his throat, and shoved forward with renewed strength. His plated arm slammed Jackdaw's tendrils aside, sparks and ichor spraying into the air. At the same time, three Ukaku shards fired in a perfect arc, slicing across Jackdaw's thigh and shoulder with surgical precision.
The larger ghoul staggered, his grin twisting into a snarl. "You—little freak—!"
Hayato lunged, his shard-arm swinging in a jagged arc. Jackdaw raised a tendril to block, but the denser blade cleaved halfway through it, splitting crimson flesh and spraying blood across the stones.
The alley shook with the impact, the sound of Jackdaw's roar echoing sharp against the walls.
Hayato's chest heaved, his ribs screaming with pain, but his eyes burned with a new fire. His kagune pulsed in rhythm with his heart — heavier, stronger, and sharper than ever before.
Vernon, watching from the shadows, tilted his head slightly. His pale eyes narrowed, unreadable. "…So. It awakens."
Jackdaw staggered back, clutching his torn tendril, his grin stretched wide with both rage and delight.
"Yesss…! That's it, cub! Shine brighter! Make me tear you apart piece by piece!"
Hayato steadied his stance, blood dripping from his wounds, his new plating glowing faintly in the firelight. His voice was hoarse, but steady.
"I'm not the one breaking tonight."
The words hung in the air as Jackdaw roared again and charged, the two ghouls colliding in a storm of shards and tendrils, blood and sparks scattering into the cold night.
The alley rang with steel and blood. Jackdaw's tendrils slammed down, shattering stone, sparks flying as Hayato's plated arm met them again and again. The force rattled through his bones, each blow threatening to snap him in half.
But Hayato's kagune held. His blade no longer cracked under the strain — it cut.
Jackdaw's grin twisted wider, eyes wild. "Yes! That shine! That edge! You're mine, cub!"
He lunged, tendrils crossing to pin Hayato against the wall. The boy twisted low, shards fanning from his back in a tight arc. Crimson knives ripped through the tendrils, tearing strips of flesh free. Jackdaw roared, stumbling forward in rage.
Hayato didn't hesitate. He surged in, shard-arm raised high, and drove it deep into Jackdaw's chest. The plating split flesh and bone with a wet crunch, sinking until crimson shards jutted from the ghoul's back.
Jackdaw's eyes went wide. His manic grin faltered, blood bubbling at his lips. He staggered, clawing weakly at Hayato's arm. "C…cub…?"
Hayato's glowing eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched. "Not anymore."
With a final heave, he ripped his shard-arm free. Jackdaw collapsed to the cobblestones, blood pooling beneath him, his grin frozen in a broken, empty shape.
The alley fell silent.
Hayato staggered back, his chest heaving, blood dripping from wounds across his shoulder and ribs. His kagune trembled, then receded slowly into his skin. His plated arm cracked and flaked away, leaving only the raw sting of exhaustion behind.
But he didn't move. He just stared.
The corpse was still warm. The blood pooled thick and steaming in the night air. And the scent—so rich, so heavy with RC cells—flooded his senses.
His stomach twisted violently. His body screamed for it.
And then another voice came, ragged but sharp, echoing from memory. You've seen it, boy. Kakuja. That armor that even Doves feared. But you don't get it without paying the price. Flesh for flesh. Blood for blood.
Hayato's chest tightened. He remembered the way his father's kakuja had erupted that night, how even the seasoned investigators had faltered at the sight. Power. Terrible, monstrous power—but power that turned fear into silence.
He knelt. His hands trembled as they pressed against Jackdaw's chest.
If I want to survive… if I want to leave this place… I can't stay weak.
His lips pressed shut for a heartbeat. His breath came ragged. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth to the corpse.
The taste was iron and fire. Bitter, wrong, but filling him with a surge that made his kagune stir violently under his skin, shards twitching and sparking. He tore away quickly, gagging, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand.
But it was done.
From the shadows, Vernon's eyes narrowed faintly. He didn't speak, didn't stop him. Only murmured, almost to himself:
"…So. You choose his path."
Hayato rose unsteadily, Jackdaw's mask clenched in one hand, blood dripping from the other. His stomach churned, his body shaking, but beneath it burned a new fire — terrifying and raw.
He staggered forward, his voice hoarse, whispering to no one but the night:
"I won't be weak. Not ever again."
The alley lay silent, the corpse cooling behind him, as he followed Vernon out into the ward.
And though the night swallowed his steps, the taste of blood lingered, heavy and undeniable.