The smoke from the collapsed dojo drifted into the night sky like a dying spirit. Embers crackled softly, casting an eerie, flickering glow across the shattered wooden beams. The air stank of burnt varnish and torn tatami. In the middle of the devastation, Lucia stood frozen, breath shaking, every muscle locked in a mix of fear and disbelief.
Her world was already cracking.
And it was about to shatter completely.
A sharp groan echoed behind her. She spun around.
Yeshwanth pushed himself up from a mound of splintered wood. His coat was torn at the shoulder, dust clung to his hair, and a thin line of blood trickled from his temple — but his posture remained unbroken. He rose like someone who had no intention of yielding to anything, not fate, not pain, not even death.
Lucia exhaled a trembling breath.
He was still standing.
Of course he was.
Just as relief washed over her, a shadow moved across the debris.
The last remaining ninja — the one whose presence felt heavier, sharper — stepped forward. The burned dojo's flames cast an almost demonic outline behind him as he slowly reached for his mask.
Lucia's stomach tightened.
Something felt wrong.
Terribly, horribly wrong.
The fabric came off with a soft rustle.
Underneath was a face she knew too well.
Brown hair neatly parted to the side.
A sharp jawline carved with aristocratic perfection.
Eyes — cold, piercing blue — that once stared at her across marble dinner halls.
Lucia's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
Her voice cracked.
"T–Tim…?"
The world tilted for a moment.
Tim Neihdart.
A name she never thought she'd hear again in a place like this — or see attached to a blade meant for her throat.
Yeshwanth stared between them, brows scrunching.
"Tim? Who the hell is Tim?"
Lucia swallowed hard, her throat dry.
"He's… he's my nephew. Tim Neihdart. From the Proud Neihdart Family."
Tim flashed a smirk, dusting off his shoulder as if the explosion was just a minor inconvenience.
"So you still recognize me, Lucia. Good. For a moment I thought you'd forgotten every shame you left behind."
Lucia flinched. The words cut sharper than kunai.
The venom wasn't new — the Neihdart family specialized in hiding cruelty behind etiquette — but tonight it was raw, unfiltered.
Yeshwanth raised an eyebrow.
"Your nephew tried to kill you? Seriously? What kind of circus family do you nobles run?"
"Stay out of this," Tim snapped coldly, not even sparing Yeshwanth a glance.
Behind him, dozens of ninja silhouettes flickered like dying holograms… then dissolved entirely into smoke, swirling into his back like ghosts returning to their master.
Lucia's blood ran cold.
"All those ninjas… don't tell me—"
Tim shrugged casually.
"They were my clones. Every single one. A little project I picked up after infiltrating the rival clan. They wanted to use me, but I used them first."
Yeshwanth exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening.
"So you attacked Lucia because…?"
Tim's smile twisted into something poisonous — an expression of pride mixed with desperation, the kind that was born from years of living under someone else's shadow.
"To inherit the Mana Core of the First Family," Tim said, voice trembling with suppressed rage, "one must acquire a mana heart from someone of our bloodline."
He pointed directly at Lucia.
"She carries the strongest mana signature in our generation. If I deliver her mana heart to the family head… I will finally be acknowledged."
Lucia felt the world drain of color.
"You would kill me… for a title? For recognition?"
Tim didn't hesitate.
"For power. For validation. For a place in the family I was born into."
His eyes sharpened like blades.
"You think anyone respects me? You think anyone listens? Everyone compares me to you — 'Lucia the gift-bearer,' 'Lucia the prodigy who never even tried.' You lived outside the family, free of pressure, free of expectation, yet you carry the mana that should've been MINE!"
Lucia staggered back a step.
Her voice barely held together.
"I never asked for this mana… I never wanted any of this!"
Tim's laugh was hollow, brittle.
"And yet you have it. While I've spent my whole life choking on expectations I couldn't reach."
Yeshwanth moved.
One step forward.
Deliberate. Solid. Unshaken.
"Alright, enough. You talk too much for a wannabe villain. Let me simplify this nightmare:"
His eyes hardened.
"You tried to kill the girl I'm escorting. That means you fight me."
Tim scoffed, his lip curling in disgust.
"And who exactly are you? Some stray mutt she dragged from the streets? A hired escort? A nobody? Pathetic. I can't believe Lucia— a Neihdart — stooped so low."
Lucia clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms.
"He saved my life—"
Tim cut her off with a sharp, dismissive gesture.
"He saved your salary. Don't romanticize trash."
Yeshwanth cracked his neck, unfazed.
"I don't need your respect. I don't need her praise. I don't even care about your family drama."
His aura surged — raw, untamed, dangerous.
"But I don't let anyone touch someone under my protection. Not bandits. Not assassins. And definitely not entitled nephews."
Tim's expression darkened.
"Then come prove it."
He stepped forward, mana swirling around him like a vortex.
"Let's see whether a nameless escort can stand against a heir of Neihdart."
The air snapped.
Two auras collided — Tim's refined, aristocratic mana infused with stolen techniques… and Yeshwanth's raw, unstable force that felt like a barely controlled storm.
Lucia stumbled backward as the pressure intensified. The ground beneath her cracked, dust spiraling upward. The ruined dojo creaked as the very air vibrated with hostility.
Yeshwanth and Tim stood face-to-face, just a few meters apart, yet the energy between them felt like an entire battlefield.
Yeshwanth's eyes narrowed.
"You nobles love your fake pride. But you know what real pride looks like?"
Tim didn't blink.
"Enlighten me."
Yeshwanth's tone dropped.
"It's standing for something. Even if you break."
Tim's smile vanished.
Mana burst from his feet, forming a cyclone.
The temperature rose. Flames flickered unnaturally. The shattered beams around them started lifting into the air as gravity seemed to lose its grip.
Lucia gasped.
"Tim's mana output… it's completely different…"
His energy now was nothing like the arrogant noble she remembered. It was feral, unstable, almost cannibalistic. Whatever he had done to gain those clone techniques had twisted his mana foundation.
Yeshwanth cracked his knuckles casually.
"Noisy."
In contrast to Tim's wild, chaotic mana, Yeshwanth's energy rose in a steady wave. Heavy. Dense. Like compressed lightning on the verge of exploding.
Lucia felt her knees weaken at the overwhelming pressure between them.
This wasn't a clash of skill.
This was a clash of worlds.
A clash of everything they represented.
Tim, the heir desperate for recognition.
Yeshwanth, the outsider who couldn't care less about titles.
Lucia's heart pounded painfully.
This wasn't just about family politics anymore.
It wasn't even about survival.
This battle was personal.
For all three of them.
Tim's eyes narrowed into slits.
"You don't belong in this story."
Yeshwanth smirked.
"I wasn't planning to. But you dragged me in."
The wind exploded around them as both warriors moved at the same instant — a crack of thunder and steel slicing air.
Lucia barely had time to scream.
Tim's movement was almost too fast for her eyes — a blur of aristocratic precision, blade sweeping in a clean arc meant to sever.
But Yeshwanth wasn't slow either.
His foot dug into the broken earth, launching him forward like a cannonball. He ducked under the slash, his fist already swinging with devastating force.
Their collision triggered a shockwave that shattered the remaining dojo pillars.
Tim skidded back, boots screeching against stone as he regained balance.
"Not bad… for trash."
Yeshwanth wiped the blood from his cheek.
"You're weaker than your mouth."
Tim's face twisted.
He vanished.
Lucia gasped — he didn't move, he disappeared. Dozens of clones erupted around Yeshwanth simultaneously, each identical, each radiating lethal intent.
The sky turned into a storm of blades.
Yeshwanth exhaled once.
Then burst forward.
His fist tore straight through a clone — smoke exploded. He pivoted, elbow striking another. He ducked under a simultaneous triple slash, sweeping his leg to disperse them.
But the clones kept coming.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Each carrying the exact same lethal precision.
Lucia's breath trembled.
"He's overwhelming him…"
Tim stood calmly on a fallen beam, arms crossed, watching like an emperor evaluating a gladiator.
"You see, Lucia? That's the difference between us and the commoners. They struggle. We command."
Lucia glared at him, fury shaking her voice.
"You call this command? You call this strength? You're running from your own insecurity!"
Tim's expression cracked.
"You don't get to say that— YOU LEFT US. YOU LEFT ME."
Lucia froze.
Tim's voice—
For the first time—
Sounded almost human.
Almost broken.
But the moment passed.
His expression hardened again.
"I will not be overshadowed by someone who abandoned the family."
He raised his hand.
Every clone froze mid-movement.
Then all at once—
They lunged.
Yeshwanth planted his foot, inhaled sharply—
And unleashed.
A burst of pure mana exploded from his center, blasting outward like a shockwave. The impact tore through the clones, rupturing them into clouds of smoke and shattered chakra threads.
Tim's eyes widened.
Lucia gasped.
Yeshwanth stood there, dust swirling around him, aura crackling like thunder.
"No more warm-up."
Tim screamed, fury and desperation twisting his face as he summoned every last ounce of power. Mana surged violently, cracking the earth beneath him.
Their eyes locked.
Their wills collided.
One driven by desperation.
One driven by resolve.
Both unable to back down.
The night held its breath.
The next strike would decide everything.
This was the moment where one man would stand,
and the other would break.