Ten Years Later.
Afternoon sunlight painted the black stone streets of Necropolis, turning polished pathways into ribbons of reflected gold.
Two girls—Emilia and Clarie, now teenagers, beautiful and sharp-witted— stepped out from the Academy of Necrotic Arts, deep in gossip about the day's events: a spilled potion, a teacher's sudden illness that conveniently canceled homework.
A loud, familiar whistle tore through the crowd.
"Hey, ladies! Off somewhere glamorous?"
Emilia and Clarie stopped. They didn't need to turn.
Clarie rolled her eyes heavenward. "Him. Again. Sweet Death, give me strength..."
They turned, and as always, there he was.
Dark, artfully messy hair fell across his forehead. His eyes were an impossible, depthless oceanic blue. He wore a simple but elegant tunic of obsidian blue, polished black boots that gleamed like cursed gems, and the ever-present golden bracelet and ring on his right hand. A charismatic, effortless smile played on his lips.
Ronin Hirata.
Teenager. Charismatic. A carefree spirit. Devastatingly handsome, and—according to most—a lovable maniac.
Clarie crossed her arms, her voice dripping with practiced skepticism. "How many times have we rejected you now? Can you even count?"
Ronin grinned as he stepped forward. "Oh, darling—"
WHOOSH.
He vanished in mid-stride, reappearing directly in front of them in a swirl of sky-blue spatial particles.
" —I never give up. And it's only, what, ten times? A small price for the most handsome, intelligent, and powerful boy in Eldrya."
Clarie stumbled back, gasping. "God! Why must you always do that?!"
Ronin waved a dismissive hand. "Stop the melodrama. I am not scared. And yes, I am here to propose. Again. The eleventh time's the charm, isn't that what they say?"
Emilia sighed, a long-suffering sound. "By our count, it's the forty-ninth time you've been rejected. By us."
Ronin raised an eyebrow and scratched his head. "Really? I don't keep track of failures. Only successes."
He flickered his wrist. A rose materialized in his hand—not a real one, but a perfect sculpture of condensed Cursed Energy. Its dark violet petals seemed to devour the light around them.
With a theatrical flourish, Ronin dropped to one knee in a perfect Romeo-pose. He held the dark rose out with both hands, his eyes shimmering with adorable, fake sincerity.
"With all my heart... Clarie? Emilia? Either of you? Will you, please, grant this humble soul the honor of being your boyfriend?"
Emilia's cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "But... roses are supposed to be red. Your... is violet."
Ronin chuckled, a low, warm sound. "A simple request! Your wish is my command, my beautiful señorita."
He flicked his wrist again. The violet energy shifted, deepening into a bloody, pulsating crimson. A red aura curled from it like demonic smoke.
Ronin's eyes held that killing charisma. "There. A proper rose. Now... your answer?"
For a fleeting second, Clarie's breath caught. His charisma in that moment was a tangible, disarming force.
She shook her head violently, clearing the fog. "Do you think a color charge works? No. You're an idiot. Come on, Emilia. Emilia?
Emilia was frozen, staring mesmerized at Ronin's smiling face until Clarie broke the spell with a sharp shake of her arm.
"Emilia! Snap out of it!"
"Oh! I was just... thinking," Emilia mumbled, her face now matching her would-be rose.
Clarie grabbed her arm and pulled. "We're leaving. Now. Before he infects us with his stupidity."
She dragged a blushing Emilia away. As they retreated, Emilia glanced back over her shoulder.
Ronin winked.
She whipped her head forward, her blush deepening.
Ronin rose to his feet, lazily cracking his neck. "Better luck next time. Especially when Clarie is not around... I think Emilia's ready to rip my lips off."
He tossed the rose into the air. It dissolved into a harmless puff of purple mist. Clasping his arms behind his head, he strolled away.
"Time for lunch. Hurt's probably cooked something. The rats in my stomach are staging a rebellion."
He walked the streets of Necropolis not as a foreign Arcane child, but as their homegrown prodigy. He helped an elder push a stalled cart, made a fussy baby giggle with a ridiculous face, and exchanged friendly nods with shopkeepers.
He was a beloved headache, a fixture who had won their hearts.
***
Back at the mansion, Hurt stood in the kitchen, deliberately stirring a rich, simmering stew. Its savory aroma filled the entire ground floor.
The door burst open. Ronin inhaled deeply.
"Something smells amazing. Special occasion?"
He made a beeline for the stove, but a spatula came down, lightning-fast, and tapped the back of his reaching hand.
Ronin startled, pulled back his arm. "Ow! What was that for?"
Hurt didn't turn from the pot, his voice calm. "The rule. You know it."
Ronin rolled his eyes back with dramatic exasperation. "I know, I know. Wash your hands, say the pre-meal thanks, and no talking with your mouth full. Happy?"
"Adequately," Hurt said. "Now, sit. We have something important to discuss."
Ronin raised an eyebrow, sliding into a chair. "'Important discussion'? If this is another philosophical lecture about the 'cyclical nature of grief,' I'm teleporting to the moon."
Hurt dusted off his hands, a faint smile touching his lips. "No philosophy. Now eat."
After lunch, Hurt led him in the training yard. His prolonged silence was a live wire, sparking Ronin's curiosity.
Finally, Hurt turned. A knowing smirk played on his pale features. "Let us discuss your progression."
Ronin sighed. "Seriously? Ten fucking years. Ten years of push-ups, cursed theory, and battling broccoli. The only thing I liked was the spell-casting."
Hurt began to circle him, slow and deliberate like a predator sizing up its prey. "Ronin Hirata. You have reached the point where my lessons are complete. I have nothing left to teach you."
He stopped, pointing a gauntleted finger directly at the boy's chest. His voice dropped, serious and deep. "But a student is not considered a master... until he surpasses his teacher. It is time to show me what you have learned. You. And me."
Ronin swallowed, but a confident smirk fought its way onto his face. "Now, we're talking. I've been waiting for this. Alright, Hurt. Let me show you what I've got."
He took his stance, planting his feet firmly. "You first."
A low, humorless chuckle escaped Hurt. "You want me to first move? Are you certain?"
"Absolutely," Ronin's voice echoed with finality. "One-million percent."
Hurt's expression iced over. "A costly mistake, boy."
And it was.
In the blink of an eye, Hurt vanished.
Ronin's eyes widened. He spun, his head snapping side to side.
A low, dread whisper breathed against the back of his neck sending ice down his spine. "Watch your back."
Before Ronin could even think to react—
BOOM.
Hurt's fist connected squarely between his shoulder blades. The impact was like a falling mountain. Ronin was launched across the yard. Somehow, he twisted in mid-air, flipping to land in a skid that dug twin furrows three inches deep in the soil.
He shook his head, stars dancing in his vision. "What in the hell...? Did a meteor just hit me?"
Hurt's laughter rang out, cold and clear. "Surprised by a simple punch? And here I was expecting a real fight. My mistake."
Ronin's eyes narrowed to slits. He clutched his fists so tightly the knuckles popped like gunshots.
"Are you saying..." he hissed, a crimson aura beginning to pulse around him like a living angry haze. "...that I've learned nothing in ten years?"
The aura flared. "YOU'RE WRONG!"
The fine chain of his bracelet detached from the ring with a sharp snap. It whipped through the air before lashing out at Hurt like a striking serpent.
Hurt sidestepped it with casual ease. "Is that all?"
Ronin's lips curled into a cruel, triumphant smile. "You haven't seen anything yet, Dead-man."
A blinding golden flash erupted from the chain
CRACK.
The single chain split. One became two, then four, then six identical, gleaming chains, each moving with independent, lethal intent. They lashed out from every direction—a whirling, inescapable cage of golden death.
Hurt's eyes fell wide in absolute shock—not at the attack, but at the execution. How...? How did he—?!
Hurt moved, a blur of motion, dodging and weaving through the onslaught.
Ronin's eyes traced his movements, and his smirk widened. "Trying to escape? You can't."
The chains were relentless. He ducked behind a thick tree trunk.
SMASH. The chains sliced through the ancient wood as if it were parchment.
He dove behind a boulder.
SHHHINK. The chains sheared through the stone like a hot knife through butter.
Hurt's movements grew frantic. He dropped to a knee, chest heaving, as the six chains retracted, hovering threateningly around Ronin.
"Gods..." Hurt panted, true awe in his voice. "What was that? How?"
Ronin recalled the chains. They flowed back, merging seamlessly into the single bracelet chain. "Finally, you're ready admit it. You taught me to master the Three Pillars—to make my body strong and control the energies perfectly. I applied the lesson." He held up his wrist, the rainbow gem catching the light. "I use Arcane Energy as the source to multiply the chain. I focus my Mental Energy to control each strand independently—like having six extra minds. And I channel my Physical Energy into the chains themselves, giving them the force and deadly edge to slash, rip, and tear through anything."
He raised his hand, casting a miniature rainbow from the gem onto the ground. "You gave me a tool, Hurt. I turned it into a weapon. I call it... Armageddon Chains. Do you approve?"
Hurt's lips twitched, then spread into a genuine, proud smile. "You are endlessly full of surprises. But do not think this is over. You've taken the first round." He rose, cracking his neck, his crimson eyes igniting with competitive fire. "Round two begins now. A tournament of spells. Are you ready?"
Ronin rolled his shoulders, a fierce grin spreading across his face. "I was born ready."
They sprinted toward each other and met in the center of the yard with a cataclysmic clash. Sparks of gold and violet erupted around them, dancing in the air like furious, beautiful fireflies.
***
He was no longer the lost boy.
He was no longer just a student.
He was the prodigy who had finally made his master fight for real.