[The day before Nexus-5 confronts Careless Whisper]
J City — Ice Box
Everything proceeded as it always had.
A routine day in J City. Inmates transported, protocols followed, silence enforced. Order, as the system preferred it—right up until the moment it fractured.
An inmate assaulted the Ice Box.
She arrived at the intake chamber—the arrival room, where Dark Knights were usually transferred through CTP. A single guard stepped forward, reaching for her restraints, intending to escort her to her cell as he had done countless times before.
He never made it.
As he drew near, violent gales erupted from her body without warning. The air itself screamed—razor-sharp currents tearing through steel, concrete, and flesh in the same breath. The room was cleaved apart in an instant.
The guard's right arm was severed cleanly. He collapsed, unconscious, blood spreading across the floor.
The destruction triggered the alarms immediately, their sirens echoing through the facility and summoning every available unit—including Daito.
The girl calmly looked down at the WHA Watch still attached to her wrist—one that had clearly been taken from a hero by force. With a flick of her hand, she tore it free and discarded it onto the ground as if it were nothing more than scrap.
Daito arrived moments later, flanked by guards, and halted the moment he recognized her.
His expression hardened.
Daito: Evacuate all inmates. Move them elsewhere. Now.
The guards hesitated, questioning the sudden command—but Daito had earned their trust long ago. They obeyed without further protest.
When the corridors finally emptied, only Daito and the girl remained.
Daito: You should never have returned. After disgracing our master… and betraying your allies.
The girl scoffed.
Girl: Disgrace? That old geezer chose the wrong successor. That mistake isn't mine. I was the one more worthy of carrying his legacy—not you.
Daito's voice remained steady, but there was pain beneath it.
Daito: No, Takumi. The old man did not choose by capability alone—he chose by heart. He wanted to choose you. But the darkness that nests within you made that impossible.
Takumi's expression twisted with rage.
Takumi: More lies! It doesn't matter anymore. I hold greater power now.
Her grip tightened on her katana.
Takumi: Now—feel the wrath of StereoHeart.
Steel screamed as she unsheathed her blade and lunged.
Daito answered instantly. A crimson spike of condensed energy erupted from his palm, elongating into a blade of pure force. He caught her strike head-on, red energy clashing violently against steel.
The impact hurled Takumi backward.
Daito: Stop this. It isn't too late.
Takumi laughed—a cold, venomous sound.
Takumi: You were always naïve. Once I'm finished with you, I'll mount your head at the dojo as a warning.
She struck again.
Daito: Then you leave me no choice.
Six additional crimson spikes materialized behind him, hovering like predatory sentinels.
Daito: Now, face the power of Sting.
They collided.
Throughout the Ice Box, guards worked with ruthless efficiency. Cell doors slid open one after another as inmates were escorted out. Confusion spread among the prisoners—questions shouted, fear rising—but the guards answered only once.
Guard: The facility is under attack. You're being transferred.
As they moved through the corridors, red light flickered across the walls. The unmistakable ring of clashing blades echoed through the complex, a sound that made even hardened criminals fall silent.
Five crimson spikes launched forward, streaking through the air like homing missiles, tracking Takumi with relentless precision.
She moved.
Each spike missed by a hair's breadth.
Takumi danced through the assault without effort—twisting, pivoting, evading with flawless timing. Her movements were fluid, almost elegant, like a master gymnast executing a perfect routine mid-battle.
Not a single bead of sweat touched her brow.
She moved with absolute precision, executing each motion as if rehearsed a thousand times before. Every step, every turn—perfectly measured.
Daito understood why.
He withdrew his crimson spikes, allowing a brief silence to settle between them.
Daito: So, you were the one who stole the Charm of Fūjin.
Takumi's expression did not change.
Daito: The Charm of Mizu-no-Kami already enhances your parrying and evasion, but the second charm increases your dodging speed outright. That explains how you avoided my spikes.
Takumi smirked.
Takumi: How naïve—to only realize it now.
Daito's jaw tightened.
Daito: I never wanted to believe it was you. The impostor who stole that charm that night. I… I always looked up to you.
Takumi laughed softly.
Takumi: Looked up to me? You were always the old man's favorite.
Daito: This isn't about our master, it's about you. The Takumi I knew would never do something like this. Please—just come back.
For the first time, her smile faded.
Takumi: It's too late.
They clashed again.
Each exchange grew faster, heavier—steel and energy screaming through the air. Daito unleashed his spikes at full velocity, tearing forward at nearly one hundred kilometers per hour. Five at once.
Takumi dodged—barely.
Several grazed her, carving shallow cuts across her skin, but she did not retreat.
Instead, she raised her blade.
Takumi: Come forth—
She commanded, her voice cold and absolute.
Takumi: —StereoBlades!
The air around her shifted.
Daito's spikes veered away mid-flight, deflected by something unseen. None came within three meters of her body.
Daito: (thought)Invisible blades! A defensive field… two to three meters in radius...so that's it.
He straightened, crimson energy pulsing around him.
Takumi: (thought)I know your primary charm—Inari'sMight. Increased vitality. Enhanced melee strength.
From the rhythm of their exchange, Takumi reached a swift conclusion.
Takumi: (thought)And his secondary charm… Benzaiten. That alone explained the unnatural precision behind his attacks—and why even his spikes seemed to obey intent rather than inertia. Enough! This has gone on too long. I need to end this—now—and extract as many allies as I can.
She shifted her stance.
Daito noticed instantly.
Why draw her katana now?
She was still outside optimal range. Something was wrong.
He recalled his spikes—
—but Takumi grinned.
Takumi: Bad move, Daito. You've just signed your death contract.
She swung her blade.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The motion itself looked harmless—until a colossal, invisible blade erupted from the arc, tearing through the air with a pressure that warped space between them.
Takumi: Take this—StereoGales.
The distortion reached Daito in an instant.
He reacted on instinct, pulling his spikes together into a reinforced shield. The impact was catastrophic. The spikes fractured under the force, bending and cracking as the shockwave punched straight through him.
Pain detonated inside his chest.
He staggered back, coughing blood.
Takumi: I'm surprised you survived that, but next time—you won't.
She moved again.
This time, her katana sang through the air—fast, precise—releasing a storm of razor-thin, invisible blades that screamed toward him from multiple angles.
Daito deflected them desperately, sparks and energy flashing as each unseen strike was barely turned aside.
This is bad, he realized.
I need a way through those blades—somehow.
There was no time to think.
With no better option, he charged straight at her, forcing his way forward while still batting away the incoming cuts. He thrust, aiming for a decisive strike—
—but Takumi slipped aside effortlessly.
He followed with a sweeping attack—
—and suddenly, she was gone.
A flicker.
A whisper of air.
She reappeared behind him.
Takumi: Too bad, you didn't know what else the Charm of Fūjin granted me? Though difficult to invoke, it allows me a brief wind dash—but only after a perfect dodge.
She raised her blade.
Takumi: Now—die!
Her katana carved downward toward Daito—
—but a metallic shriek cut the air.
One of Daito's spikes snapped into position, intercepting the strike just in time, its surface fracturing yet holding firm.
He exhaled sharply.
Daito: Looks like you didn't know about my secondary spike. It activates automatically when my life is threatened.
Takumi's eyes narrowed.
She understood immediately.
They were too close—well within three meters.
Stereo Blades couldn't activate at this range.
Before she could disengage, Daito advanced.
He and the secondary spike moved as one, striking in relentless succession—each blow disrupting her stance, each impact suppressing her ability to channel her charms. The pressure mounted, unyielding, merciless.
For the finishing blow, Daito drew every remaining spike back to himself.
They converged.
He struck.
The impact was catastrophic.
Takumi's katana shattered under the force, the blade splintering as she was hurled backward, crashing hard against the floor.
Silence followed.
Without her sword, Takumi could do nothing.
Slowly, she pushed herself upright—then knelt.
She bowed her head.
Takumi: Then grant me a warrior's death.
Daito approached from her left, his steps measured. He raised a spike above her neck.
Takumi closed her eyes.
The strike came down—
—but there was no pain.
Only a sharp click.
And a faint pressure around her wrist.
She opened her eyes.
Daito had used the band.
Daito: The old ways are dead. I may be naïve—but I won't kill my family.
He turned away, already signaling the guards.
Daito: Don't worry, I'll get you fixed.
Takumi was taken as an inmate.
The guard from the beginning survived—later healed by QueenBee.
And just like that, the blade was lowered.
Not by strength.
But by choice.