The sounds of the camp—the hushed whispers of the rebels, the weary sighs of the villagers—faded into a distant murmur behind them. Rara ran, her steps a frantic, stumbling rhythm on the dark, packed earth of the path leading away from the docks. She didn't know where she was going; she only knew she had to get away from the crushing weight of the truth, from the pathetic, sniveling face of a man who had traded thousands of lives for the dream of a casino.
The cool night air did nothing to soothe the fire in her chest. Each breath was a sharp, ragged thing, each beat of her heart a painful reminder of the sheer, pointless cruelty of it all. She could still hear his voice, dripping with a casual, unapologetic greed, and with every echo, a fresh wave of nausea and rage washed over her.
"Rara, wait!"
A hand, firm but gentle, closed around her wrist, stopping her flight. Yukari’s voice was a low, somber note in the quiet darkness, her face a mask of shared, weary sorrow in the faint moonlight. Behind her, Raito and Isao had stopped a few paces back, their own expressions grim, giving the two girls a small pocket of privacy in a world that had suddenly grown too small.
“Are… are you alright?” Yukari asked, the question feeling flimsy and inadequate in the face of such a profound wound.
“How could I be alright?” Rara’s voice was a raw, broken whisper that shattered in the still air. She turned, her face a mess of tears and grime, her eyes shining with a grief so deep it seemed to have no bottom. “We finally captured one of the clan leaders… but not because of our progress. Not because we were strong enough. But because he was a coward, running away from a demise he brought upon himself.”
Her voice cracked, the anger she had suppressed for so long finally breaking free in a torrent of pained, incredulous words. “And his reasoning… the reason he started this war, the reason he kept it going for all these years… riches.” The word was a curse on her lips, a bitter, poisonous thing. “How could I be alright, Yukari? All those lives… Gouda, Gamo, all the refugees we couldn’t save… all of them, gone. For that. For such a petty, disgusting reason.”
She shook her head, a violent, desperate motion, as if trying to physically dislodge the truth. “I don’t understand. I can’t understand. I won’t understand.”
Her strength finally gave out. She collapsed against Yukari, burying her face in her friend’s shoulder, her body wracked with great, gulping sobs that seemed to be torn from the very depths of her soul. “I can’t forgive him,” she cried, the words muffled, a raw, final declaration against a world that had proven to be crueler and more senseless than she had ever imagined.
Yukari could only hold her, her own arms a silent, inadequate anchor in the storm of Rara’s grief. There were no words, no easy comforts that could soothe a wound this deep. Raito and Isao stood a few paces back, their usual easy banter extinguished by the cold, hard weight of the truth. Rara’s words were undeniable, an ugly, unvarnished reality that left no room for argument.
It was, Yukari thought, just as Grandpa Sun Yoon had said. A pettiness so illogical it defied reason, and yet, at its core, a flaw so profoundly, terribly human. All she could do was offer her friend a shoulder to cry on, a small, quiet presence in the face of a sorrow that felt as vast and as old as the war itself.
Two days passed, but the silence of that night lingered, a heavy, unsettling calm that had settled over the small farmhouse. The sun was bright, the air was warm, but the easy, cheerful atmosphere that had once filled their new home felt a world away.
In the backyard, the air shimmered, not with the intense cold of a true battle, but with a half-hearted flurry of tiny ice cubes that shot across the grass.
Raito’s parries were lazy, his heavy wooden sword moving with a listless, mechanical rhythm as he deflected the small, stinging projectiles. A few of them still got through, smacking harmlessly against his forehead with a soft thwack. He didn’t even flinch.
“Let’s just stop here,” Yukari said, her voice weak as she lowered her hand, the last of the ice cubes melting into drops of water before they even reached him.
“Yeah, agreed,” Raito replied, rubbing a small red mark on his forehead with the back of his hand. He let the tip of his heavy sword fall to the ground with a dull thud.
Yukari walked over and sat on the edge of the porch, her gaze distant as she stared at the empty backyard. “Rara’s outburst… it’s still lodged deep in my mind,” she admitted, her voice a quiet murmur.
“Same here,” Raito said, sitting down beside her, the weight of the wooden sword a heavy, forgotten thing at his side. He looked out at the peaceful, sun-drenched backyard, but all he could see was the memory of a girl’s face, so full of a bright, infectious joy, now shattered by a grief that felt too large for her small frame. “That same cheerful girl… to show such raw emotion.” He shook his head slowly. “I can’t blame her.”
A heavy silence settled between them, filled only by the gentle hum of insects and the distant cry of a sea bird.
“Can we really help her?” Yukari’s voice was a quiet, fragile thing, barely a whisper against the vast, open sky. “You know… stop this war.”
Raito turned to look at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Second-guessing yourself? That isn’t like you.”
“I know,” she said, her gaze falling to her own hands, twisting them in her lap. “But I’m really not sure now. I feel like the stakes just got bigger. I guess… I guess I didn’t realize how much stopping the war meant for Rara, for all of them.” She let out a small, humorless laugh. “I just… I feel like I was just playing around with them, playing at being a commander.”
Flick.
A sharp, light tap on her forehead made her jump. “Oww,” she yelped, rubbing the spot as she glared at him. “What was that for, idiot?”
Raito pointed a finger at her, his expression uncharacteristically serious, though a familiar, gentle smirk played on his lips. “You are the confident one,” he began, his voice a low, steady thing. “Brave, headstrong, digni… well, maybe not so much dignified anymore.” He lowered his hand, his gaze softening. “I’m the one who’s a coward. Passive. I’m the one with low self-esteem. All those negative emotions—the doubt, the fear, the ‘can we or can’t we’… let me handle those.”
He leaned a little closer, his smile widening into a grin. “Also, remember, we are not heroes. We are not rebels. We are not here to end the war. We’re just two people who happen to be here, and happen to be fighting with them. That’s all. And whatever happens, happens. Okay?”
Yukari stared at him, at the quiet, unwavering strength in his eyes, at the easy way he had just offered to shoulder the very doubts that were crushing her. The tension that had been coiled in her chest for days began to slowly, finally, unwind. A genuine smile, the first one she had felt in a long time, broke through the clouds of her worry.
“You’re an idiot,” she said, the words full of a warmth that belied their meaning. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Even when Grandpa Sun Yoon is gambling on us?”
“Oh yeah, he did say that…” Raito’s smile turned a little sheepish. “That gamble doesn’t suit us. I’ll have to disappoint him for once then.” He grinned, a carefree, easy sound that made her own smile widen.
Yukari fell silent, her gaze drifting down to the simple silver ring on her finger. The sakura-shaped diamond caught the afternoon sun, sending a small, brilliant rainbow of light dancing across her hand. In its facets, she saw not the weight of a war, but the quiet, unshakable promise of the boy sitting beside her. And for the first time in days, the calm didn't feel so unsettling anymore.
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Raito’s gaze followed hers, landing on the glittering ring. A memory, sharp and sudden, cut through the peaceful moment. “Oh, yeah,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “During our fight with that Jin guy, you said you figured out how your new Core works. What did you mean by that?”
Yukari’s expression shifted, the soft warmth replaced by a mischievous, almost smug smirk. “Oh, that,” she said, her voice a low, teasing purr. “I was just bluffing.”
“Wha—?” Raito’s jaw dropped, a look of pure, unadulterated shock on his face.
“But now,” she continued, her smirk widening as she patted the empty space on the porch beside her, “I think I’ve really figured it out. Sit here. Next to me.”
“Okay…” Raito said, his confusion evident as he shuffled closer.
“Now, hold my hand,” she commanded.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, his fingers tentatively intertwining with hers. Her hand was cool and soft, a familiar comfort.
“So, nothing lights up, right?” she said, holding their joined hands up. The sakura-shaped diamond was beautiful, but inert, its inner light dormant. “This is because I haven’t activated my Core yet.” She closed her eyes for a second. A faint, pure white light began to pulse from the heart of the diamond, growing brighter until it bathed their hands in a soft, ethereal glow. “And this is the state when it’s active. See?”
“Okay, but that’s how all Cores work,” Raito said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What does holding my hand have to do with extra power?”
“I’m still not done explaining, idiot,” she sighed, a flicker of her old exasperation returning. “Watch this.”
She raised their still-joined hands. The air around them dropped twenty degrees in an instant, the sudden chill making the hairs on Raito’s arms stand on end. The ground in front of the porch began to tremble. With a sound like a glacier cracking, a pillar of pure, crystalline ice erupted from the earth. It shot upwards, impossibly fast, a shimmering, translucent spear that seemed to scrape the sky, its top disappearing into the clouds.
“Hey! Think of the neighbors!” Raito yelped, jumping to his feet and instinctively looking around as if expecting to see Isao storming over with a noise complaint.
“You’re the one who wanted a demonstration,” Yukari replied, though she quickly let the massive ice pillar dissipate into a shower of glittering, harmless frost. “Anyway… get away from me now.”
“Huh?” Raito asked, his confusion now reaching its absolute peak.
He reluctantly stepped back from the porch.
“More,” Yukari said, her voice a playful command.
Raito shuffled a few more feet away, a bewildered look on his face.
“More,” she said again.
He took another step back.
“Just a little more,” she instructed, a teasing glint in her silver eyes. “Further away. Like how disgusting you are before taking a bath.”
“Hey!” Raito grumbled, but he moved to the far edge of their small backyard.
“Good,” Yukari shouted, her voice carrying easily across the small farm. “Now, watch this.”
She lifted her hand again, the ring on her finger still glowing with its soft, white light. She focused, and another pillar of ice shot up from the ground right next to where the first one had been. But this one was different. It rose with a noticeable strain, and it stopped growing when it was only half the size of its predecessor, looking more like a stout, jagged icicle than a celestial spear.
“See?” Yukari called out, gesturing to the two now-dissipating pillars of frost.
Raito quickly ran back to her side, his earlier confusion replaced by a dawning, incredulous understanding. “You weren’t holding back, right?” he asked, his voice a hushed whisper.
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “Used up all I got, same as the first time.”
“So what does this mean?” Raito asked, his mind still struggling to connect the dots.
“It means,” Yukari began, her voice a low, wondrous murmur as she looked from him to the ring and back again, “that this new Core… it’s somehow stronger the closer I am to you.”
“Wait… wait,” Raito stammered, his mind short-circuiting. “How does that even happen?”
“I don’t know,” Yukari admitted with a shrug, though her expression was one of quiet, profound revelation. “But it kind of makes sense. Cores are tied to a single will a person chooses. My old one… that was my devotion to my duty. And as I started to slip up, it began to die.” She looked at him, her silver eyes full of an emotion he couldn’t quite name. “This new one is…”
“Is what?” Raito asked, his own voice a quiet, breathless thing.
“Nope. Not going to say it. Too embarrassing,” Yukari said, turning her head away, though he could see the tips of her ears turning a faint shade of pink.
“Oh, I get it now,” Raito said, the last piece of the puzzle finally clicking into place, a slow, brilliant grin spreading across his face. “It’s tied to your desire to be with me.”
SLAP!
The sound was sharp and loud in the quiet afternoon. Raito stumbled back, his hand flying to his cheek, a perfect red handprint already blooming on his skin.
“Don’t say it out loud, idiot!” Yukari yelled, her entire face now a deep, beautiful shade of crimson.
“Sorry…” Raito mumbled, rubbing his stinging cheek. A moment later, his tactical mind took over, a look of genuine wonder replacing the pain. “But that would mean… as long as I’m next to you, you’re invincible.”
“I wish it was that easy,” Yukari sighed, her embarrassment giving way to a more analytical tone. She held up her glowing ring. “I also noticed this new Core behaves more like a cup of tea. When you’re close to me, the cup gets filled up. But when I use all the power, it becomes empty again, and it needs time to refill.” She let out another, more frustrated sigh. “This one is a finicky Core.”
“Okay… that is so odd,” Raito said, still trying to wrap his head around it.
“Yeah,” Yukari agreed with a shrug. “But at least I don’t get the same backlash other Core users get. And when it’s empty, it’s not like I can’t use it. It just gets weaker.” She looked at him, a small, tired smile on her face.
“Such a weird Core,” Raito mused, a fond smile on his own face. “Just like you.”
SLAP!
Another slap, just as sharp as the first, landed on his other cheek.
Moments later, they were back in the rebel hideout, the quiet intimacy of their backyard replaced by the tense, charged atmosphere of a war council. The air in the repurposed warehouse was thick with the smell of saltwater, old wood, and the low hum of anxious voices. Yukari, Rara, Kenta, Raito, and the two veterans, Saburou and Hwan, stood around a large, makeshift map table. Next to them, in a hastily constructed cell of iron bars and reinforced wood, Imagawa Joon sat slumped on the floor, a pathetic, solitary figure.
In front of the small assembly stood the three scouts Kenta had dispatched two days prior. They were covered in dust and sweat, their faces etched with a deep, unsettling weariness that went beyond simple exhaustion.
“Your report, please,” Kenta’s voice was a low, steady command that cut through the quiet murmur of the room.
“Yes, sir,” the lead scout began, his voice trembling slightly. He fidgeted, his gaze darting from Kenta to the floor and back again. “We… we cannot confirm Imagawa’s story.”
“That means he’s lying, then,” Kenta growled, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword as he glared at the prisoner in the cell.
“Not… not quite, sir,” the scout stammered, fidgeting even more.
“Then what is it?” Kenta’s patience was wearing thin. “Stop beating around the bush.”
The scout took a deep, shuddering breath. “We can’t confirm it, because… because they’re missing.”
“The alliance,” the scout continued, the words tumbling out in a rush of disbelief. “Both the Takayama and the Izumi armies… they’re gone.”
A collective, sharp intake of breath filled the room.
“Can you three be clear with us?” Rara asked, her voice a hushed, horrified whisper. “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”
“You see, young miss,” the scout explained, his eyes wide with a fear that was almost manic, “Senritsu Island is abandoned. Takayama Castle is empty. Izumi Castle… it’s a ghost town. We asked the civilians around there, too. All they said was that they just… vanished. One night. They thought it was a miracle.” He shook his head, a violent, desperate motion. “But what’s even more concerning is that their weapons, their supplies… everything is gone. Just empty castles. No soldiers, no weapons, nothing. We three have checked everywhere.”
A heavy, chilling silence fell over the room. The air grew thick with a new, unspoken terror. Two massive armies, thousands of soldiers, disappearing without a trace, taking all their equipment with them. It wasn’t a retreat. It wasn’t a miracle.
They’re planning something, Yukari thought, her tactical mind racing, the implications of the report sending a cold dread washing over her. A surprise attack. A massive, coordinated ambush. But where? And when? With no intel, no leads, they were completely, utterly blind.
“Also…” the lead scout’s voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. He fumbled in his pack and pulled out a single, sealed letter. “Mr. Raito… this is for you. A message.”
A new wave of confusion rippled through the room. Raito himself looked completely bewildered. “Huh? I don’t think I have anyone else I know here,” he said, his brow furrowed as he took the letter. The paper was old, marked with a sign he didn’t recognize.
He unfolded the letter. He read the neat, familiar script.
And his eyes went wide.
Without a single word, without a single sound, he turned and ran. He sprinted from the hideout, his movements a blur of desperate, panicked urgency, leaving a stunned, silent room in his wake.
“Raito!” Yukari’s voice was a sharp, clear cry of confusion and concern. And without a second’s hesitation, she ran after him, disappearing through the doorway, leaving the rest of the rebels to stare after them, their faces a mixture of bewilderment and a dawning, terrible dread. The terror of the missing armies, and now, the mysterious letter. The unsettling calm that had fallen over Hanyuun was finally breaking, and in its place, a storm of unknown, terrifying proportions was beginning to brew.
