one winner

Kuroi dashed at Masanori with renewed determination, his sword slicing through the air with deadly intent. Masanori, a towering figure with broad shoulders and a scar running diagonally across his rugged face, was ready. His blade rose to meet Kuroi's strike, the clash of steel ringing out like thunder.

"Fool," Masanori growled, his voice deep and guttural, his teeth bared in a predatory grin. His dark, weathered armor bore scratches and dents, a testament to countless battles. "I am Masanori, the strongest leader of the Kurokaze no Yūrei. Do you honestly believe you can kill me?"

Kuroi's eyes, sharp and blazing with resolve, locked onto Masanori's. His lean, wiry frame moved with precision, his tattered and bloodied clothing clinging to him like a second skin. "Yes," Kuroi said, his voice steady, almost calm. "I know I can. I'll slice you up like meat."

Masanori's grin widened, his amusement laced with menace. "You've got guts, boy. I'll give you that. But guts won't stop me from cutting you down."

Kuroi lunged again, feinting to the left before pivoting sharply to the right. His blade aimed for Masanori's exposed side, but the larger man twisted just in time, deflecting the strike with a flick of his sword.

"You're quick," Masanori admitted, his voice carrying a grudging respect. His eyes narrowed, their dark depths gleaming with malice. "But quick doesn't mean smart. And it sure as hell doesn't mean strong."

Kuroi smirked, his breathing heavy but controlled. "Strength doesn't mean much when you're bleeding out on the floor."

Masanori laughed, a low, rumbling sound that filled the room. "Big talk for a kid who's barely standing. Let's see if your blade can back up your mouth."

Kuroi's mind raced as they circled each other, their swords glinting in the dim light of the inn. He studied Masanori's movements, noting the slight hitch in his step where Kuroi's earlier kick had landed.

"You're slowing down," Kuroi said, his voice taunting. "What's the matter? Too much wine weighing you down?"

Masanori's expression darkened, his grip tightening on his sword. "You've got a sharp tongue, boy. Let's see if it's as sharp as your blade."

With a roar, Masanori charged, his sword swinging in a wide arc. Kuroi ducked low, the blade whistling just above his head. He countered with a quick upward slash, aiming for Masanori's chest.

The larger man stepped back, the tip of Kuroi's blade grazing his armor. "Not bad," Masanori admitted, his voice tinged with annoyance. "But not good enough."

Kuroi grinned, his confidence growing despite the odds. "We'll see about that." Kuroi slashed wildly, his blade moving in desperate arcs as he tried to land a blow on Masanori. Each swing was met with precise blocks or deft sidesteps, Masanori's experience and strength keeping him one step ahead.

"You're flailing like a child," Masanori sneered, countering with a powerful slash that struck Kuroi's sword. The force of the blow sent Kuroi stumbling backward, nearly losing his footing.

Masanori grinned, his teeth bared like a wolf about to devour its prey. "Now die, you lying scum son of a bitch!" he roared, raising his sword high above his head, ready to bring it down with deadly precision.

Kuroi froze, his body too drained to move, his mind racing but finding no escape.

But just as Masanori's blade began its descent, he stopped abruptly, his face twisting in shock. He looked down to see the gleaming tip of a blade protruding from his stomach. Blood dripped from the wound, staining his armor.

The room fell silent. Kuroi's eyes widened as Masanori staggered, his sword slipping from his grasp. Behind him stood a man—lean and composed, his katana buried deep in Masanori's abdomen.

The man was striking in appearance. His long, fiery auburn hair was tied loosely into a low ponytail, with a few strands framing his face. His emerald-green eyes shone with a calm intensity, their piercing gaze suggesting both wisdom and restraint. A faint scar ran diagonally across his right cheek, a mark of past battles.

His attire was both traditional and modernized: a deep crimson kimono with black trim, adorned with subtle leaf patterns, paired with sleek midnight blue hakama pants. A black leather belt with a small pouch rested at his waist, along with a crimson sash tied loosely around him. His katana, now dripping with blood, had a black and silver hilt, and a shorter wakizashi was strapped to his back.

Masanori fell to his knees, blood pooling around him. The man withdrew his blade with a smooth motion, wiping it clean on Masanori's armor before stepping forward.

The man's voice was calm, almost soothing, as he turned his gaze to Kuroi. "Hello, Kuroi. I am Ryunosuke Kaede."

Kuroi's voice was sharp as he glared at Ryunosuke. "Why the hell did you do that? I was supposed to be the one to do it!" He pushed himself up, his legs still shaky but steady enough to carry him out of the inn.

Ryunosuke followed, his tone calm but firm. "Wait. I only did that because I knew he was going to kill you."

"You don't know that," Kuroi snapped, not bothering to look back. He reached into his pouch, pulled out a coin, and tossed it toward the innkeeper. "That's for the damage," he muttered.

The innkeeper caught it with trembling hands, still in shock from the chaos. "Gee… thanks," he stammered, unsure whether to be grateful or terrified.

Kuroi pushed open the door and stepped outside, his eyes scanning the group of samurai still waiting. He raised his voice, addressing them. "Hey! Your leader's dead. This guy"—he jabbed a thumb toward Ryunosuke—"killed him."

Ryunosuke's eyes widened slightly, and he leaned in to whisper, "You didn't have to say it like that."

Kuroi shook his head, his expression hard. "Look, if you're going to help, then help me take all these guys out. Otherwise, stay out of my way."

Ryunosuke sighed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You've got a strange way of asking for help."

Kuroi turned to him, his grip tightening on his sword. "I didn't ask. I'm just telling you not to get in my way."

One of the samurai stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. "You're lying. Masanori-sama can't be dead. Who do you think you are, making such bold claims?"

Ryunosuke tilted his head slightly, his emerald eyes locking on the samurai. "You can check for yourself if you'd like," he said calmly, gesturing toward the inn.

Another samurai growled, unsheathing his sword. "You think you can just walk away after this? You'll pay for Masanori-sama's death!"

Kuroi took a step forward, his voice cold. "Fine. Come and try. But don't blame me if you end up like him."

Ryunosuke sighed again, drawing his katana with a fluid motion. "Well, it seems I'm already involved. Let's make this quick."

The tension in the air was palpable as the samurai began to circle them. Kuroi tightened his stance, his eyes sharp despite the exhaustion weighing on him.

"Ready?" Ryunosuke asked, his tone almost playful.

Kuroi smirked, his fiery determination burning through his fatigue. "Always."