Betrayal

Celeste moved first.

Light on her feet, swift as a whisper. She dashed in a wide circle around Shouma, her movements taunting, unpredictable. The brute's eyes flicked between her and Jin, trying to read their next move.

But he couldn't.

That's when Jin struck.

A clean, sharp blow to Shouma's ribs.

The brute grunted, staggering—just for a moment.

And in that moment—a memory resurfaced.

A back alley. Cold air.

Two kids—Jin and Celeste—stood back-to-back.

Their school uniforms were ripped, dirtied. Their knuckles bruised.

Three older boys surrounded them.

The biggest one sneered. "You think you can fight us, Jin? You and your little foreign girlfriend?"

Celeste spit blood onto the pavement. "Yeah. And we're gonna win."

They moved as one.

Celeste darted around the bullies—quick, untouchable.

Jin waited for an opening.

When one of the boys turned to chase Celeste—Jin struck. A devastating punch to the gut. The bully dropped.

Celeste then swept another off his feet.

The last boy? He ran.

And Jin and Celeste stood victorious.

Panting. Laughing.

Even back then, they had fought this way.

Even back then, they had each other's backs.

Celeste's voice snapped Jin back.

"Now, Jin!"

Jin's muscles tensed. His body moved on instinct.

He dove in low, striking at Shouma's knee. The brute stumbled—just for a second.

And in that second—Celeste struck from behind.

A precise, brutal kick to the head.

Shouma roared, enraged.

But Jin and Celeste?

They were just getting started.

Shouma was getting outmatched.

And he hated it.

Every move Jin and Celeste made was precise, efficient. Every hit they landed dug deeper into his pride.

These little shits— tag-teaming him like he was just another thug?

No.

No more.

With a snarl, Shouma charged.

His footsteps shook the ground. Jin and Celeste instinctively moved— but they were half a second too late.

BAM!

A clean, brutal gut punch—first to Jin.

His eyes widened. Air stolen. The force caved him in, lifted his feet off the ground. His vision blurred.

And before Celeste could react—

BAM!

Her turn.

Pain. White-hot, twisting pain.

Celeste gasped, her knees buckling. Her body betrayed her, folding over Shouma's fist.

Jin hit the floor first, gagging for breath. Celeste followed, one hand gripping her stomach, the other clawing the floor.

Shouma exhaled heavily, shoulders rising, falling.

"That's more like it." His voice rumbled, thick with satisfaction.

He rolled his shoulders, flexed his fists.

"All that fancy footwork—don't mean shit when I land one good hit."

He looked down at them, breathing hard, a twisted grin splitting his face.

"Get up." His tone wasn't a request.

Jin and Celeste—spitting blood, shaking from the impact— locked eyes.

Their bodies were screaming.

But their spirits?

Still burning.

And they weren't done yet.

The fight dragged on.

Shouma's massive frame moved like an avalanche—slow but relentless.

Jin and Celeste, though quick and coordinated, were exhausted. Every strike, every dodge took more out of them.

Their breathing? Ragged. Their movements? Sluggish.

Still—neither backed down.

Then, in a moment of blurred exhaustion, the scene—

Cut away.

[Long Ago – Kyoto, 1958]

Rain poured.

The old alleyways smelled of damp stone and metal, a maze of rusted fences and forgotten corners.

A boy stood alone. Small, but fierce. Bruised knuckles clenched at his sides. Jin.

Facing him—a girl.

She was smaller, skinnier. Torn clothes. Dirt on her face. Celeste.

And she was losing.

Jin had knocked her down twice already. She should've stayed there.

But she kept getting back up.

Jin narrowed his eyes.

"Why do you keep standing?" His voice was steady, but curious.

Celeste, panting, bloody-nosed, just grinned.

"Dunno," she shrugged, wiping her lip.

Jin cocked his head. "That's stupid."

She snickered. "Maybe."

Jin sighed, rubbing his temple. This fight wasn't even worth it.

He extended a hand. "Fine. Get up."

Celeste stared. Then laughed.

Jin blinked.

She was weak. Beaten. But she laughed like she'd won.

"You're weird," Jin muttered.

"You too," Celeste grinned, grabbing his hand.

[Present – Kayd's Manor]

The memory flashed away.

Jin and Celeste—battered, exhausted—stared at each other.

Then, despite split lips and aching ribs—

They laughed.

Shouma scowled. "The hell's so funny?"

Jin grinned, wiping blood from his chin. "Nothing."

Celeste cracked her knuckles, stepping forward. "Just remembering something."

Shouma's frown deepened.

Jin exhaled, tightening his stance.

Celeste lifted her fists.

The past was far behind them.

But that same fire?

Still burned.

BANG.

The doors slammed open.

Two figures stormed in.

—Arata Fujikawa. Eyes like sharpened ice, posture rigid with authority.

—Haruto Imai. Young, uncertain, his grip tight on his pistol.

Their arrival froze the battlefield.

Jin, Celeste, and Shouma—all bruised, all panting.

Arata's gaze swept the scene before settling—disgust thick in his voice.

"Tch. Should've known."

Celeste, blood smeared on her jaw, raised an eyebrow. "Known what, exactly?"

Arata clicked his tongue.

"That rats like you two would scurry around where you don't belong."

His stare burned into Celeste.

"A half-blood stray and a foreigner. What a pair."

Celeste's jaw tightened.

Jin's fist curled.

"Say that again." His voice dropped. Low. Dangerous.

Haruto shifted uncomfortably, glancing between them.

"Sir, I think—"

"Shut it, Rookie."

Arata stepped forward. Not a man. A storm.

"Listen here, mutt," he continued, his voice dripping venom. "You think you belong here? You think you're one of us?"

Celeste's nails bit into her palms.

Arata sneered. "Trash will always be trash. No matter how hard it fights."

Jin moved first.

A blur—his fist rocketing toward Arata's face.

But—

BANG.

A shot cracked the air.

Jin froze.

The bullet—mere inches from his foot.

Haruto, pistol still smoking, lowered his shaking arm.

"I… I can't let you do that," Haruto muttered. His voice unsteady.

Jin stared. Not at the gun. But at Haruto's eyes.

Doubt. Hesitation.

Haruto was green, barely a soldier, barely a man.

But Arata?

Arata was solid. Unwavering. A wall of hatred carved from steel.

Celeste exhaled. "Jin."

Jin clenched his jaw—but he stepped back.

The room? Tension strangled it.

Shouma, grinning through bloodied teeth, cracked his neck. "Heh… Seems like the fun just got started."

Jin, Celeste, Arata, Haruto.

Four forces.

Only blood would settle this.