The heavy air hung between Mazanka's ribs as he stood alone, remembering. The mentor's words were no comfort, though he tried his best to believe them, to trust that everything would be fine. "We'll handle it. Ryozenji will be fine." His voice had been gentle, reassuring, but the sting of something unspoken lingered in the air—something Mazanka couldn't quite grasp but felt all the same.
It had been days since that conversation. Days filled with the quiet hum of routine and a nervous optimism Mazanka had tried to hold onto. He had believed Kurosawa. He had trusted the older man, whose hands had shaped his destiny more than anyone else. They had both been through so much—Kurosawa, ever the calm figure of authority, and Mazanka, a student constantly trying to fill shoes too large. He had believed that the old man's word was law, that he could not be wrong.
But it wasn't long before Mazanka's peace shattered like brittle glass under a heavy boot.
He had been in the garden, his mind drifting, hands absentmindedly adjusting the pattern of the grass beneath his boots, when the messenger arrived.
"One-Eye Mazanka."
The sight of the young Ka'ro user sent an immediate chill down Mazanka's spine. He knew before the words left the young boy's lips. Knew before he could see the tension in the messenger's posture, the reluctance in his eyes.
"Ryozenji Sakurai has gone traitor," the messenger said. The words seemed to echo in the air, though they barely made a sound. "Capture on sight. He's wanted alive for questioning. "
A few seconds passed, but it felt like a lifetime. Mazanka's chest tightened, his breath halted, and everything else faded from existence—until it was just him, standing there, trying desperately to keep the weight of what was said from collapsing him.
"No." The word left his mouth, a whisper, as though denying it would undo it. "No." Louder this time, a snap, but it only served to draw more attention. His hands trembled, and his vision swam, the landscape around him warping as if reality itself was shifting.
He turned abruptly, already running—no, sprinting—down the corridor, the stone beneath his feet suddenly too cold, too unforgiving. Every step was a heavy one, the weight of his disbelief pulling him down further, faster.
It was a mistake. Kurosawa couldn't have been lying. They wouldn't—he wouldn't betray him.
But the longer he ran, the more the knot in his chest tightened, his instincts screaming at him, whispering that the world was not as simple as it seemed. He reached Kurosawa's office—the door still closed, the air inside warm with the faint smell of incense—and without a second thought, Mazanka threw it open.
"You lied." The words burst from him, raw, unfiltered.
Kurosawa was sitting at his desk, as serene as ever, flipping through a set of documents. But his gaze lifted slowly, and though his eyes were soft with the calm of experience, something in them shifted when they met Mazanka's.
"It's true, then," Mazanka spat, stepping forward, voice shaking. "Ryozenji… he's been labeled a traitor. And you—you knew this was coming." His breath came faster now, the heat in his chest rising. "How could you, Kurosawa?"
The older man sighed softly, folding his hands in front of him, eyes never leaving Mazanka. "You don't understand, Mazanka," he said, his voice firm but tinged with sorrow. "I didn't want this to happen. But the world is not as simple as we would like it to be. Ryozenji has broken the laws that bind us. He cannot just… disappear because he wishes it."
Mazanka took another step forward, his fists clenched. "He hasn't broken any laws! He's done nothing wrong! He loved—" He stopped himself, taking a ragged breath. Not now. Don't think about her.
"He has betrayed the balance," Kurosawa continued, his tone unwavering. "He has chosen the human world over the Ka'ro world. And once someone crosses that line, they are no longer a part of us. Not truly."
Mazanka's chest felt as though it were caving in on him. "You think I don't know what that means?" His voice was thin now, brittle. "But I also know Ryozenji. He's not a traitor. He didn't break the laws for personal gain. He did it for something else—something you would never understand."
Kurosawa's gaze softened, but the weight of his words didn't change. "I understand more than you think. But we must follow the rules, Mazanka. Even when they seem harsh."
The older man looked away, and Mazanka's heart pounded as he stood there, uncertain of what to feel—betrayed, angry, heartbroken, all at once. Kurosawa had said everything would be taken care of. Why did it feel like a death sentence?
He turned sharply, not waiting for any more words, the void of unanswered questions consuming him as he ran again.
He had to find Ryozenji. Now.
Mazanka's heart raced as he stumbled through the thickening woods. The trees seemed to close in around him, the rustling of leaves mingling with the frantic pulse in his ears. His mind was spinning—Ryozenji, traitor, criminal. The words twisted and snarled like a poison, and he couldn't stop running. The air was thick, a tension that seemed to grow heavier with each breath.
Was he still in the human realm? Was he ever coming back? He had to find him. Before Kenshiki could find him. He had to help him.
The world around him felt like a blur, but then—there, at the edge of the clearing—he saw him. Ryozenji. Standing calmly, as if nothing was wrong. As if the weight of the world hadn't just shifted beneath their feet.
Mazanka's feet slowed as he approached, suddenly unsure of what to say. He shouldn't be here. This isn't the place for him. But there was Ryozenji, the man who had walked beside him, his friend, a quiet strength that had always been unshakable.
"You found me." Ryozenji's voice was soft, a gentle exhale of air as he turned his head, his eyes dark but steady. His calm demeanor stood in stark contrast to Mazanka's wild energy.
"I found you?" Mazanka's voice cracked as he spoke, the frustration and panic spilling over. "You're out here in the open and I'm supposed to be the one who finds you? Are you crazy? They'll—"
"I know what they're calling me," Ryozenji interrupted, his tone quiet but resolute. "A criminal. A race traitor. But, Mazanka… it doesn't matter." His voice softened, and he stepped closer, as if the words he were about to speak were only for Mazanka's ears. "I don't plan to stay a Kenshiki for much longer."
Mazanka froze, the panic freezing in his chest. "What? No, you can't be serious. You can't just throw everything away. You've been a Kenshiki since—since we were kids. This is who we are."
Ryozenji let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, shaking his head slowly, his eyes carrying a heaviness that Mazanka had never seen before. "This isn't who I am anymore." His voice was firm, but his gaze softened. "I've been to the human world, Mazanka. I've seen…" Her, it was unsaid but Mazanka could still hear it. " I can't turn back from that. I-I think I'm in love." A laugh. "I don't want to be a Kenshiki anymore. Not for their laws. Not for any of it."
Mazanka stood there, stunned, his heart thudding in his chest. In love? With a human? He had been so caught up in the rules and the honor of being a Kenshiki that he hadn't even considered the solidity of… of this. The weight of it hit him harder than any blow could.
"You can't be serious," Mazanka repeated, his voice hoarse. "We've trained for this. We're supposed to be above it all. Above the attachments. You—we—are meant to lead. We're the ones who keep everything in balance."
Ryozenji's smile was wistful, full of a quiet sadness that tore through Mazanka. "I don't want to be the one who keeps balance anymore, Mazanka. I don't want to keep living the life of a Kenshiki, waiting for someone else to tell me what my purpose is. I don't want to follow the same path as our mentor. I don't want to be a One-Eye. I don't want to be like…" He paused, his gaze flicking down from his friend for a moment, before meeting Mazanka's eyes once more. "I don't want to be this, if it means I have to give up everything else. If it means I have to give up love."
The weight of his words fell heavily on Mazanka, a crushing silence hanging between them. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. He was too full of emotions he didn't know how to name—shock, confusion, hurt, maybe even a trace of envy.
"I know it's hard for you to understand," Ryozenji continued, stepping closer now, his voice soft but resolute, "but I've made my choice. It's my life. I have to live it on my own terms, not just for the Kenshiki. Not just for them."
Mazanka stood frozen, his mind a tangled mess. He wanted to argue, to tell him to come back, that he was wrong, that it wasn't too late to change his mind. But looking at Ryozenji, there was a peace in his eyes—a peace Mazanka had never seen before.
A peace that made Mazanka wonder if, maybe, for once, he was the one who was wrong.
I'm a hypocritical idiot.
"I… I understand," Mazanka said softly, his voice rough. It hurt more than he'd expected, but he saw it now—the emotions in Ryozenji's eyes, the certainty that this was his choice to make. "It's your life, Ryozenji. I get it."
For a moment, the two stood in the quiet of the woods, the weight of their words hanging between them. Mazanka felt a strange relief in his chest, like a deep breath after holding it too long. He couldn't change Ryozenji's heart. He couldn't change his mind. And maybe—just maybe—he shouldn't try.
But the peace was short-lived.
Suddenly, a rustle of movement broke through the stillness. The sounds of approaching footsteps, heavy and deliberate, caught Mazanka's attention. He turned sharply, his body already reacting, his Ka'ro flaring to life in instinctive defence.
"Ryozenji." His voice was a warning as he stepped in front of his friend, his hands raised. "Get back. If they're here for you, I'll—"
"No." Ryozenji's hand came up gently, resting on Mazanka's shoulder. "You don't have to do this. Don't risk your life for mine. Please." There was a pleading softness in his voice, something that made Mazanka pause.
"But they're here to arrest you—"
"I don't care. Let them arrest me." Ryozenji's eyes were steady now, not a trace of fear in them. "I've made my choice. I've already lived my life. Let them say what they will. I won't fight them. Not for me."
The wind rustled the leaves around them, the forest darkening as a group of high-ranking Kenshiki emerged from the trees. They stood in formation, tall and imposing, their presence heavy with authority. Their eyes locked on Ryozenji, and one stepped forward.
"Ryozenji Sakurai," the Kenshiki leader's voice was cold, like stone. "You are hereby under arrest for treason, for breaking the balance of Ka'ro. Kyōgai forsakes you. You are a traitor to your world. Surrender now."
Mazanka's heart twisted at the sight, his instinct screaming to protect Ryozenji. He was ready to fight. Ready to defend his friend, to keep him from this fate.
But Ryozenji's hand gently squeezed his shoulder once more. "It's okay, Mazanka." His voice was a soft murmur. "This is the way it has to be."
Mazanka opened his mouth to argue, to protest, but Ryozenji silenced him with a single glance—calm, steady, resolute.
"I'll go quietly," Ryozenji said, his voice no more than a whisper, yet filled with a strange peace. "Don't throw your life away because of me, brother."
Brother…
Mazanka stood there for a moment, torn between his loyalty to his friend and his instincts to fight. But in that moment, he understood. He couldn't save Ryozenji from his own choice.
With one last look, Ryozenji turned and walked toward the Kenshiki, his hands bound, his fate sealed.
Mazanka stayed silent, watching his friend, knowing he couldn't change this. Not anymore.