Sitting outside beneath the shade of a tree, Izumi stared out at the sunset, lost in thought.
His sword rested in his hand, his grip tight as he watched the clouds drift aimlessly across the sky.
He had been silent for so long that his lips felt almost sealed. Deep down, his mind was in turmoil—so much so that, in that moment, it felt as if the world around him had faded away.
But no state of mind lasts forever.
What pulled him back was the faint, peculiar sound of something rolling—like the wheel of a cart.
He glanced back toward the house in the distance, but saw nothing.
"Where are you looking?" a familiar voice called out. "We're already here."
He turned to see Miyuki approaching, pushing a makeshift wheelchair with Mei seated in it.
It was nothing more than a wooden chair fitted with the wheels of a small cart, but it served its purpose.
Aside from the bandages wrapped around her body, Mei looked far better—healthier, even a little more lively.
"Mr. Ichiro is very talented," she said. "Who would've thought he'd personally build something like this just so I could move around?"
"I wonder where he even got the idea," she continued, running her hands along the armrests. "I've never seen anything like it. Usually, when someone loses a leg… they just stay at home for the rest of their lives."
Izumi said nothing.
Seeing this, she continued, "Remember the old lady who fell down the well? When the physician told her she'd never walk again, she threatened to take his legs instead."
A faint smile appeared on Izumi's face.
"And when she realized she couldn't chase him," he added, "she sent her son to drag him back and force him to fix her."
"So you do remember," Mei said with a smile.
The moment passed.
"Why are you still here?" Izumi asked, his expression hardening. "It's been a week since you arrived. They could come here any day now. You and Juro need to leave."
He turned away.
"When we told the villagers, they laughed at us," he continued. "Called us crazy."
"Can you blame them?" Miyuki replied. "If strangers came and told you to abandon your home without proof, would you believe them?"
"I guess not," he said quietly. "But they still have a chance to escape. If they stay… they might not survive."
Mei let out a soft sigh.
"When I finally accepted that I'd be stuck in this chair for the rest of my life," she said, "I stopped thinking about myself… and started thinking about the people who died that day."
"Their lives weren't perfect," she continued, "but they never complained. They just kept trying to make things better."
She looked up at him.
"I don't want to spend my life running out of fear. I want to stand my ground—and place my faith in the same people who saved me."
"Even if I can't fight… I still want to be here. Because what meaning does life have if I spend it running?"
"This is serious, Mei," Izumi snapped. "This isn't something we can control. If you stay, whatever happens next will be completely out of our hands."
"Then why are you staying?" she asked calmly. "Why won't you leave either?"
He hesitated.
"It's not that simple," he said at last. "Whether we like it or not… this happened because of us. And I won't stand by and let another group of people suffer because of it."
"So you're risking your life just to ease your conscience?" she asked.
"It's not like that," he shot back. "You wouldn't understand—not just from words alone."
"Exactly," she replied softly. "Even when we understand our own feelings, it's hard to express them fully."
She paused.
"Even now, I know I haven't said everything I feel. But that's okay… because I trust that you understand."
She met his gaze.
"I'm done running," she said. " because I believe in you. In Takae. In Yuriko."
"It doesn't matter where you came from… to me, you're still the same friends I grew up with."
"The sun's setting," Miyuki said to her. "Let me get you back inside."
"Sure," Mei replied. "And thanks for bringing me out here every day—it makes me feel better each time."
"Don't mention it," Miyuki said. "It's the least I can do."
Before they left, Mei turned to Izumi one last time.
"I'm sure Juro doesn't hold a grudge against you," she said. "How could he? You're one of his closest friends. Just give him time—I'm sure he'll go back to the way he used to be."
With that, Miyuki began pushing the wheelchair away, and the two slowly headed back toward the house.
Izumi wanted to call out to them—to tell them to wait—but the words never came.
Instead, he remained where he was, slowly drifting back into his thoughts.
This time, though, his mind wandered to the past.
And somehow, that only made the present feel heavier…
and the future even more uncertain.
The following day, the light of the rising sun barely pierced through the cloudy sky. A cold breeze swept through the village, sending shivers down people's spines.
Despite the warnings, the village remained as bustling as ever. No one seemed willing to leave.
At first, nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
That was until two hooded figures stepped through the village gates.
One was bulkier than the other, but they walked in perfect sync.
At a glance, no one paid them much attention—but something about their presence felt… off.
Though they looked like ordinary travelers, there was an unnatural weight to them.
Gradually, more and more villagers began to notice.
Parents quietly pulled their children away. Conversations softened. People instinctively kept their distance, eyes lingering on the two strangers.
But not everyone was aware.
Especially not the two drunk men staggering down the path toward them.
Lost in their rambling, one of them brushed shoulders with a hooded figure.
"Hey, watch where you're walking!" he snapped, grabbing the man's shoulder.
The hooded figure stopped.
Slowly, he turned.
"Who the hell are you?" the drunk slurred. "Take off that damn hood."
No response.
Annoyed, the drunk reached out to pull it off—but his wrist was caught mid-motion.
"Let me go!" he demanded.
"Yeah, let him go!" his companion added.
Still, no response.
Instead, the man's grip tightened.
And tightened.
Until the drunk began to scream.
The other man lunged forward, trying to shove him away—but was instantly struck in the shoulder and sent crashing to the ground.
By then, the first man had dropped to his knees, sweat pouring down his face from the pain.
Then—
crack.
A shrill scream tore through the air.
The hooded figure lifted him effortlessly.
From beneath the shadow of his hood, a pair of glowing yellow eyes pierced through.
"Now," he said coldly, "if you don't want every bone in your body to end up like your arm… you'll answer my question."
His voice dropped.
"We're looking for a girl—around seventeen— who's new to this village."
"Tell me everything you know."
"Are you insane?!" the man screamed. "Let me go, you psychopath!"
"It seems you didn't hear me."
Without warning, he drove his knee into the man's gut.
Blood spilled from his mouth.
"Answer the question," he said, his tone sharpening. "You piece of shit."
"I—I don't know what you're talking about," the man stammered, panic overtaking him. "Just let me go…"
A pause.
Then a sigh.
"I suppose that was too much to expect… from someone like you."
He released him—
only to slam his knee into the man's face, sending him flying back, unconscious.
Silence fell over the village.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
They only watched.
The man stepped forward and pulled back his hood.
Silky black hair fell over long, pointed ears.
His yellow eyes glistened in the dim light.
He looked young—far too young for the weight of his presence.
"If you can hear me," he called out, his voice carrying across the village, "I'll say this once."
"Hand over the girl you're harboring."
"Or this won't end well."
Whispers spread rapidly through the crowd.
"Who is he talking about…?"
"Could it be one of Ichiro's brats…?"
The murmurs grew louder.
The second man stepped forward and removed his hood as well.
Like the first, he bore sharp yellow eyes and long black ears—but his face was harsher, lined with scars. The most prominent stretched beneath his lower lip.
"This is pointless, Ryuji," he said. "You won't get answers from a crowd like this. It would be faster to flush them out."
Ryuji exhaled slowly.
"I'm getting tired of this, Kenji. What if they're not here either?"
"Your call," Kenji replied.
"…Fine. Let's wrap this up and move on."
Ryuji raised his hand and pointed toward the crowd.
In an instant, a projectile of energized blood shot forward—
then split into dozens mid-air.
Panic erupted.
People screamed and scattered, trampling over one another in desperation.
Some fell.
Some couldn't get back up.
And it quickly became clear—
no one would escape.
Among the fallen, a young child looked up at the incoming barrage.
Then closed his eyes.
Accepting it.
But before impact—
a shadow tore past him.
In a blur of motion, every projectile was deflected—one after another.
The figure landed in front of him.
From behind, all that could be seen was a long blue robe, swaying in the wind.
Beneath it, stitched into the black fabric underneath, was a single bold kanji:
Honor.
The man turned slightly, his presence overwhelming.
Long hair flowed behind him.
A beard framed his face.
His eyes were sharp—unyielding.
After confirming the child was unharmed, he turned back toward the attackers.
In that same instant—
three more figures landed beside him.
All wore black robes with white sleeves, the same kanji emblazoned on their backs. Swords rested at their waists.
They were breathing heavily.
"Didn't know you were that fast, teach," Yuriko said, wiping sweat from her brow.
No response.
Ryuji smiled.
"How gracious of you," he said, "to show yourselves… and save me the trouble."
His gaze shifted.
It landed on Takae.
A grin spread across his face.
"Looks like we found our target, Kenji."
Before he could say more, Ichiro stepped forward, extending his arm to shield her.
"What brings you out here," he said calmly, "in a place like this?"
Ryuji chuckled.
"You're harboring someone very important to us," he replied. "We'd like her back."
"I'm afraid that won't be happening," Ichiro said.
"Then we'll just have to take her," Ryuji answered.
He straightened.
"We're not your average group of thugs. My name is Ryuji Shiga."
A pause.
"And we…"
His eyes gleamed.
"…are the Phantom Wolf Troupe."