(At the Elite Residential Wing)
Tatsuro, the Rank 3 Elite, moved through the sterile hallway like a pressurized tank ready to burst. His face was locked in its signature mask of irritation—a permanent, jagged frown that warned the world to keep its distance.
At the far end of the corridor, a mid-level supervisor rounded the corner, completely oblivious to the predator in his path. The man's eyes were glued to a digital tablet, his other hand loosely gripping a tall cup of orange juice. They collided with the force of a car hitting a brick wall.
The supervisor was launched backward, sliding across the polished floor before landing hard on his tailbone. His tablet skipped across the tiles, the screen spider-webbing into a dozen fractures, but that was the least of his problems. The orange juice had erupted upon impact, soaking into the pristine fabric of Tatsuro's uniform in a sticky, neon-orange bloom.
Tatsuro hadn't budged an inch. He stood like a statue of spite, his gaze dropping slowly to the stain on his chest. A low, guttural growl vibrated in his throat as he slowly tightened his gauntleted fist, the metal hinges clicking into place with a predatory sound. He turned a gaze filled with raw, unfiltered bloodlust toward the man on the floor.
Recognizing the Rank 3 monster before him, the supervisor's face went ash-gray. He scrambled onto his knees in an instant, his forehead nearly hitting the tiles as he bowed in a frantic, trembling apology.
"Please! I—I'm so sorry, sir!" the man stammered, sweat pouring down his neck. "It was an accident! I'll replace the shirt immediately—I'll get you the finest material, I'll pay for it myself! Please, have mercy!"
In his mind, Tatsuro was already moving. He fantasized about the sensation of his gauntlet connecting with the man's jaw, the satisfying crack of bone, and the spray of red that would drown out the orange stain. He could almost feel the weight of the supervisor's head leaving his shoulders.
But then, a cold image flickered in his mind: Ayumu.
The memory of those calm, judgmental eyes acted like a bucket of ice water on Tatsuro's rage. He knew the consequences of "unnecessary disposal" within the base. With a snarl of pure disgust, he forced himself to take a step back, his fist trembling with the effort of not swinging.
"Get lost, you pathetic fool!" Tatsuro's voice echoed through the hall like a thunderclap.
The supervisor didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, tripping over his own shadow in his haste to escape. He fumbled, fell, and scrambled up again, sprinting down the hallway until his footsteps faded into a distant, panicked rhythm.
Tatsuro watched the empty hallway for a moment, his chest heaving as the rage simmered just beneath his skin. He looked down at the sticky stain one last time, his lip curling in a sneer of absolute superiority.
(Filthy humans,) he thought, his inner voice dripping with venom.
(Inside the Elite Strategy Room)
Raizen was currently kneeling on the polished floor, looking more like a bored student in detention than the Rank 5 Elite he was. Standing directly over him was Kuro, whose face was a vibrant shade of crimson, while Ayumu sat nearby, watching the scene with a terrifyingly calm expression.
"One rule! You were given just one damn rule!" Kuro bellowed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Stay indoors! But no, that was too much to ask, wasn't it? You weren't even loose for a single day before you went out and put a candidate's life in jeopardy. Do you have any idea the paperwork—"
Raizen looked up at him, wearing a look of "guilt" that was so obviously fake it was insulting. He let out a small, forced chuckle, which only served to stoke the fires of Kuro's rage.
Kuro adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand, his breathing heavy. "You are a grown man, for crying out loud! Would it kill you to behave with a shred of civility? To act like the Rank 5 officer you are supposed to be?"
"Kuro," Ayumu said softly.
The single word was enough to make Kuro freeze. He adjusted his glasses one last time and took a stiff step back, clearing his throat. "Apologies, sir. It's just... sometimes, Number Five here drives me to the brink of insanity." He began dusting off his suit and straightening his tie with frantic, jerky movements.
Ayumu stood up slowly, his eyes locking onto Raizen. For a moment, the room felt heavy, as if the oxygen had been sucked out of it. "I already know that nothing I say will change how you operate," Ayumu stated flatly.
Raizen smirked, his eyes flashing with a bit of his usual mischief. "What can I say? Old habits die hard."
"You do not get to talk!" Kuro snapped, pointing a trembling finger at him, but Raizen completely ignored him, and kept his eyes on Ayumu.
Ayumu didn't look angry; he looked resigned. "There is nothing I can say that Kuro hasn't already screamed at you. Aiko has already taken Zen to see Jiro, so the immediate crisis is handled. However," Ayumu's voice dropped an octave, turning cold and absolute, "you are not permitted to leave this building until the designated time. This is a direct order from me. Do I make myself clear?"
Raizen's smirk didn't fade, but he gave a lazy nod.
"Kuro, let's go," Ayumu said, turning to walk away.
Kuro stood there, looking back and forth between the two of them in shock. "What? Sir, are you really just going to let him off like that? After what he did?"
"We've said all we can," Ayumu replied without looking back. "He isn't leaving this building, and we have more pressing matters to attend to. Let's go."
Kuro shot one last venomous glare at Raizen before scurrying after Ayumu. The moment the door hissed shut, Raizen hopped to his feet, stretching his arms over his head until his joints popped.
"Man, that was incredibly boring," he muttered to himself.
He slumped into the same chair Ayumu had just vacated, propping his feet up on the table. His mind immediately raced back to the images of the fight between Zanka and Zen. A genuine, hungry smile spread across his face.
"These candidates are a real catch. Thank goodness I didn't miss this year's exam," he whispered. "To think Zanka was holding back that much... that's the real reason I didn't want to step in earlier. I thought he had things under control. But I guess a dragon is still a dragon; even a restrained bite can be fatal."
Raizen stared at the ceiling, his mind running the numbers. "If Zen had taken a fifty-percent punch from Zanka... he probably would have died on the spot. I can't wait for that kid to get his license. A spar with him would be absolutely exhilarating."
He sat there for a moment, basking in the thought of a future fight, when a sudden realization struck him. His smile faltered as a mental image of Akihito popped into his head.
(Oh yeah... I feel like I'm forgetting someone.)
(Inside Jiro's Room)
The Place wasn't a Room; it was a labyrinth of opulence. The room stretched impossibly thin and wide, the walls plated in brushed gold that reflected the overhead surgical lights in a warm, expensive glow. Aiko and the supervisor who had driven the transport franticly hauled Zen onto a central examination table.
They began a desperate search, throwing open door after door, only to find each one led to another hallway of mirrors or a dead-end storage closet filled with high-end tech.
"Jiro!" Aiko screamed, her voice bouncing off the gold-leafed walls. "Jiro, we need you now!"
"Sir Jiro! Where are you?" the supervisor added, his boots clicking rhythmically as he paced the massive floor. He eventually jogged back to Aiko, shaking his head. "It's pointless. This place is a maze, and we're running out of time. He's probably out on a supply run or... I don't know, at the spa. We should just call the standard medical unit to stabilize the kid At least."
Aiko leaned against the cold, golden wall, her chest heaving as she stared at Zen's battered form. The weight of the situation was starting to crush her.
Suddenly, a sickening groan of shifting metal and bone echoed through the room. To their absolute horror, Zen began to drag himself off the table, accidentally knocking things over.
"Zen? What are you doing? Stay down!" Aiko shouted, reaching out but frozen in shock.
The supervisor watched with wide eyes, his mind reeling. (How is he still moving? After what Zanka did... this kid is something else entirely.)
Zen managed to get his feet under him, swaying like a tree in a hurricane. His vision was a blurred mess of gold and red. "I'm fine..." he wheezed, his voice sounding like grinding gravel. "You guys are... stressing over noth—"
Before he could finish, his nervous system finally surrendered. His eyes rolled back, and his body went limp, plummeting toward the hard tile floor. Aiko and the supervisor were too far away to reach him in time.
Whirrrrr.
A sleek, high-speed drone dived from the ceiling, its stabilizers screaming as it caught Zen mid-air, suspending him just inches above the ground.
"That's... one of Jiro's drones," Aiko whispered, her relief turning into confusion.
"Yoooo, sick bruises, man! Seriously, that's some top-tier Hp Killers right there," a voice called out, dripping with a laid-back, rhythmic energy. "Non-the-less, dude, I suggest you stay on the couch. It's way softer than the floor, trust me."
Jiro stepped out from behind a heavy velvet curtain, looking less like a doctor and more like a model. He was wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, his skin still glistening with water from a recent shower. In his hands, he operated a custom-designed tablet—dripping in excess gold to match the room's aesthetic and his vibe—which he used to command four additional drones.
The machines hummed in unison, gently lifting Zen's unconscious body and carrying him over to a plush, designer sofa in the corner. Jiro finally looked up, his eyes landing on Aiko with a wide, charming grin.
"Yooooo, babe! Long time, no see. How you doin', girl? You still keeping these meatheads in line?"
Aiko let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding since the race started. A genuine smile broke across her face. "Jiro!."
"That's me, the one and only," Jiro said, throwing a flashy gang sign with his free hand while his drones began scanning Zen's internal organs.
[Prince Jiro: Rank 9 Elite / Medical Specialist]