THE FIGHT RAGED ON.
Kroger, boosted by his speed, spun around Phantom, striking wherever he could.
But Phantom wasn't the same anymore either. His giant sword, his invisible threads, made every attack deadly.
SWOOSH.
A thread passed within a centimeter of Kroger's neck.
He dodged. Barely.
He attacked in return. His blade found an opening and sliced Phantom's chest.
A red line appeared on his pectorals.
Phantom grimaced, but didn't step back.
He raised his sword.
His thread was two fingers away from touching Kroger.
Kroger, frozen, watched it come.
Two fingers away.
Tears in his eyes.
---
Phantom's deadly thread cut through the air toward Kroger.
Two centimeters. One. Nothing more to be done.
WHAM.
A body stepped in between. A stone arm grabbed Kroger by the collar and threw him aside.
The thread slashed through empty air.
Nagato got up, impassive, his gray skin still smoking from the effort.
"Fuck! I really thought you were gonna die," he said to Kroger.
Kroger, on the ground, stared at him, incredulous.
"Nagato…"
Phantom gritted his teeth.
"Another mutt? Who the fuck are you? Doesn't matter—I'll be done with you soon enough."
Nagato didn't respond. He simply raised his hand.
Around them, shadows moved.
Kroger slowly got up, looked around him, and his eyes widened.
Silhouettes emerged from the shadows. One by one. By the dozens.
Corbeau's men. The patriarch's personal guard. Hard faces, ready weapons, unblinking eyes.
They silently surrounded Phantom.
Kroger turned to his former friend.
"You see this, Adam?"
Phantom looked at the men, then at Kroger.
"This is your real family?"
Kroger nodded.
"Yes. Them. Not you. Not the Phantom Blood's. Them."
Phantom lowered his eyes for a second. His fists trembled.
Then he raised them, filled with cold rage.
"One, two… even ninety enemies. I don't give a fuck. I'll avenge the Phantom Blood's. ALONE IF I HAVE TO."
He raised his giant sword, ready to charge.
Corbeau's men tightened the circle.
And suddenly, a calm, steady, authoritative voice tore through the tension.
"Stop."
All eyes turned.
A black car had just stopped at the edge of the construction site. A long, elegant limousine with perfect lines. It was a Crowl-Royce. A symbol of power and mystery.
The rear window slowly lowered.
A face appeared. Cold. Impassive. Piercing eyes under a hat.
Corbeau.
He extended a gloved black hand, a business card between his fingers.
Phantom looked at the card, then at Corbeau.
"What do you want?"
Corbeau smiled—a thin, almost imperceptible smile.
"I'm giving you a chance for revenge, Phantom. But not today. Not now."
Phantom gripped his sword.
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because I have what you want. And maybe… a new family."
Phantom was silent for a long moment.
Around them, dawn was beginning to break, tingeing the sky with pink and orange.
"A truce," Corbeau continued. "For now. You interest me. You could be useful."
Phantom looked at Kroger, then at Nagato, then at the armed men, then at the card.
He sheathed his sword.
"…A truce."
He snatched the card mid-air and disappeared into the shadows.
Kroger watched him leave, a mixture of sadness and relief in his eyes.
Corbeau rolled up his window.
"Let's go home."
——
LEE-HANN DOJO – EARLY MORNING
Lee-Hann Jr – Master Karate – staggered through the empty streets. His body was covered in bruises, dried blood, dirt.
He had walked all night. Without knowing where he was going. Without knowing why.
His feet had brought him back here.
In front of his father's dojo.
He almost collapsed in front of the traditional wooden door.
Knock knock knock.
Nothing.
Knock knock knock.
The door slid open slowly.
A young man appeared. Small, timid, eyes wide. He wore a worn white kimono.
"Uh… yes?"
Lee-Hann looked at him, on his knees, face bloody.
"Who… who the fuck are you?"
Before the young man could answer, Lee-Hann collapsed, unconscious.
——
WHEN HE WOKE UP
The dojo's soft light illuminated worn tatami mats. Dusty trophies on shelves. Yellowed photos on the walls.
Lee-Hann blinked.
I'm… at the dojo.
He looked around.
Only one student. The timid young man who had opened the door. He was sitting in a corner, watching him with concern.
"You… you're awake."
Lee-Hann got up painfully.
"Where are the others?"
The young man looked down.
"They left. All of them. It's just me now."
Lee-Hann felt his heart tighten.
"My father…"
The young man pointed to a door at the back of the dojo.
"He's… he's sick. Very sick. For months. He was waiting for you."
Lee-Hann jumped up, staggered across the room, and opened the traditional door.
A small room. A futon on the floor.
And on it, lying down, motionless, his father.
His face was hollow, pale, marked by illness. His eyes were closed. His breathing was weak, irregular.
Lee-Hann approached slowly, tears rising.
He fell to his knees beside the futon.
"Fa… father…"
His voice broke.
The old man painfully opened his eyes. He looked at his son for a long moment.
A tired but gentle smile stretched his lips.
"Lee-Hann… you came back."
Lee-Hann grasped his father's hand, cold, so fragile.
"Father, I… I'm sorry… I… I failed at everything…"
The old man weakly squeezed his fingers.
"You didn't fail anything, my son. You're here. That's all that matters."
Lee-Hann burst into sobs, his head on the futon, clutching his father's hand.
The timid young man, at the door, watched the scene in silence, eyes wet.
——