The sun had barely begun to set, but the atmosphere on the Shinjuku University campus had already turned toxic. Under the direct orders of the Twins, the "Blue Lotus" was no longer being traded in shadows. Dealers stood openly on the library steps and near the student union, their blue-tinted vaporizers clouding the air.
In the center of the plaza, Takahashi sat on the edge of the fountain, tossing a red lotus token—the one Kenji had given him—into the water. He looked up as Kenji and his friends approached, his face devoid of the terror he had shown in the alley.
"The wind has changed, Tanaka," Takahashi called out, his voice amplified by the silence of the surrounding students. "The Twins aren't hiding anymore. And neither are we."
Kenji stopped, his muscles coiling. He could feel the eyes of the campus on him. But more importantly, he felt the weight of his friends' stares.
"Kenji, don't," Naomi whispered, her hand brushing his sleeve. "Look at them. They're waiting for you to do something."
She was right. The dealers weren't just selling; they were baiting. Every few meters, men in heavy coats—Ryo's professional enforcers—stood with their hands buried in their pockets, their eyes scanning the rooftops.
"They're turning the school into a war zone," Akira hissed, her eyes darting between the enforcers. "Kenji, you're unusually quiet. Even for you."
Kenji didn't answer. He was staring at a freshman slumped against a tree nearby, his eyes rolled back, a half-empty blue vial slipping from his limp fingers. The "non-lethal" path was failing. For every dealer he knocked out, three more appeared. The "hero" he was trying to be was currently being outproduced by the "business" the Twins were running.
"I'm going to the gym," Kenji said, his voice flat.
"The gym? Now?" Hiroki pushed his glasses up, his brow furrowed in suspicion. "The campus is falling apart, Takahashi just threatened us, and you want to go practice kata?"
"I need to clear my head," Kenji replied, turning away before they could see the flicker of rage in his eyes.
As he walked away, Akira grabbed Hiroki and Naomi by the shoulders. "He's lying. He's been too calm since the night at the warehouse. Did you see his hands? They weren't shaking. They were steady. Too steady."
"You think he's going after them tonight?" Naomi asked, her heart sinking.
"I think he's the one they're looking for," Akira said, her voice a low realization. "The way he moved in the plaza... the way he looked at that token. He's not going to the gym. He's going to war. We're following him."
Hidden in the shadows of the humanities building, Kenji watched his friends through a cracked window. He didn't want them involved. He had seen the infrared footage of Hitoshi's slaughter at the fight club. He knew now that the original Ronin didn't win through "hope"—he won through overwhelming, singular focus.
Kenji opened his bag. The porcelain mask stared back at him. It felt heavier tonight.
"You want me in the light?" Kenji whispered to the empty room, his voice distorting as he pulled the mask over his face. "Fine. Let's see if you can handle the glare."