Shibuya was still burning.
Even after Mahito.
Even after everything.
Cursed spirits spilled through the broken city like something leaking out of a cracked container.
Yuji and Takeru moved through it without speaking.
No strategy now.
No hesitation.
Just cleanup.
Yuji slammed a curse into the ground.
Takeru followed through instantly—raw strike, clean finish.
Another curse tried to slip past—
Yuji turned—
Black Flash.
Gone.
Takeru didn't even look satisfied.
Just kept moving.
"…Too many," Yuji muttered.
Takeru nodded once.
"…We continue."
Above them—
a new presence arrived.
Heavy.
Sharp.
Yuta Okkotsu landed first.
Sword drawn.
Naoya Zen'in followed behind him.
Smiling like he already knew how this would end.
"…So this is what's left," Naoya said.
Yuta didn't answer.
He just looked at Yuji and Takeru.
"…You two need to stop moving."
Yuji tilted his head slightly.
"…We're not the problem."
Naoya laughed.
"…Everyone says that."
Takeru stepped forward slightly.
"…Cursed spirits remain."
Yuta's grip tightened.
"…I know."
A pause.
"…But you're not distinguishing fast enough."
Silence.
Yuji frowned.
"…We're killing curses."
Naoya smirked.
"…And anything in the way."
That was enough.
The fight started.
Yuta moved first.
Fast.
Precise.
Relentless.
Yuji met him head-on—
Punch—
block—
counter—
Takeru entered next—
raw strength colliding with cursed technique—
The three-way clash destabilized everything around them.
Naoya watched, amused.
"…Not bad."
He joined in.
Too fast.
Too clean.
The battlefield shifted again—
broken streets—
collapsed buildings—
Yuji and Takeru adapted.
But Yuta was different.
He wasn't overwhelmed.
He was measuring.
Calculating.
Then—
a pause.
Yuta stepped back slightly.
"…This isn't going anywhere."
Yuji blinked.
"…Huh?"
Takeru narrowed his eyes.
"…What are you doing?"
Yuta didn't answer immediately.
He looked at them both.
Something heavier in his expression.
"…Sorry."
A beat.
Then—
He moved.
Fast.
Sudden.
Sword raised—
Yuji reacted—
but too late—
STAB.
Yuji froze.
Eyes widening slightly.
"…Yuta…?"
The blade was in him.
Broken edge.
Half a sword.
Then—
Takeru turned—
STAB.
A knife.
Clean.
Fast.
Into Takeru.
Silence.
Naoya grinned.
"…Now that's more like it."
Yuji stumbled back slightly—
hand gripping the broken blade.
Takeru didn't fall.
Just looked down at it.
Then up at Yuta.
No anger.
Just confusion.
Yuji whispered—
"…Why…"
Yuta didn't respond.
The wind moved through the ruins.