The Fangdrift Sea does not roar.

  It resonates.

  As if the ocean were speaking softly with the docks.

  Wooden houses battered by salt.

  Nets hanging like dried skin.

  Smell of fish, iron, and poverty.

  Here people survive.

  And that… Shizuka doesn’t like.

  Shizuka walks.

  Soft heels over damp wood.

  Back straight.

  Eyes forward.

  A dark coat far too elegant for this place.

  In her hand, Kuro’s reports.

  Wrinkled.

  Poorly written.

  Main lead:

  “A very big boy.”

  Her eyebrow twitches.

  — Useless… — she murmurs.

  An entire food warehouse stolen…

  and her best information is a tavern description.

  Children in patched clothes.

  Fishermen with hands split open by the cold.

  Suspicious stares.

  Shizuka observes everything.

  There is no order.

  No structure.

  Only need.

  And need creates thieves.

  The sound of waves hitting the dock covers voices coming from an alley.

  Three armed men.

  Annoyed.

  One with a swollen face.

  — They stole the collection again.

  — We’ll ask for more… those people have to pay.

  Shizuka stops.

  Closes her eyes for a second.

  Then turns.

  — No.

  They fall silent.

  — Lady Shizuka… this isn’t your zone—

  One steps forward.

  — If they don’t pa—

  The air changes.

  It grows heavy.

  A golden-yellow aura expands like dense light.

  It doesn’t burn.

  It crushes.

  The men feel a tiredness that isn’t physical.

  A dark thought: “No matter what I do… I’ll lose.”

  Fear without visible cause.

  One drops his weapon.

  Another steps back.

  The third falls to his knees.

  — R-retreat…

  They flee.

  Shizuka lowers her gaze to the sea.

  She exhales.

  — Uta wants to save this world…

  She tightens the reports in her hand.

  — Then we’ll put it in order first.

  And among that gray poverty…

  a laugh.

  Loud. Clumsy. Alive.

  Shizuka barely turns her face.

  There he is.

  An enormous boy crouched in front of three children.

  He gives them coins as if they were treasures.

  He laughs with them, without malice, without pose.

  His size contrasts with the scene:

  a wall pretending to be a big brother.

  The children run off happily.

  He stays watching them leave, a silly smile on his face.

  Shizuka watches in silence.

  Disproportionate height.

  Arms with real strength, not gym-made.

  Clear gaze.

  It fits.

  Too well.

  She takes a step.

  The floor creaks.

  The boy looks up.

  And something changes.

  His smile dies.

  Instinct.

  Like an animal recognizing a predator.

  His gaze drops to Shizuka’s posture.

  Her hands.

  Her balance.

  — …

  Shizuka doesn’t introduce herself.

  — Your name?

  The boy doesn’t answer.

  He grabs a metal drum with one hand.

  Throws it.

  Shizuka doesn’t even blink.

  Minimal sidestep.

  The drum brushes her coat and explodes against a wall.

  — Confirmed… — she murmurs.

  The boy is already running.

  And he runs well.

  He doesn’t flee in a straight line.

  Jumps boxes.

  Turns without losing speed.

  Uses height.

  It’s pure instinct.

  Shizuka takes two steps…

  and disappears from the ground.

  Invisible threads shoot from her fingers toward beams, lamps, masts.

  She swings with surgical precision.

  It’s calculation against nature.

  The boy looks back.

  His eyes widen.

  — What the hell!?

  He jumps onto a rooftop.

  Shizuka is already above him.

  Her fingers barely move.

  Threads shoot out.

  One at his ankle.

  Another at his wrist.

  Another at his chest.

  They tighten.

  The boy falls to his knees.

  Tries to stand.

  The threads constrict.

  Joints locked.

  Shizuka stands before him.

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  — I don’t want to hurt you.

  He growls.

  Teeth clenched.

  Not from hatred.

  From frustration.

  — Let go…

  — Only if you talk.

  Blue eyes shine with childish rage.

  And he blurts out:

  — I don’t steal for myself!

  Shizuka tilts her head slightly.

  The boy’s first mistake:

  He didn’t deny being the thief.

  He only justified it.

  She crouches in front of him.

  Cold. Analytical gaze.

  — Good.

  — Then you will serve me.

  The wind cuts.

  A new presence.

  A firm voice, young but without tremor:

  — Let him go.

  Shizuka doesn’t turn immediately.

  Her threads remain tight.

  — And who are you?

  A soft sound.

  String tension.

  An arrow aimed directly at her forehead.

  Mitsume Yajuu — 20 years old

  Hair: Midnight blue with violet highlights, thin braids over her shoulders.

  Eyes: Emerald green, golden glow when using magic.

  Skin: Tanned by sun and urban dust.

  Smile: Sideways, confident, mischievous.

  Clothes:

  Worn black leather short jacket, dark gray top, denim shorts, sturdy boots, fingerless gloves.

  Details:

  Colorful scarf (mask), scrap-metal bracelet (Minato’s gift), bow and quiver made from recycled parts.

  Build: 1.75 m, agile, athletic.

  Moves like a dancer. Kills like a sniper.

  Shizuka analyzes posture, breathing, pulse.

  No trembling.

  Not theater.

  This is someone who has already shot to kill.

  — I just want to talk.

  Pause.

  — Please.

  The air shifts.

  Because Shizuka never uses that word.

  — I am Shizuka Kuklova.

  The girl narrows her eyes.

  Lowers the bow… just a little.

  — Mitsume Yajuu.

  She points at the giant.

  — And that idiot is my brother.

  Minato Yajuu — 14 years old

  Height: 1.95 m

  Body: A wall with legs. Real strength, not aesthetic.

  Eyes: Bright blue, lively, noble.

  Expression: Wild… but childish.

  Smile: Clumsy, impossible to hate.

  Durable clothes, metal bracers, heavy boots.

  A natural protector.

  Mitsume:

  — We have nothing to talk about with mafias.

  Minato smiles.

  Clenches his teeth.

  His muscles swell.

  The threads creak.

  And he stands up.

  Shizuka watches with great surprise.

  Interesting.

  Very interesting.

  She releases the threads.

  They dissolve like golden dust.

  — So you can see I didn’t come to capture you.

  — I came to offer you something.

  Mitsume is surprised.

  — Offer us something? You look like you’re Krov, the ones we rob almost every week. Do you think we’re stupid? Minato, let’s go.

  Minato had already taken half a step to leave…

  tongue out, childish victory smile.

  Then—

  — On the contrary.

  — Soon… the Krov will want to kill us.

  Mitsume stops.

  She doesn’t turn sharply.

  Doesn’t react like someone impulsive.

  She thinks.

  — Why?

  Shizuka doesn’t dramatize.

  — Because we’re going to do the same as you.

  Mitsume tilts her head.

  — Steal?

  — No.

  Pause.

  — Take power away from those who live off fear…

  and use it to support those who have nothing.

  The sea sounds louder than the voices.

  Minato lowers his shoulders a bit.

  He doesn’t understand politics.

  But he understands when someone talks about protecting people.

  Mitsume does understand.

  And that’s why she frowns.

  — That’s not stealing.

  — That’s declaring war on the system.

  Shizuka nods.

  No smile.

  — Exactly.

  Silence.

  Mitsume studies her.

  It doesn’t smell like a trap.

  It smells like someone who has already made an irreversible decision.

  — Then… who are you really?

  Shizuka holds her gaze.

  She doesn’t lie.

  — I am the one building the problem that will make problems tremble.

  A phrase too “Uta.”

  And it exposes her without her realizing.

  Mitsume notices.

  — You don’t speak like a boss… you speak like someone who follows a madman.

  A shadow of a smile appears on Shizuka.

  — Correct.

  Minato whispers:

  — I like the madman.

  Mitsume sighs.

  Defeated by her own soft heart.

  — Fine.

  — But not here.

  — Come.

  She adjusts the bow over her shoulder.

  Walks toward narrow alleys where clothes hang between buildings.

  — There’s an abandoned workshop near the old shipyard.

  She looks at Shizuka over her shoulder.

  — If this is a trap… I’ll shoot you in the knee first.

  — I don’t like killing smart women.

  Minato smiles proudly.

  — It’s true. She shoots really well.

  Shizuka walks behind them, serene.

  The workshop smells of old iron, salt, and dust.

  Sheets of light enter through holes in the broken roof, cutting the air like soft blades. There are rusty tools, old nets, and a crooked table that now serves as a “living room.”

  Mitsume lights a small stove.

  — Tea isn’t luxury —she says— but it warms the head.

  Shizuka nods.

  — It works for me.

  Minato is already sitting on the floor, legs crossed, surrounded by hard bread, some dried meat, and whatever he found in a bag.

  He eats like the world ends in 10 minutes.

  Happy.

  Absolutely happy.

  Mitsume doesn’t smile when she speaks now.

  — I hate mafias.

  Silence.

  — The Akaryuu killed my parents.

  The stove crackles.

  — I was fourteen.

  — Minato… eight.

  Minato raises a thumb with his mouth full.

  — We survived.

  Mitsume continues, voice steady through pure mental force:

  — Six years taking care of him. Stealing. Running. Changing cities before they find us.

  Shizuka looks at Minato again.

  That enormous body.

  That laugh.

  That age.

  — …He’s fourteen.

  Mitsume nods.

  — Yes. The world manufactures monsters faster than children grow.

  Shizuka takes the tea.

  Hot. Bitter.

  — The leader of the Krov… Uta Dragunov.

  Mitsume doesn’t react to the name. But she listens.

  — He’s going to turn the Krov into something different.

  — Not a mafia.

  — An association.

  — Pretty word for something illegal —Mitsume cuts in.

  — To free the people. Remove control from those who rule through fear. Let people live as they want.

  Mitsume pierces her with her gaze.

  — Free power is war. Always.

  — Yes.

  No lie.

  — That’s why I’m here. We’re gathering people who already fight for the same thing… but alone. You do it in one district. We’ll do it on a continental scale.

  Minato lifts his head.

  — Does continental mean more food?

  Shizuka blinks.

  — …Probably.

  — THEN I’LL FIGHT!

  Mitsume puts a hand to her face.

  — Sorry. He decides with his stomach.

  — It’s a more honest criterion than most —Shizuka replies.

  Mitsume falls silent.

  She’s calculating.

  Then Shizuka adds, soft but direct:

  — And your revenge against the Akaryuu… will come sooner than you think.

  Mitsume tenses.

  — …

  — A throne of power will be left empty soon.

  — The Akaryuu wouldn’t ignore something like that.

  The bow creaks under the pressure of her hand.

  Her face changes.

  The charismatic girl disappears.

  What remains is someone who has waited six years.

  — I moved far from their territory… so they wouldn’t find my brother.

  Low voice. Cold.

  — And now you’re telling me they’ll come anyway?

  The workshop suddenly feels smaller.

  Minato, unaware of the weight of the moment:

  — Mitsu… if they come… we hit them, right?

  She closes her eyes for a second.

  Breathes.

  When she opens them, there is contained fire.

  — If I join you… it’s not for ideals.

  — It’s for him.

  She looks at Minato.

  Then at Shizuka.

  — And if that Uta uses people as cannon fodder…

  She smiles.

  But it’s no longer warm.

  — I’ll shoot him first.

  Shizuka holds her gaze without offense.

  — Then you’ll fit in well.

  Because in Uta’s group…

  No one follows a god.

  Only someone willing to bleed for everyone.

  Mitsume looks at the tea gone cold in her hands.

  — That Uta…

  — Is he important to you, Shizuka?

  Shizuka doesn’t hesitate.

  She nods.

  No drama. No speech.

  Simple truth.

  Mitsume lowers her gaze.

  — I have killed… and I will kill for my brother.

  — Do you understand that?

  Shizuka watches her without judgment.

  — I would do the same for Uta.

  It’s not a threat.

  It’s a confession.

  The silence thickens.

  Then Mitsume asks what truly weighs:

  — And if we fail?

  Shizuka lets out a small exhale through her nose. Almost a dry laugh.

  — Do you know who you’re talking about?

  Her eyes are no longer soft.

  They are history.

  — Uta is the person who decided to piss on the history of one of the biggest mafias that has ever existed.

  — An organization that challenged the world thirty years ago.

  She steps into the light entering from the ceiling.

  — All for a stupid dream.

  Pause.

  — That everyone can have a family.

  — And decide their own destiny.

  Mitsume stares at her.

  Shizuka adds, firm:

  — If you join, do it.

  — But don’t do it for him.

  She points at Minato with her chin.

  — Do it for yourself.

  — For your dream of giving your brother a better life.

  That reaches her.

  Shizuka turns to leave.

  — …

  — Mitsume —she says without looking at her—. You decide.

  Minato swallows the last piece of bread.

  Stands up.

  For the first time his posture changes.

  He’s no longer the clumsy boy.

  He’s the wall.

  — I want to fight.

  Mitsume looks at him.

  — …

  Minato smiles, but it’s not a joke.

  — I want to fight for all the kids who have nothing.

  — I don’t want them to live like I did.

  Mitsume closes her eyes for a second.

  When she opens them, she’s decided.

  — Then it’s done.

  Shizuka stops at the door.

  Smiles sideways.

  Small gesture.

  But sincere.

  — Good.

  The sea wind blows stronger outside.

  — Then let’s go.