2:19 am, Paulo's House, Living Room, and Hallway.
The hallway of Paulo Satoshi's house was a slaughterhouse in miniature, the air thick with the coppery reek of blood and the acrid sweat of desperation.
The walls, once bare, were splattered with crimson where fists had met flesh, the hardwood floor slick with perspiration and stray droplets.
Paulo stood at the mouth of the narrow corridor, his black hoodie torn at the shoulder, revealing bandages stained red from his reopened rib wounds.
His red hair clung to his forehead, matted with sweat, his bruised face a patchwork of purple and black, swollen jaw, left eye a slit.
The collapsible baton spun in his right hand, aluminium glinting in the dim streetlight leaking through the curtains.
His blue eyes burned with a manic clarity, untouched by the chaos around him.
Rin Itō, Shin Takahashi, and Alexis Smith were battered but not broken.
Rin leaned against the splintered remains of the coffee table, his violet-purple hair streaked with blood, his tank top shredded, a bruise blooming across his ribs.
Shin knelt nearby, his purple hoodie ripped, one knee buckling, his massive fists trembling with rage.
Alexis slumped against the wall, his green hoodie soaked with sweat, his thigh bruised from Paulo's baton, his red eyes wet with shame.
Mizaki Kirazaka stood by the front door, her bubble-gum-pink ponytail swaying, violet eyes wide with a mix of awe and hunger.
Her black crop top and jeans were pristine, untouched by the violence, but her hands twitched, clasped tightly as if to contain her obsession.
Paulo was winning.
He had been untouched, a whirlwind of Taekwondo precision, using the hallway's choke point to neutralize their numbers.
Rin's forearm was welted, Shin's kidney bruised, Alexis's nerve cluster shattered.
The black notebook lay open on the floor, Miya's name crossed out in red, a silent accusation.
But the fight was draining him.
His ribs screamed with every breath, the bridge injuries flaring despite his adrenaline.
His sanity, already fractured by Mizaki's rumours and the sunducker taunt, teetered on a razor's edge.
"You're done," Paulo said, his voice a low growl, the baton twirling faster. "Walk away, or I break you."
Rin spat blood, his golden eyes blazing.
"Fuck you, Satoshi." He reached into his pocket, pulling a switchblade, the blade snapping open with a click that cut through the tension. The steel glinted, wicked and hungry, "Let's see how tough you are now."
Mizaki's breath hitched, her smile faltering. "Rin, no—" she started, but her voice was drowned by Shin's roar.
Shin charged, limping but unstoppable, his fist a sledgehammer aimed at Paulo's chest.
Paulo sidestepped, the baton cracking against Shin's wrist, snap, bone giving way.
Shin howled, his hand dangling uselessly, blood spraying from split knuckles.
But the distraction cost Paulo.
Rin lunged, the knife slashing in a vicious arc.
Paulo twisted, the blade slicing his hoodie, grazing his arm.
A thin line of blood welled, hot and shocking. He gritted his teeth, pain spiking but not slowing him.
Alexis stirred, guilt overridden by survival.
He grabbed a broken table leg, swinging it at Paulo's head.
Paulo ducked, the wood whistling overhead, and countered with a spinning kick to Alexis's chest.
Alexis crashed into the wall, the impact splitting his lip, blood gushing down his chin.
He slid to the floor, gasping, out of the fight.
But Paulo's focus wavered, his ribs a fire, his vision blurring at the edges.
Rin saw it, the hesitation, the exhaustion.
He grinned, feral, and attacked again, the knife thrusting for Paulo's gut.
Paulo blocked with the baton, metal clanging against steel, but Shin was back, his good fist slamming into Paulo's side.
The blow landed on his bruised ribs, crunch, and Paulo staggered, air exploding from his lungs.
The baton slipped, clattering to the floor.
Mizaki screamed, "Paulo!" Her voice was raw, terrified, her violet eyes wide with panic.
She took a step forward, then froze, her hands over her mouth.
The boy she worshipped, the one she had broken with rumours, was faltering.
Blood dripped from his arm, his hoodie torn, his posture crumbling.
For the first time, fear overrode her obsession.
He is going to die.
Rin pressed the advantage, the knife slashing again.
Paulo dodged, but slower now, the blade nicking his cheek, blood spraying in a fine mist.
Shin grabbed Paulo's arm, twisting it behind his back, his broken wrist forgotten in his rage.
Paulo roared, elbowing Shin's nose, crack, cartilage shattering, blood gushing like a faucet.
Shin released him, stumbling back, but Rin was relentless, the knife aiming for Paulo's throat.
Paulo's knees buckled, his strength ebbing. The hallway spun, the rumours echoing in his skull: monster, psycho, sunducker.
Mizaki's sobs cut through the haze, her fear a knife in his chest.
He was losing.
The ghost was fading.
***
2:21 am, Paulo's House, Entrance.
The front door creaked open.
A sound swallowed by the chaos of the hallway.
Miya Mori stepped into the house.
Her navy school bag replaced by a black jacket, her chestnut brown hair loose, bangs framing eyes that were cold but flickering with calculation.
Beside her was Watsu Mori, her older brother, a towering figure at 6 foot 4, with cropped black hair and Miya's sharp features.
His leather jacket was scuffed, his knuckles scarred, his dark eyes scanning the scene with predatory calm.
Neither wore their Sakura High uniforms, but their presence carried the weight of authority, Miya's manipulation, Watsu's brute force.
The living room was a battlefield. The coffee table was kindling, the couch gutted, blood streaking the walls.
Paulo was on his knees in the hallway, Rin's knife inches from his throat, Shin clutching his shattered nose, Alexis slumped unconscious against the wall.
Mizaki stood frozen near the door, tears streaming down her face, her pink ponytail trembling as she stared at Paulo's bloodied form.
Miya's lips parted, a gasp or a smirk, impossible to tell.
"Paulo," she said, her voice soft but cutting.
Watsu's eyes narrowed, taking in the carnage, his hand slipping into his jacket pocket, fingers brushing a concealed blade.
Paulo's head snapped up, his blue eyes locking on Miya.
Blood dripped from his cheek, his arm, pooling on the floor.
"You," he spat, the word venom.
The sight of her, his ex, his betrayer, ignited a fresh surge of rage, but his body betrayed him, ribs screaming, vision tunnelling.
Rin paused, the knife hovering, his golden eyes flicking to Miya.
"The hell are you doing here?" he snarled, but there was unease in his voice.
Miya was the architect of the bridge, but Watsu was an unknown.
Miya ignored Rin, stepping into the light, her boots clicking on the blood-slick floor.
"You sent the address, Paulo," she said, her tone almost gentle, a manipulator's lullaby.
"You wanted us here. Look at you now." Her eyes flicked to Mizaki, disgust flashing, "And you, princess, stirring shit as always."
Mizaki's tears stopped, her violet eyes hardening.
"Don't you dare," she hissed, stepping forward. "You did this to him!"
Watsu's voice was a low rumble, cutting through the tension. "Enough. Miya, what is the play?"
He moved to her side, his presence a wall, his eyes on Paulo. "This kid's half-dead. We end it or walk?"
Paulo laughed, a cracked, broken sound, blood bubbling on his lips.
"End it?" he rasped, forcing himself to his feet, swaying, "You are late, Miya. Your dog's already tried."
Shin, blood pouring from his nose, grinned through the pain, "Watsu Mori, huh? Big brother's here to save the day?"
Miya's eyes never left Paulo, her expression unreadable.
"You're not the boy I knew," she said, almost sad. "You're a problem now."
The air shifted, heavier, as Watsu cracked his knuckles, his gaze predatory.
Mizaki's fear spiked again, her hands trembling.
Paulo was losing, and now Miya and Watsu were here, fresh players in a game already soaked in blood.
***
2:23 am, Paulo's House, Hallway.
The hallway was a crucible, the walls closing in, blood and sweat staining every surface.
Paulo leaned against the wall, one hand braced on his knee, the other clutching his bleeding arm.
His hoodie was shredded, his face a mask of gore, cheek sliced, lip split, blood streaming from his scalp where Shin's fist had grazed him.
Rin's knife gleamed, inches from Paulo's chest, his golden eyes manic with triumph.
Shin stood behind, his broken nose a pulpy mess, blood dripping onto his purple hoodie.
Alexis was out, a heap against the wall, his face swollen, blood pooling beneath him.
Mizaki's heart pounded, her violet eyes locked on Paulo.
Her obsession, her Paulo-Kun, was crumbling before her.
The rumours, the sunducker taunt, her need to possess him, they had led to this.
She had wanted him broken, but not like this.
Not dead.
Her tears fell freely, her hands shaking as she stepped into the hallway, ignoring Miya and Watsu's presence.
"Stop!" she screamed, her voice raw, cracking, "Rin, stop it! You are killing him!"
Rin's head snapped toward her, his knife still poised.
"Get out of the way, Mizaki!" he roared, his arm trembling with rage.
Paulo's eyes flicked to her, a flicker of something, anger, pity, or madness, before returning to Rin.
Mizaki did not move.
She threw herself between them, her arms outstretched, her pink ponytail whipping as she faced Rin.
"You don't get it!" she cried, tears streaking her face, "He is mine! You cannot have him!"
Paulo's breath hitched, blood dripping from his chin. "Mizaki, move," he rasped, his voice barely human.
Rin's patience snapped.
"Fuck this!" he snarled, lunging past Mizaki, the knife aimed at Paulo's heart. But Mizaki was in the way, her body a fragile shield. The blade arced, unstoppable, Rin's momentum carrying it forward.
The tip grazed Mizaki's arm, slicing through her crop top, blood welling instantly, bright and shocking against her pale skin.
Mizaki screamed, stumbling back, her hand clutching the wound. Blood poured between her fingers, soaking her jeans. Her violet eyes were wide with shock, pain, and betrayal.
"Rin!" she gasped, collapsing to her knees.
Paulo's rage erupted, a primal roar tearing from his throat. Mizaki's blood, her scream, it was too much. The fracture in his mind shattered completely.
***
2:24 am, Paulo's House, Hallway.
Paulo moved before thought, a blur of instinct and fury.
Mizaki's blood hit the floor, a crimson pool spreading, her sobs a knife in his chest.
Rin's knife was still extended, his golden eyes wide with shock at what he had done.
Paulo did not care.
He did not feel the pain in his ribs, the blood on his face, the exhaustion.
Only rage.
He tackled Rin, bare-handed, the baton lost somewhere in the chaos.
His shoulder slammed into Rin's chest, driving him back into the wall. Plaster cracked, dust raining down.
Rin swung the knife, but Paulo caught his wrist, twisting until bones ground, snap, the blade clattering to the floor.
Rin screamed, his arm limp, but his other fist connected with Paulo's jaw.
Blood sprayed, Paulo's vision exploding in white, but he did not stop.
Mizaki crawled back, her arm bleeding profusely, her cries raw.
"Paulo, no!" she begged, but he was beyond hearing.
Paulo headbutted Rin, his forehead smashing Rin's nose.
Cartilage crumpled, blood gushing like a broken pipe, coating both their faces.
Rin staggered, but his rage matched Paulo's.
He lunged, grabbing the fallen knife with his good hand, and thrust it upward in a desperate, wild arc.
The blade found Paulo's face, slicing through his left eye.
The pain was apocalyptic.
Paulo screamed, a sound that was not human, as the knife tore through his eyeball, vitreous fluid mixing with blood, pouring down his cheek.
The world went black on one side, his vision halved, agony searing his skull.
He staggered, blood flooding his mouth, but his hands found Rin's throat.
"You… don't… touch… her!" Paulo roared, his voice a guttural snarl.
He slammed Rin's head against the wall, once, twice, three times, thud, thud, thud, skull meeting plaster, blood smearing the wall.
Rin's eyes rolled back, his body going limp, the knife falling again.
Paulo punched him, fist splitting Rin's cheek, bone crunching, until Rin collapsed, unconscious, a bloody heap.
Paulo stood over him, chest heaving, blood, and fluid streaming from his ruined eye.
His face was a nightmare, half intact, half destroyed, the socket a gaping wound.
But he was alive, standing, Mizaki's sobs behind him the only sound.
***
2:25 am, Paulo's House, Hallway Entrance.
Miya and Watsu Mori stood at the hallway's edge, frozen by the carnage.
The living room was a charnel house, blood on the walls, furniture in ruins, Alexis unconscious, Shin clutching his broken nose, Rin a broken doll at Paulo's feet. Mizaki knelt in her own blood, her arm slashed, tears carving paths through her pale face.
And Paulo, Paulo was a monster born of their betrayal, his left eye a mangled ruin, blood and fluid dripping onto the floor, his remaining eye blazing with unhinged fury.
Miya's hand flew to her mouth, her chestnut brown eyes wide with horror, or was it satisfaction?
"Paulo," she whispered, her voice trembling, but her manipulator's mask was cracking.
Watsu's face was stone, but his hand gripped the blade in his pocket, knuckles white.
Paulo turned, slow, deliberate, his ruined face a vision of gore.
Blood poured from his eye socket, his cheek, his arm, pooling at his feet. He took a step toward them, his voice a wet rasp.
"You… see… now," he said, each word a struggle, "This… is… you."
Mizaki sobbed, reaching for him.
"Paulo-Kun, I'm sorry!" she wailed, her voice breaking, "I didn't want—"
"Shut up," Paulo snapped, his voice cutting through her.
He did not look at her, his eye fixed on Miya. "You started this."
Watsu stepped forward, his presence a threat. "Kid, you're done," he said, his voice low, "Back off, or I finish it."
Miya grabbed his arm, her eyes never leaving Paulo's ruined face.
"Watsu, wait," she said, her voice shaking.
Was it fear, regret, or calculation?
The line was gone.
Paulo laughed, a wet, broken sound, blood bubbling on his lips.
He was dying, maybe, but he was still standing.
The fight was over, but the war was not.
The hallway was silent but for Mizaki's sobs and the drip of blood.
What would Miya do? What would Watsu's blade do? And Paulo, how much longer could he stand?