"Are you the leader of this group...?"
"Indeed. I am one of the Apostles of Rebellion, known as 'Smile.' Pleased to make your acquaintance."
The man calling himself Smile bowed with mock politeness, then suddenly pulled a handgun from his coat with a cold, ruthless expression, aiming it directly at the mother and child from before. "Now then, since a daughter of the illustrious Kurogane family is here, it would be a waste not to take you as a hostage. You'll be the perfect leverage against those high-and-mighty authorities. Surrender quietly."
"..."
Shizuku Kurogane's face darkened. She realized with a sinking heart that she was backed into a corner with no obvious way out.
At that same moment, on the roof directly above the mall's central plaza.
Ikki Kurogane, having shaken off his pursuers, looked down at his sister trapped below. His expression was grim. He desperately wanted to activate Ittou Shura and storm the floor to wipe them out, but with so many hostages, he couldn't guarantee their safety. If he made a single mistake, a massacre would follow.
As Ikki spiraled into indecision, a voice suddenly rang out beside him.
"You're still not planning to move?"
Haruki Aizawa stood there, his presence so thin and silent that Ikki hadn't even noticed him arrive.
Ikki's eyes lit up with hope. "Haruki! Thank god you're here. With the two of us working together, we can strike from both sides and take out every member of Rebellion at once!"
Ikki didn't have the confidence to do it alone, but with Haruki, he felt the odds were in their favor. However, Haruki's response was cold and flat.
"There's no need. Against small fry like this... I'm more than enough on my own."
"What?"
Before Ikki could even process the words, Haruki stepped off the ledge. He plummeted from the top of the mall, diving straight into the heart of the enemy-occupied plaza.
The Rebellion members lacked formal discipline, but they had numbers. They were stationed at every corner of the mall, most of them armed with modern assault rifles and submachine guns.
While conventional firearms were less effective against high-tier Blazers, a sufficient volume of lead could still pin down anyone below A-Rank. This was why Ikki had been so hesitant; his own Mana Shield was essentially paper-thin—he couldn't survive a single direct hit. Furthermore, with the hostages clustered in the center, any stray bullet would be fatal.
Haruki Aizawa's answer to this tactical nightmare was simple: if you kill every enemy before they can even perceive you, the hostages are never in danger.
Hoo—
It had been a long time since Haruki had a reason to go all out. The "Main World" was too peaceful for a master of the Wuju Style. But here, facing terrorists who traded in the lives of innocents, he finally had a reason to unsheathe his full potential.
"Highlander!"
Haruki didn't hold back. He activated the ultimate technique of the Wuju Style. In an instant, a visible ripple of energy distorted the air around him. His physical attributes—speed, reaction time, and strength—leaped past the threshold of human possibility.
The Wuju Style was the art of "transcending the limit." Through sheer willpower and spiritual focus, Haruki shattered the shackles of his own biology. Concentrated will can pierce through solid stone. That was the core of his path.
Under the effects of Highlander, Haruki became a blur of motion that defied the naked eye. He moved through the mall's corridors like a localized hurricane. He appeared behind a patrol of terrorists in a flicker of movement, his blade clearing their throats before they could even register a shadow.
Since he knew they were terrorists, Haruki felt no need for mercy. Killing those who destroyed order and targeted the weak was a simple choice. He didn't even blink.
Slash. Slash. Spurt.
In the time it took to draw a breath, the outer perimeter of Rebellion was silent. The guards were dead before their bodies even hit the floor. Haruki moved toward the central plaza at a speed that left afterimages in his wake.
"???"
While the rank-and-file members hadn't noticed a thing, the Apostle named Smile felt a sudden, icy chill. Years of surviving near-death encounters screamed at him that something was very, very wrong.
"Quick! Kill the hostages! Do it now!" Smile roared, acting on pure survival instinct.
But a fast decision isn't always a winning one. When faced with absolute, overwhelming violence, even the "correct" tactical choice is meaningless.
"Many foes... one strike."
"Alpha Strike!"
From the shadows at the edge of the plaza, Haruki launched his signature technique. His form seemed to split into multiple spectral images. To the terrorists, it looked as if half a dozen Harukis had manifested simultaneously among them. Each image moved with perfect, lethal intent, their blades tracing lines across the throats of the gunmen.
The Rebellion members didn't even have the chance to pull their triggers. Their bodies were torn apart by the sheer speed of the passing blade.
Within a heartbeat, Smile was the only one left standing.
"You... what the hell are you?!" Smile stammered, staring at the corpses of his elite unit.
Haruki's strength was beyond comprehension, but what truly terrified the Apostle was the boy's eyes. Most people hesitate when they kill. Even the most hardened mass-murderers feel a flicker of something—hatred, joy, or revulsion.
But as Haruki swung his blade, Smile saw nothing. No hesitation. No anger. It was as if Haruki were simply weeding a garden. There was no emotion, only the terrifying efficiency of a master craftsman.
Smile, a man who built his life on terror, felt a primal, bone-shaking fear. He wanted to run, but his brain told him that running from this monster was impossible. In this desperate corner, his only hope was a suicidal counter-attack.
Smile summoned his Device, pouring every ounce of his mana into a final desperate strike. But he had fundamentally miscalculated the gap between them.
Shlikt.
The moment his weapon manifested, Smile felt an odd, weightless sensation in his neck.
"Wha—"
He saw a flash of a green-tinted blade. In that split second, pain was slower than death. His head spun through the air in a perfect arc, rotating several times before hitting the polished floor with a dull thud.
The chaos of the mall ended as abruptly as it had begun. The terrified hostages sat in stunned silence, surrounded by the bodies of their captors.
Haruki Aizawa calmly sheathed his sword and walked toward Shizuku Kurogane, who was still staring at the spot where the Apostle had once stood.
"Brother?!" Shizuku blurted out. Everything had happened so fast she hadn't seen the combatant's face, and she naturally assumed her brother had come to the rescue.
"Do I look like your brother?" Haruki asked dryly.
Shizuku's face instantly turned a deep shade of crimson. Realizing she had just mistaken a near-stranger—and her rival/roommate—for her brother, she felt a wave of intense embarrassment. She wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
A few minutes later, a tactical police unit finally breached the building. They found no terrorists left to fight, only a floor covered in corpses and a single student standing among them. For a moment, they mistook Haruki for the aggressor, but the hostages and the Kurogane siblings quickly cleared his name.
Even after the police took over the scene, Ikki Kurogane remained in a state of shock. He finally understood why Haruki had always refused to spar with him. It wasn't a lack of confidence; it was a total lack of parity.
If they had fought, it wouldn't have been a duel. It would have ended in a single, invisible heartbeat. Even with Ittou Shura, Ikki knew he couldn't match that kind of speed—or that kind of lethality.
What truly haunted Ikki, however, was the way Haruki had ended those men.
"How can you be so calm after killing them?" Ikki asked as they walked away from the mall.
"Because if I didn't kill them, they would have killed those people," Haruki replied simply. "No matter what pretty words people use, swordsmanship is an art created for killing. The purpose of swinging a blade is to end an opponent. If you hesitate to kill an enemy, you shouldn't hold a sword in the first place. Hesitation in this world only leads to your own grave."
"..." Ikki remained silent, the weight of Haruki's words settling deep in his chest.