The magic took hold. Hajime’s breathing, once ragged and shallow, slowly began to even out. His blood flow stabilized. The glow in his veins dimmed—but his life force steadied.

  “…It’s working,” Emily muttered.

  Sockoo watched, lips trembling. “Thank you…”As Emily concentrated harder, pushing her healing magic deeper into Hajime’s chest and core to repair the worst of the internal damage, Hajime suddenly arched off the ground.

  “G-GAAAHHH!!”

  His scream echoed through the entire battlefield, making everyone freeze—even Duella and Strikeka glanced mid-clash.

  His body jerked violently, veins glowing faintly blue as Emily’s fire-lightning blend surged into the damaged areas. Emily’s eyes widened in alarm. “His magic resistance is flaring! It’s rejecting the heal—!”

  “I have to force it through or he’s gonna die!” she growled, and pressed her hands harder onto him.

  Hajime’s fingers clawed at the ground. “Aaaah—rage on! RAGGGEEE OOONNN DESU!!!” he howled through gritted teeth, trying to hold in the pain, but his body convulsed again.

  Sockoo grabbed his hand tightly. “Hajime!! You can take it! You’ve been through worse—DON’T YOU DARE DIE ON ME!!”

  Emily’s flames dimmed for a second as she shifted her magic from brute-force to precision. “Hold him down! One more pulse!”

  She fired one last shock of healing energy into the damaged organ—the one barely holding his stamina and life force together—and Hajime let out a final strained cry…

  Then—

  His body stopped shaking.

  His breathing calmed.

  The tension in his muscles faded. The magic settled.

  Emily fell back, panting. “It’s… done. The worst wounds are sealed. He won’t die—not unless he’s dumb enough to fight again.”

  Sockoo fell forward, hugging Hajime tightly, her forehead pressed to his.

  Hajime, eyes still closed, whispered hoarsely, “…rage… off…”As the dust and tension lingered over the battlefield, Strikeka clashed violently with Duella—blade against claw, each strike splitting the air. But suddenly, from behind Duella, two figures blitzed into view with synchronized motion.

  Gomoto crashed in from the left, his gauntlets glowing crimson with explosive pressure magic. Gondo followed from the right, swinging his axe infused with seismic lightning.

  “Duella!” Gondo shouted. “Let’s finish this like old times!”

  Duella smirked, flipping back just as Gomoto landed a crushing punch into Strikeka’s ribs, sending a shockwave out. Gondo slammed his axe down on the ground, cracking the floor and launching Strikeka upward.

  From above, Bella hovered gracefully with her white wings extended, hands charged with celestial light.

  “Target locked. Releasing Heaven Arrow Rain,” she whispered.

  A barrage of radiant spears descended like a meteor shower, pinning Strikeka midair as Duella and his team formed up below.

  Strikeka roared, breaking through a few of the spears, his monstrous body burning with fury. But Duella grinned sharply. “Don’t forget, we’re Baku’s originals. You picked the wrong generation to mess with.”

  They launched forward as one—Duella’s sword cutting from below, Gomoto’s punch colliding into Strikeka’s gut, and Gondo’s lightning axe slicing from the side.

  Bella, still in the air, charged one last massive bolt. “End it, Duella!” As the trio’s combined assault connected, Strikeka’s body pulsed violently—his veins glowing dark crimson, his monstrous form twitching and snarling with unstable energy.

  “…You think this is enough?” he growled, blood dripping from his mouth. “I don’t need to win… I just need to break you all.”

  BOOM.

  A deafening shockwave exploded out from his chest as Strikeka self-destructed, releasing an unnatural, monstrous detonation of cursed energy. A twisted cyclone of black and red erupted outward—shattering the ground, tearing through the walls, and flinging Duella, Gomoto, Gondo, and Bella like ragdolls in different directions.

  The entire battlefield went still—choked in dust and silence.

  The once-proud team of Baku… all knocked out.

  Hajime barely awake, coughed up more blood. “No… not again…”

  Sockoo looked up, panicked. “No—Duella! Bella!”

  Yu clenched his fists. Yosuke stepped forward beside him.

  And from the smoke…

  A half-burned, monstrous silhouette emerged.

  Strikeka was still alive, limping, hunched over, bloodied and steaming—but laughing.

  “…Heh… Now it’s just the next generation left. Entertain me. Blood dripped from every point as Daka, groaning in agony, gripped one of the golden swords embedded in his own body and slowly pulled it out.

  Schliiiink.

  “Agh… fuck—” he hissed, his knees shaking. His hand trembled as the blade clattered to the ground. Then he grabbed the next one.

  Rizra, lying nearby, her body wrapped in Angel’s holy healing magic, could barely lift her head. Her eyes widened in horror.

  “Daka… what are you doing?! Stop!” she cried, coughing blood.

  But he didn’t stop.

  He kept pulling sword after sword out of his body—golden hilts soaked crimson, his jacket shredded, muscles twitching, his breathing unsteady. He was turning paler with each one removed.

  Emily ran toward him, desperate. “Daka—stop! You’re going to die!”

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  He looked at her—smiling through bloodied lips.

  “I’m not dying… not until I put all these to use.”

  Rizra’s voice cracked. “You idiot… you’re acting like a goddamn suicide soldier… You want to die that badly?!”

  Daka chuckled softly, stumbling, nearly falling. “Not dying… just betting my life.”

  He clenched the golden swords—now out of his body and hovering behind him.

  “Strikeka… you’re not getting to the next generation. Not while we’re still breathing.”

  Emily looked to Angel, panic in her voice. “He can’t handle this! His body—his blood’s not clotting! His magic reserves—he’s going to collapse again!”

  But Daka stepped forward. One step. Then another. Toward Strikeka.

  Rizra tried to push herself up with her elbow. “Daka…”As Daka stumbled forward, ready to throw himself into a final attack, a hand suddenly pressed against his chest.

  “That’s enough.”

  Daka’s eyes widened as Hajime gently pushed him back—soft but firm, lowering him to the ground like a broken sword being sheathed.

  “Hajime…?” Daka croaked.

  Even Sockoo, who had been holding Hajime’s unconscious body just seconds ago, gasped in disbelief—“Wha—when did he—?!”

  But Hajime didn’t respond. His face was unreadable—stoic, pale, lips trembling, crimson tears running from his eyes.

  He slipped off his charred, blood-stained boots, placing his feet flat against the cold floor. Everyone watched silently as he rubbed his feet together, hopping slightly—creating sparks like flint striking steel.

  FSSSH!

  A blue flame burst to life under his feet—an ignited friction spark.

  Then—he vanished.

  A deafening BOOM echoed as Hajime broke the visual plane, moving faster than any normal eye could follow—Sub-Zero Speed, beyond logic.

  Before anyone could react—

  CRRRRRACK!!!

  He kicked Streetka in the chest, a blinding shockwave exploding outward. Streetka’s eyes bulged as his body bent violently backward—sent flying through several reinforced walls.

  But the moment Hajime landed—

  “GHAAAHHH!!!”

  He fell to his knees, puking blood, his mouth and eyes leaking red, his veins glowing.

  Angel screamed, “His body—! He can’t handle that speed!!”

  Hajime’s arms trembled, his lungs wheezing. He was crying blood, his jaw clenched shut to stop his screams.

  But he stood up again.

  Shaking, broken—but not done.

  “Raging… on… desu…” he whispered, his lips quivering into a defiant smile. As Hajime stood there, knees bent, shoulders trembling—his body on the verge of collapse—his blood-soaked face lifted toward the ruined wall where Streetka had been sent flying.

  The room was dead silent.

  Everyone felt it—not just his words, but his will, crashing down like thunder.

  Through gritted teeth, voice raspy and cracked, Hajime raised his hand, fingers barely able to move, and shouted:

  “Even if I die… I’ll protect the Music Club…!”

  He stumbled forward, breath shuddering, eyes gleaming with raw pain and resolve.

  “Even if my body shatters… even if my magic rips me apart…”

  His foot slammed down, sparking blue flame beneath it again.

  “I’ll crawl from the pits of hell…”

  He pointed toward where Streetka was rising, his silhouette cracked and burnt from Hajime’s last strike.

  “And I’ll bring you with me, you bastard!”

  His voice cracked on the last words, a growl full of fury and agony—his entire aura burning with blue light, like a ghost dragged out of death’s grasp just to fight one more time.

  Even Duella paused mid-clash.

  Even Sockoo looked up with tears in her eyes.

  Even Rizra, bloodied and breathless, stared in awe.

  Hajime stood alone, shaking—but unyielding. Strikeka slowly rose, one knee dragging on the ground, his claws twitching, his body scorched and cracked with blue flame damage. Smoke curled from the hole in his chest, and blood dripped from his mouth.

  Then—

  He laughed.

  A low, ragged chuckle at first… then louder.

  “Hehehe… hahahaha!”

  His eyes, one swollen shut and the other glowing like a beast’s, locked onto Hajime.

  “You… you’re insane, kid…” he said, coughing up blood but grinning like a man who’d just found a worthy opponent.

  “Your body’s broken… you’re crying blood… your friends can barely stand… and you’re still talking about dragging me to hell?”

  He staggered to his feet, cracks forming down his arm as it twitched with leftover monster energy. The entire battlefield pulsed with tension.

  “Hah… Hajime Nata Hamamoto, right?” Strikeka spat. “If this is what the new generation of the Music Club looks like… maybe I should’ve killed you first.”

  He cracked his neck, claws dragging against the wall.

  “But now I have to crush you. Not because you’re a threat—”

  He pointed a clawed finger at Hajime.

  ”—But because you remind me too much of him.”

  Everyone froze.

  Even Duella narrowed his eyes.

  Sockoo tensed.

  Daka, bleeding out, weakly looked up.

  Rizra gritted her teeth.

  Emily whispered, “Him…? Who does he mean…?”As the tension thickened, a gust of pressure swept through the area. The wind coiled with static and power—familiar… but not welcome.

  From the fractured remains of a shattered wall, Baku Hamamoto walked out, cape fluttering, glowing with the force of a god-tier fighter. His red eyes scanned the battlefield with a quiet intensity. Several elites followed behind him—top agents, powerful support, a show of force meant to rescue or finish the mission.

  Everyone turned.

  Daka’s eyes widened.

  Duella tensed.

  Emily stepped back.

  Bella whispered, “No way…”

  Even Strikeka paused, letting out a “Tch.”

  But Hajime…

  His blood-covered body trembled not from fear… but from rage.

  His fist, even while shaking from exhaustion, curled so tightly blood dripped from his knuckles.

  He stared straight at Baku, his voice broken and dry, but loud enough for the whole room:

  “Yeah, Strikeka…” Hajime said, eyes pale, dead, cold—

  “You can kill me now.”

  Sockoo flinched.

  She gave a nervous smile, sweat forming on her forehead.

  (I knew it… Hajime hates this… Even if they’re here to help, the idea of his ‘parents’—especially him—coming to save him… yeah, Hajime would rather die.)

  Baku’s expression twitched.

  He stepped forward slowly, eyes on Hajime.

  “…You hate me that much?” Baku asked.

  Silence.

  The battlefield was still.

  Even Strikeka didn’t speak.

  Then, Hajime lifted his blood-smeared face, his expression void of mercy or kindness.

  “You left me for dead more than once. Don’t act like some hero now.” Hajime stood there, blood trickling from his nose and mouth, body trembling, his hair singed with blue flame residue. His eyes locked on Baku with bitter intensity… but then—

  He puffed his cheeks and turned his head to the side with a child-like pout, arms crossed awkwardly.

  Everyone blinked.

  Yu: “…Is he… pouting?”

  Yosuke: “Bro just fought a literal monster and now he’s acting like he didn’t get told ‘no dessert.’”

  Then:

  “HAJIME!!!”

  Everyone jumped as Amy stomped forward, red in the face, hands balled up.

  “YOU ARE LITERALLY AT DEATH’S DOOR!!!”

  “YOU’RE CRYING BLOOD AND PUKE AND YOUR LEGS LOOK LIKE WET NOODLES!! JUST—ACCEPT—THE—HELP!!!”

  Hajime flinched.

  Still pouting, he grumbled:

  “Tch… I don’t want help from him…”

  “…Rage on…” (tiny voice)

  Sockoo's sweat dropped, trying not to laugh through her worried tears.

  Emily muttered, “He’s too stubborn for his own good…”

  Bella said flatly, “This feels like babysitting an angry firecracker.”

  Baku just sighed, his expression unreadable as he looked down at the wrecked boy who both hated and resembled him more than anyone. Baku stepped forward, the air shifting around him with an oppressive pressure. His cape fluttered lightly, electricity sparking faintly at his fingertips as his gaze hardened on Strikeka, who was barely standing, coughing up blood with a wide grin still etched on his twisted face.

  Baku: “…I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

  Strikeka’s grin widened through the pain.

  Strikeka: “And I’m surprised you finally showed your face, Baku. Or should I say—‘failed father of two’?”

  Baku’s expression didn’t flinch at the insult—but his fists clenched.

  Baku: “You always were trash, but this?”

  “Torturing your own daughter. Nearly killing my son. Turning this entire building into a playground of death—for a bunch of kids who were just trying to survive.”

  His voice was low, restrained—but there was lightning in the tone, ready to strike.

  Baku: “You’re pathetic, Strikeka. This isn’t power. This isn’t legacy.”

  He stepped closer, the floor cracking beneath his boots.

  Baku: “You’re not a warrior. You’re just a scared little man, hurting children to feel in control.”

  Strikeka coughed blood again, and despite everything—laughed.

  Strikeka: “You’re here lecturing me now?”

  “You? The man who abandoned both his son and his team because he couldn’t deal with his own past?”

  Baku didn’t move.

  Baku: “…I came back.” He glanced over his shoulder, just slightly—eyes lingering on Hajime, who was slumped, barely conscious, yet still glaring daggers at him.

  Baku: “And I’m not leaving until you’re dealt with.”

  Duella, breathing heavily from his injuries, smirked beside him.

  Duella: “Finally decided to stop being a ghost, huh?”

  Baku: “Let’s finish this.” Everyone turned as Hajime, still covered in blood, his body barely holding together, pushed himself up, trembling like a newborn deer trying to walk.

  His hair cast shadows over his eyes, but his aura was blazing — not with magic, but with pure, furious emotion. His teeth were clenched, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

  refusal.

  Refusal to stay down.

  Refusal to let the next generation be crushed.

  Not because he’s healed.

  But because someone has to.

  exposed. Old wounds reopen. Old failures walk back onto the stage.

  The past returns.

  The present bleeds.

  And the future refuses to kneel.

  but now, it’s personal.