Kazuo's eyes widened in horror. "REI!!"
Akame drew Kotetsu from Rei's back in one smooth motion and flicked it once, a thin arc of blood spattering across the floor. The movement jolted through Rei's body—he choked, a wet sound tearing from his damaged throat, and blood spilled from his mouth.
He staggered forward, legs failing beneath him.
Kazuo ran, but Rei collapsed before he reached him. He dropped to his knees, catching him before he hit the ground. Rei fell against him, and Kazuo wrapped his arms around him, holding him upright as warmth soaked through his hands.
Rei tried to speak—his voice was a rasp, barely breath. "I… don't… want to die…" Each word scraped, fragile. "Kazuo… I still… I didn't even… get married yet…"
"You will," Kazuo said quickly—desperately. The words hurt even coming out, but they were the only ones he had. "Rei, look at me. You will. Just stay with me. Look at me."
Rei's body trembled once, a broken laugh escaping him, thin and helpless. "You… always… talk like that… like the world… will listen… if you… say it right…"
"It will," Kazuo said. His voice shook. "It will—just hold on, okay? Just hold on."
Rei blinked slowly. Light held in his eyes—shaken, fading, but still there. Tears gathered but didn't fall.
His lips curved into the smallest smile he had left.
"I'm… glad…" A pause, breath failing him. "I got… to meet you…"
He smiled—soft, weak, and real.
He exhaled. The breath left him gently, like a secret he finally trusted someone to keep. His eyes stayed open, and a small smile rested there—stubborn as ever—as if he had chosen to be kind at the end.
The strength in his body slipped away. Rei's weight sagged first to Kazuo's side, head leaning against his chest, then rolled from his arms entirely. He tipped onto his side, shoulder striking the floor with a soft thud, before settling flat on his back, eyes still open to the ceiling that would never answer him.
Kazuo did not move. He waited for the rise in Rei's chest that did not come and felt the shift—from holding someone to holding what remained. Sound thinned in the room until it seemed the world had quietly excused itself, leaving him alone with the shape of his loss.
"This blood is on you. Every choice you clung to, and every action you lacked the courage to take, carved this path. Now that you stand at the end of it… does regret finally reach you?"
Kazuo stared at his hands. A moment ago, those hands had been free. After everything he had endured — the hunt, the chains, the palace, the weight of being used — he had finally tasted a breath of life that belonged to him. An evening with his best friend. Laughter. Steam rising from the springs. For the first time in a long while, he had exhaled without fear.
Now his palms were coated in red that did not belong to him — a red he had no right to carry. He couldn't process what he was seeing. His thoughts couldn't form. All he could hold onto was the sight in front of him: Rei lying still, eyes half-open, as if caught mid-sentence… yet smiling. A peaceful, almost stubborn smile that said he regretted nothing.
A memory flickered — the two of them lying on their backs atop the hill outside the village, the night cold enough to see their breath. The stars had been bright, scattered across the sky like someone had thrown silver dust into the dark. Rei had pointed at one of them with dramatic seriousness.
"That one's definitely me," he declared. "Shining, handsome, and destined to be remembered for generations."
Kazuo had snorted, elbowing him. "More like that tiny one struggling to stay lit."
Rei didn't argue that time. He just smiled up at the sky, soft and genuine."Even if I'm just that one… I'm glad I met you, Kazuo."
The memory dissolved, leaving the cold, unbreathing body before him.
He lifted his head, tears slipping free. The world did not hear him scream—but inside, something broke so quietly it felt louder than any sound.All color drained from the room.
A tremor ran through him—not in the floor, but inside his chest, where something strained and tore loose.
Water burst into existence around him. Forced out as if his body could no longer contain it. It wrapped him in violent spirals, surging upward in chaotic waves. This wasn't the smooth discipline of his Water Magic. This was raw, volatile—thrashing like a storm trapped in human form.
A turbulent column coiled and broke around him again and again, refusing structure, refusing command.
Akame drew in a slow, measured breath. He lowered his blade slightly, the point angled with precise intent — ready to cut or to meet what was coming.
Akame's eyes followed the rising surge around Kazuo. "Esoteric Art?" he said, the words quiet, more observation than question. He watched for a moment longer, measuring the phenomenon before him. "No… this is not an Esoteric Art."
His gaze sharpened—not with shock, but with focused assessment, as though dissecting a puzzle across a battlefield.
"His aura is shifting," he said. "That should not be possible. A person's aura reflects the soul—unchanging by nature." He studied Kazuo as if confirming a theory rather than reacting to it. "For it to alter… something fundamental is being rewritten."
The column climbed, striking upward with pressure that shook the rafters without touching them. It tore at Kazuo's jacket, flinging spray into the air; droplets fell only to rise again, refusing to settle. His hair began to drain of color in erratic streaks — black giving way to stark white as if frost had raced through it, leaving disorder in its wake. Wet strands clung to his face before lifting, suspended in the chaotic updraft.
Then, without warning, the column collapsed inward — imploding, as if devoured by something that did not believe in mercy. The air shuddered, then fell still.
Kazuo remained where he stood, head bowed. His hair hung in a wild, uneven mix of black and white, the only visible trace of what had torn through him. No water circled now, but a pressure lingered around him — like the moment after lightning, when the world still remembers the strike.
His breathing came steady. Too steady.
He lifted his head.
The eyes that rose to meet Akame's were wrong—emptied of humanity entirely. No pupils. No focus. Only a pale, washed-out glare filling the whole iris, like sight had been replaced with a blank, merciless instinct. A distorted smile stretched across his face, too wide to belong to a sane expression. Saliva slid from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, unnoticed, as if the body no longer remembered how to be human.
Akame's stance shifted by a hair, Kotetsu adjusting with him.
"I see," he said quietly. "So this is the possibility our leader spoke of."
He studied Kazuo—his posture, his eyes, the unnatural stillness beneath the tremor of power.
"Hollow." His voice was clinical, precise. "What stands before me is a body moving without a soul to guide it."
Akame's stance settled, Kotetsu steady in his hand. "Very well," he said, calm as ever. His gaze did not waver from Kazuo's hollow eyes. "If this is your answer… then I will face it."