(Tiffany and Isabel's Perspective)
The air in the guild room was cold and sharp with anticipation. A large, hand-drawn map of the school's west wing was spread across the rickety table, held down at the corners by discarded metal pipes. Seven figures were gathered around it, their faces illuminated by the single, bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. This was the Hunter's Guild's combat division, and today, they were going to war.
In the center, Isabel and Tiffany stood as a study in contrasts. Isabel, COO of a rising corporation but a warrior at heart, had her hands planted firmly on the map, her posture radiating a fierce, kinetic energy. Tiffany, the co-founder and ice-cold strategist, stood with her arms crossed, her gaze sweeping over the plans with a detached, analytical precision.
"Okay guys, listen up," Isabel began, her voice cutting through the quiet tension. "As you know, they're planning to attack today."
Jack, leaning against the wall with his baseball bat resting on his shoulder, nodded grimly. "Charles, Peter Evans, and that hammer girl, Nanami Honoka. A real charming trio."
"Nanami is the primary threat," Tiffany stated, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Charles is a brute and Peter is an acrobat, but Nanami is a tactician. She's the head of the serpent. We cut her off, the body will fall."
Isabel's eyes flashed with a possessive fire. "Then she's mine," she declared, her gaze locking with Tiffany's. "I'll take the lead against Nanami." She turned to the two silent powerhouses standing behind her. "Kenji, Leo. You're with me. Her style is ruthless, so we'll be more so. We don't just beat her; we break her."
Kenji, Adam's unbreakable mountain, gave a single, profound nod. Leo, the stoic guardian, simply said, "Understood."
"That leaves Charles," Jack said, pushing himself off the wall. He pointed the end of his bat at the section of the map marked as the main hallway. "He'll lead the frontal assault. He's all rage and ego." He looked at the two men beside him. "Ken, Axel. You're with me. We'll hit him hard and fast, keep him off balance."
"A perfect assignment for His Majesty's Royal Guard!" Ken Pots declared, striking a dramatic pose. Axel just grinned, a wild, eager light in his eyes.
"Peter Evans is the wildcard," Tiffany continued, her finger tapping a secondary entrance on the map. "He'll use his acrobatic skills to create chaos, flank our positions. Padro, your unpredictable, brawling style is the perfect counter. You and I will intercept him. We'll be the ones to hunt their hunter."
Padro cracked his knuckles, a wide, predatory grin spreading across his face. "Sounds like my kind of party."
With the teams assigned, Ken stepped forward, opening a large duffel bag on the floor. Inside, nestled in foam, was an arsenal of non-lethal weaponry.
"For those who require them," Ken announced, his voice full of a quartermaster's pride, "I have prepared supplemental options." He handed out collapsible stun batons and weighted nets. "Non-lethal, as per the Leader's standing orders for engagements of this nature."
As the team armed themselves, Tiffany pulled out her phone, her expression unreadable. "A final confirmation. I just spoke with Anna. Her location is secure and completely untraceable. Her work is our highest priority; she will remain safe."
A wave of relief went through the room.
"Don't get complacent," Isabel warned, her voice pulling everyone's focus back to the mission. Her eyes swept over each member of her team, a commander addressing her troops. "Intel suggests they're bringing more than two hundred men. They think they can overwhelm us with sheer numbers. They think we're still the scared, broken kids they used to push around in the hallways."
She paused, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face.
"Today, we show them how wrong they are. We aren't the prey anymore."
Tiffany stood beside her, a mirror image of cold, deadly purpose. "The plan is set. The assets are in position. We do not defend. We attack. We ambush the ambushers."
Isabel nodded, her gaze locking with Tiffany's in a moment of perfect, unspoken understanding. She turned to the rest of them, her voice ringing with a clear, unshakeable authority that left no room for doubt.
"Everyone, get ready. It's time to go hunting."
(Jack's Perspective)
The hallway was a sea of hostile faces.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo that felt loud enough to echo off the lockers. Two hundred guys. That's what Isabel had said, but seeing it was something else entirely. They flooded the west wing, a tide of sneering, arrogant thugs from the Ruthless Animals, armed with pipes, bats, and the sheer, overwhelming weight of their numbers. And at the front of it all, parting the crowd like a foul-tempered celebrity, was Charles Patrick.
My knuckles were white where I gripped the cool, solid weight of the titanium rod Ken had given me. It felt heavy, real. A cold anchor in the storm of fear that was threatening to pull me under. Beside me, Ken and Axel stood, unarmed but unwavering. Ken had a wild, almost joyful glint in his eyes, his body already loose, shifting into the fluid, dance-like stance of Capoeira. Axel was a statue, his hands hanging loose at his sides, but his eyes were burning with the quiet, intense fire of a lion sizing up its prey.
Okay, Jack. Breathe. Adam trusted you with this. You're the leader of this squad. Don't screw it up.
Charles stopped a few feet in front of us, a cruel, triumphant smirk plastered on his face. His eyes, full of a familiar, brutish rage, were locked on me.
"Well, well, look at you, Mullar," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Playing the big hero. Where's your master, Adam? Did he finally get tired of fighting his own battles and send his pathetic little dog instead?"
The insult was meant to sting, and it did, but not in the way he intended. It didn't fill me with fear; it filled me with a cold, protective fury.
He thinks I'm still that scared, chubby kid who used to flinch at his own shadow. He doesn't know. He doesn't know what we've become.
"Adam's busy," I said, my own voice coming out steadier and colder than I expected. I took a step forward, resting the tip of the titanium rod on the floor. "Looks like you'll have to deal with me. Or did you forget how you got beaten last time?"
Charles's laughter died in his throat, replaced by a low, guttural snarl. "You think you're tough now?" he spat, his voice thick with venom. "Your precious leader is a scaredy-cat who ran away with his tail between his legs! He left his little mutts here to get slaughtered! I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart, piece by piece, and making him watch!"
Ken, who had been bouncing on the balls of his feet with a manic grin, suddenly went still. He tilted his head, a look of mock confusion on his face. "Looks like some limp dick is sprouting nonsense," he said, his voice carrying clearly in the tense hallway.
The effect was instantaneous. Charles's face, which had been red with rage, went completely pale for a second before a deep, furious crimson flooded it. His eyes went bloodshot, and a wave of pure, unadulterated killing intent washed over us, so palpable it was like a physical blow. His entire focus, all of that brutish, unrestrained fury, was now laser-focused on Ken.
I turned my gaze back to my team. Ken was still grinning, completely unfazed. Axel just cracked his knuckles, the sound a sharp, definitive counterpoint to Charles's silent rage. They weren't scared. They were ready. Their courage was a fire that burned away the last of my own fear.
I said, my voice a low, confident growl, "I think you're about to have a really bad day."
And with a roar that was torn from the very depths of my soul, I charged. "FOR THE GUILD!"