The sun hung high now, the heat softening into a gentle glow across the cobblestone streets.
Dante stretched his arms above his head, the chain on his neck jingling softly. "Well," he said, smiling, "that was fun."
Yamato, walking beside him, exhaled like a man who'd already lived too long. "Fun for you, maybe. Why the hell do we need to tour this desolate place."
Dante tilted his head. "It's all part of the Adventure Yamato."
"Your version of adventure is taxing."
"That's why I was the life of the party in Yoima Village, you are really bland!" Dante grinned proudly.
Yamato didn't respond — he just stared at him blankly until Dante's smile faltered.
"…You're no fun."
Yamato's lips twitched, barely hiding a smirk.
Their playful back-and-forth settled into silence as they strolled past the bustling market again. That's when Dante suddenly stopped.
"Oh crap."
Yamato blinked. "What?"
"I just remembered something!" Dante slapped his forehead. "I need to buy painting supplies! I can't paint if I don't have paint!"
"…Obviously."
"Don't 'obviously' me! I got distracted by your grumpy face!"
Yamato sighed. "So where do you plan on getting them?"
"Uh…" Dante's head turned left and right, eyes darting around. "Somewhere… that sells paint?"
"Of course dummy, but we don't know where that is."
"Then we'll ask!"
And so, their small "side quest" began.
---
The first person Dante approached was a middle-aged merchant stacking crates of fruit. Dante smiled, cheerful as always.
"Hey, old man! You know where I can find a shop that sells painting stuff?"
The merchant turned—and froze. His eyes darted from Dante's bright smile… to Yamato standing silently behind him, arms crossed, red eyes gleaming faintly in the shade.
The man's face went pale. "Y–You! You're—!"
He fainted on the spot.
"…Huh?" Dante blinked. "Did he… fall asleep?"
"No," Yamato said flatly. "He fainted. From looking at me, apparently."
"Whaaat? No way! You don't look that scary."
"Apparently I do."
Dante frowned, scratching his head. "Alright, new plan! You—" he pointed at Yamato "—stand back there."
Yamato blinked. "Back where?"
"Farther. Like, way farther."
"You're kidding."
"Nope."
Yamato's eye twitched. "You're seriously making me—"
"Yamato, please," Dante said, hands together in mock pleading. "For the good of the people."
"…Tch."
Muttering under his breath, Yamato reluctantly stepped back. First five steps. Then ten. Then twenty.
"Far enough?"
"Perfect!" Dante grinned, turning back to the street. "Now watch the magic."
Within seconds, girls from nearby stalls began to gather.
"Oh! White hair—so pretty!"
"Look at his eyes! They're so blue!"
"He said he's looking for painting materials? How adorable!"
Yamato stood in the distance, watching in disbelief as a small crowd of giggling girls surrounded his brother.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
A little boy nearby glanced at him and said innocently, "Mister, maybe if you smiled, they'd like you too."
Yamato turned to stare at him. The boy screamed and ran.
"Never mind," Yamato sighed.
Meanwhile, Dante was struggling to keep up with the flood of helpful offers.
"There's a shop called We Have Everything!" one girl said eagerly. "It's down this street and to the right!"
"Thank you, beautiful!" Dante said, earning a flustered giggle.
When he turned to tell Yamato the news, his brother was already beside him again, quiet as a shadow.
"Done flirting?" Yamato asked coolly.
"Wasn't flirting," Dante said, hands on hips. "It's called networking."
"Uh-huh."
---
The brothers arrived at the shop a few minutes later. Above the door hung a creaky wooden sign that read, in large hand-painted letters:
WE HAVE EVERYTHING
Dante blinked, then burst into laughter. "Pff—ha! They weren't lying about the name being obvious!"
Yamato gave the sign a long, unimpressed look. "…I already don't trust it."
They knocked on the door. No answer.
Dante knocked again, louder. "Hello? Anybody home?"
Still nothing.
They turned to leave when suddenly — crash!
The sound of something falling inside froze them mid-step.
Yamato's hand went to his sword. "Stay alert."
Dante nodded, eyes narrowing as he scanned the roofline.
Moments later, both boys climbed up the side of the building with surprising agility. Dante found an open skylight and slipped through, landing softly on the floor below. Yamato followed seconds later, blade ready.
What they found made Dante's heart drop.
The shop was in ruins. Shelves overturned, glass shattered, papers and goods scattered across the floor.
And at the center, an old man sat slumped against a counter, crying quietly.
Dante rushed over immediately. "Old man! Are you okay!?"
The man barely looked up, tears streaking down his cheeks. "They… they took her…"
Yamato scanned the corners of the shop, moving with silent precision. "No one's here. Whoever did this is long gone."
Dante turned back, crouching beside the old man. "Old man, what happened?"
"They took her," the man repeated weakly. "My daughter… they took my daughter…"
"Who did?"
His voice cracked as rage replaced sorrow. "That cursed name… Domiré! that bastard Domiré!!"
Dante blinked, visibly lost. "Huh? Wait—what? Who? Why? What's going on?" His face scrunched in confusion as his brain tried to process all of it at once. "Who the hell is Domiré?"
"Dante," Yamato interrupted sharply. "Focus."
"Oh. Right."
Yamato stepped closer, kneeling slightly. "Old man," he said coldly, "did you do this to your own shop?"
Dante whipped his head around, glaring. "Yamato! Don't be stupid! Who trashes their own store!?"
"People who face adversity, but are weak to take action, so they take out their frustration on things that can't move." Yamato replied simply.
Dante nodded thoughtfully. "Mhh, I see"
Ignoring him, Yamato fixed his gaze on the trembling old man. "Tell us what happened. Exactly."
The man hesitated, his watery eyes shifting between the two brothers — the cheerful boy with the bright smile and the quiet one whose stare could freeze fire.
"It's none of your concern," he said at last, voice shaking. "Leave me be. The shop's closed for today."
Yamato turned to Dante. "He's right. Let's go."
Dante blinked at him, confused.
Yamato sighed. "Because I know you won't. You're too stupid to ignore this now that you've seen it."
Dante smiled sheepishly. "You know me so well."
The old man blinked, startled by their casual tone.
Dante looked at him seriously this time. "Old man," he said softly, "just tell me what's wrong. I'll fix it."
Something in Dante's voice, the sincerity, the certainty made the man's chest tighten. He didn't know why, but he felt like he could trust them, he felt like he could breathe.
He sat up straighter, wiped his tears, and said, "My daughter was taken by a noble… Domiré. Domiré Vellacroix. The son of Saint Lucifaro himself."
At that term, both boys' expressions changed instantly. Nobles!, the village elder had warned them about these vile beings.
The air in the shop thickened. Yamato's red eyes sharpened, and Dante — usually bright as sunlight — grew quiet, the warmth in his face fading into something colder, sharper.
The old man shuddered. What… was that?
It wasn't killing intent, not exactly. But it felt like standing before two sleeping beasts that had just opened their eyes.
Dante's voice came low and steady. "Old man… do you know where they are?"
The man's eyes widened. "You can't go there! They're nobles — the entire island answers to them! You'll be killed!"
Dante stood up, shadow falling across the wrecked floor. "That's not what I asked."
Something in his tone sent a chill down the old man's spine.
"It's… in the middle of the city," he said quietly.
Dante nodded once. "Thanks."
He turned toward the door. "Yamato."
"Yeah." Yamato's voice was calm, but his grip on his sword was tight.
As Dante reached for the doorknob, he paused. "Old man," he said suddenly, looking back. "What does your daughter look like?"
The man blinked, startled by the question. "Red hair. Crimson eyes. About nineteen. Her name's Anita."
Dante smiled faintly. "Got it."
He opened the door. The brothers stepped out into the street — and the moment they did, people around them shivered.
The same cheerful boy who'd been surrounded by girls just minutes ago now walked with a quiet, deadly resolve. Yamato's dark aura pulsed beside him like a storm barely held in check.
Whispers spread.
"Who are they?"
"Did something happen?"
"They feel… dangerous."
But the two didn't stop.
They walked straight through the murmuring crowd — toward the heart of the island.
Toward the mansion of the Vellacroix family.
---
The night wind howled. Moonlight streaked across the rooftops of Vellacroix City as a girl with crimson hair leapt from tile to tile, her hands bound tightly in steel cuffs.
"Get back here, you little rat!"
A shout echoed behind her — deep, gruff, and laced with fury. The rooftops trembled beneath heavy footsteps as a burly man and several castle guards pursued her like wolves chasing a wounded deer.
Anita gritted her teeth, forcing her legs to move faster. Her lungs burned, her ankles screamed, but she refused to stop. The cuffs clinked sharply with every desperate motion, the metal biting into her wrists.
Below, people in the streets stopped what they were doing. Some peeked up from behind stalls or curtains.
A few whispered.
"That's her…"
"Anita Vellacroix's servant girl…"
"She's being chased by the castle guards…"
And then silence. No one moved to help her. They just watched — eyes filled with pity, fear, and resignation.
Because being chased by Burly, the castle's executioner, meant only one thing.
You were wanted by the Vellacroix family.
No one interfered with that.
---
"Burly"
"Stop running, girl!" Burly shouted again, landing heavily on the tiles just a few feet behind her. His boots cracked the ceramic beneath him. For a man in his late forties, his speed was terrifying — each step covering meters in an instant.
Anita jumped across a gap, barely catching the ledge of the next roof. Her knees scraped, but she pulled herself up and kept going.
"Leave me alone!" she screamed, breath ragged.
Burly smirked coldly as he leapt after her. "You're making me work too hard for someone who doesn't stand a chance."
"Then maybe you're getting old!"
"Old, huh?" His teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "You'll regret saying that, girl."
They raced across the rooftops like ghosts. Guards followed below, shouting directions and blowing whistles, but Burly's focus never left the crimson-haired girl ahead of him.
She had spirit — he'd give her that much.
Too bad spirit didn't mean survival.
---
Earlier that Evening
The scene shifted — back to the castle, hours before the chase began.
A dimly lit corridor. Heavy silence.
Anita sat on the cold floor, her wrists cuffed and her ankles bound by rope. The door in front of her creaked open, and a massive figure filled the frame.
Burly.
"Your prince is gone," he said gruffly, stepping inside.
Anita lifted her eyes, hatred burning behind them. "He's no prince. He's a monster."
Burly's expression didn't change. "You should watch your mouth, girl."
"Why?" she spat. "What's he going to do? Marry me and then kill me like he killed the others?"
A long silence.
Then Burly knelt, the floor creaking under his weight. "You need to relieve yourself?"
Anita blinked, caught off guard. "…What?"
"Your feet. I'll untie them. You can walk to the lavatory."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"No reason," he muttered. "Just don't make me regret it."
Her instincts screamed trap, but she couldn't run anyway, not with both feet tied. Slowly, she nodded.
Burly reached down and untied the rope around her ankles. The instant the bindings loosened, she could feel her pulse race.
"Listen," Burly said quietly, still kneeling. "Once you step outside that door, I'm going to give you exactly ten seconds."
Her eyes widened. "What—?"
"After that, I'll chase you down like a hound."
Her breath caught. "You're… you're helping me?"
He stood up, massive and unmoving, eyes shadowed beneath his brow. "No," he said simply. "I'm doing my job."
"Then why—"
"Don't waste your time asking." He turned his back to her, facing the door. "Ten seconds. Start running when I open it."
"Burly…"
He didn't reply.
When the door creaked open, a rush of cool night air filled the corridor. Anita hesitated — just for a moment — before sprinting out with everything she had.
Behind her, Burly sighed.
"…Better make it count, girl."
---
Back to the Present
Anita's breath was breaking into sharp, shallow gasps. Her chest ached, her vision swam. The cityscape blurred around her as she leapt across another rooftop, boots scraping.
Below, people continued to watch. A mother pulled her child inside. A merchant closed his shutters. A man at a bar shook his head slowly.
No one moved to help.
"Cowards!" Anita shouted, voice cracking. "All of you—cowards!"
Her foot slipped on a loose tile, nearly sending her tumbling. She steadied herself just in time, but Burly's shadow loomed closer now, his heavy breathing audible even through the wind.
Why? she thought bitterly. Why is no one helping me? Why does no one even look me in the eye?
Because they knew.
They all knew what it meant to defy the Vellacroix family.
Tears stung her eyes. Her steps faltered.
Even if I'm faster than him… where do I go? she thought. Where can I run to?
For the first time since she started running, despair crept in.
Maybe Burly had been toying with her. Maybe this was all just a cruel joke — a game before the inevitable.
Her lips trembled. Maybe… he's just like them.
Her pace slowed. Her breathing turned ragged. Her hope began to fade.
---
Burly's eyes narrowed. "What's she doing?" he muttered between breaths. "Why's she slowing down?"
For a moment, pity flickered across his face — faint, almost imperceptible. She's just a kid, he thought grimly. Eighteen? Nineteen? She doesn't even know how to survive yet.
He clenched his jaw. Domiré's going to break her.
A dull pain tugged at his chest. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.
"Should've run faster, girl," he whispered, pushing off the tiles. "I'm ending this before he does worse."
He closed the distance in seconds.
Then—
BAM!
A shockwave exploded through the air.
Burly's world spun violently as something slammed into his chest — hard, solid, faster than anything he'd ever seen.
Pain ripped through his ribs. His breath vanished. Spit flew from his mouth as his massive body launched backward like a cannonball, crashing into the two guards chasing behind him.
The tiles shattered beneath them. Dust and debris filled the air.
Burly wheezed, coughing, clutching his chest. His eyes widened, bloodshot, as he looked up—
And froze.
Two figures stood above him at the edge of the roof.
Both young — far too young to carry that kind of killing intent.
The first, tall and calm, with crimson eyes that gleamed like forged metal. The second, shorter but radiating something far more dangerous — white hair dancing in the wind, expression cold enough to freeze stone.
That punch… Burly thought, trembling. Was his hand made of steel?
The white-haired boy stepped forward slowly, the nightlight catching the faint scar along his wrist. His voice, when he spoke, sent a chill through everyone present.
"Are you…"
His blue eyes sharpened.
"…Domiré?"
---
Anita stood frozen several rooftops away, chest heaving. She didn't know who these boys were — strangers, outsiders — but something about them, about that cold and fearless presence, made her heart clench.