The open space in the old school building remained quiet.
Light slanted down from above.
Dust had gathered along the edges of the worn lamp covers. The light filtered through, split by fine particles into distinct beams.
Dust drifted slowly within them.
No. 33 steadied himself again.
His breathing had returned to a controlled rhythm. The spot where his abdomen had been struck still tightened faintly, but his steps did not stop.
His sole pressed against the ground.
His body moved forward.
The distance closed again.
Seven stood where he was.
Shoulders relaxed.
Arms slightly raised.
Gaze steady.
Only a few steps remained between them.
No. 33 moved first.
Left foot forward.
His body closed in instantly.
His right fist shot out in a straight line.
The edge of the strike drove upward toward Seven's abdomen.
Air compressed and split.
A short burst of wind.
Seven's body shifted slightly to the left.
The fist brushed past his clothes.
No. 33 didn't stop.
His shoulder continued to press forward.
Left fist swept across.
The trajectory turned toward Seven's jaw.
Seven tilted his head slightly.
The punch passed beside his face.
The air split around it.
No. 33's attack speed increased again.
Right.
Left.
Hook.
Elbow.
Almost no pause between strikes.
His fists flickered in the light.
The old building filled with dull bursts of displaced air.
Seven's movements remained minimal.
His feet slid lightly.
His body rotated just enough.
Each evasion missed by the narrowest margin.
Fists passed him again and again.
Dust rose from their steps.
Settled.
Then rose again.
No. 33's brow gradually tightened.
His breathing grew heavier.
His attacks had continued for a while now.
Yet Seven still hadn't been truly hit.
Another strike came.
This time—
No. 33 suddenly dropped his center of gravity.
A feint with his right fist.
His left leg snapped up.
A low sweeping kick.
The leg cut across near the ground.
Aimed at Seven's knee.
The air carried a low, heavy sweep.
Seven's foot slid back.
The kick passed just past his toes.
No. 33 rotated with the motion.
His other leg lifted immediately.
A side kick.
The leg snapped out like a whip.
The top of his foot drove toward Seven's ribs.
Seven raised his arm.
His forearm blocked.
Thud.
A heavy impact spread through the empty space.
The force traveled up his arm into his shoulder.
Seven's body swayed slightly backward.
But his footing didn't move.
No. 33 landed.
Closed in again.
His fists continued.
Relentless.
Unreduced speed.
The air was being torn apart continuously.
The sound of strikes grew denser.
Seven's steps began to move more noticeably.
No longer just centimeters.
He stepped back half a pace.
His shoulder turned slightly.
Another punch slipped past.
No. 33's fist brushed across his chest.
Then suddenly—
He moved closer.
His shoulder slammed forward.
A body check.
Seven shifted to the side.
The impact missed.
Their bodies crossed.
The next instant—
Seven's fist rose.
At extremely close range.
From below, upward—
It struck No. 33's ribs.
Thud.
Low.
Muscle tightened instantly at impact.
No. 33's body tilted sideways.
Air forced from him.
His foot stepped back immediately.
His body rolled backward.
He landed.
One hand braced the ground.
Dust burst upward again.
His breathing turned rapid.
A few seconds later—
He stood again.
His shoulders gradually stabilized.
His gaze locked onto Seven once more.
Seven still stood there.
Unshaken.
No. 33 stared at him.
A few seconds.
Then—
Suddenly—
His hands rose.
Palms facing each other.
Clap.
A crisp sound echoed through the open space.
His sleeves trembled slightly.
The next instant—
Two flashes of cold light slid out from inside his sleeves.
Two daggers.
The blades were not long.
But extremely thin.
Light reflected sharply along their edges.
No. 33 rotated his wrists.
The daggers settled into his grip.
The tips angled slightly downward.
His body pressed forward again.
The air tightened.
Seven watched him.
No panic on his face.
His steps shifted slightly.
His stance remained stable.
No. 33 rushed in.
A dagger thrust from the right.
The tip aimed straight at Seven's abdomen.
Seven shifted aside.
The blade skimmed past his clothing.
The other hand followed immediately.
Left dagger swept horizontally.
A short arc cut through the air.
Seven stepped back half a pace.
The blade missed.
No. 33 didn't stop.
His wrist flipped.
Another thrust.
Continuous.
Fast.
The blades flickered again and again.
Seven's evasions widened slightly compared to before.
His feet slid.
His shoulders rotated.
Each movement avoided the blade by the smallest margin.
The sound of cutting air was sharper than fists.
The air was repeatedly sliced open.
No. 33's breathing grew heavy again.
Sweat dripped from his chin.
He suddenly paused for a split second.
His feet tapped lightly together.
Heels clicked.
A faint mechanical sound came from within his shoes.
The next second—
Two shorter blades slid out from the soles.
Blade shoes.
His foot struck the ground again.
His attack rhythm changed instantly.
His leg rose.
The blade at his toe kicked out.
Cold light flashed under the lamps.
Seven stepped back quickly.
The blade grazed past his pant leg.
The air split open.
No. 33 landed.
The other leg kicked immediately.
Another blade sweep.
Seven turned his body.
Avoided again.
The air in the open space grew tighter.
Dust vibrated continuously in the light.
Their footwork accelerated across the ground.
Blades flashed repeatedly.
Fists and steps intertwined.
The tension remained unbroken.
Light fell from the open ceiling.
Dust was kicked up—
then slowly settled back into the cracks.
No. 33 closed in again.
His grip tightened on the daggers.
Cold white light reflected from the edges.
His steps slid low across the ground.
The distance collapsed quickly.
His right-hand dagger moved first.
A thrust from below.
A tricky angle.
Straight for Seven's abdomen.
Seven shifted slightly aside.
The blade grazed past his clothes.
Air split with a sharp burst.
No. 33 didn't pause.
His left dagger swept across immediately.
The blade cut across at chest height—
toward Seven's throat.
Seven leaned his shoulder back.
The blade passed just in front of his chin.
No. 33 pressed forward.
Both arms engaged.
Right hand retracted—
then stabbed again.
Left hand reversed from below.
The two daggers formed crossing trajectories in an instant.
Blades flickered in rapid succession.
Seven's foot slid back half a step.
His body rotated.
The daggers passed along both sides of him.
They cut the air—
but never touched.
No. 33's breathing grew heavier.
Sweat formed along his temples.
His steps suddenly accelerated.
He was almost pressed against Seven.
His right dagger snapped upward.
The tip drove from the ribs toward the chest.
Seven raised his forearm.
His wrist turned.
His palm pressed against No. 33's wrist from the outside.
The trajectory was forcibly altered.
The blade veered off.
Cutting upward through empty air.
No. 33 released instantly.
His other dagger swept from below.
Straight toward Seven's abdomen.
Seven stepped back.
The blade passed in front of his clothes again.
Air split once more.
No. 33 followed immediately.
He suddenly raised his leg.
The blade in his sole kicked upward.
Aimed at the knee.
Seven's foot slid back quickly.
The blade passed just in front of his toes.
No. 33 landed.
His body rotated.
The other leg swept across.
Another flash of cold steel.
Seven shifted aside.
The strike cut empty air.
The distance between them shifted again.
A few steps.
Two steps.
Then instantly closed again.
Seven remained calm.
Observing every attack.
The range of his movement gradually decreased again.
No. 33's attacks did not slow.
They grew denser.
Daggers thrust.
Swept.
Reversed.
Blade kicks inserted unpredictably.
The air filled with sharp, fragmented cutting sounds.
Dust rose again under their steps.
Particles spun rapidly in the beams of light.
Suddenly—
Seven stepped forward.
The distance reversed instantly.
No. 33's dagger had just thrust out—
Seven's hand had already seized his right wrist.
Grip tightened.
Force locked the joint.
No. 33's arm was controlled.
His body twisted immediately.
His left dagger stabbed back.
At extreme close range—
toward Seven's shoulder.
Seven leaned back slightly.
The blade grazed past his clothes.
The next instant—
Seven's arm exerted force.
The captured arm was pulled downward.
His body rotated—
using the momentum—
Bang.
No. 33's body was slammed directly into the ground.
His back hit the floor.
Dust erupted violently.
Cracks in the ground trembled into clarity.
The moment he landed—
A dull dislocation sound came from his shoulder.
His joint was forced out of place.
His right arm lost its normal alignment.
But he didn't stop.
Before his body fully settled—
His left dagger stabbed again.
From below—
straight toward Seven's abdomen.
Seven stepped aside half a pace.
The blade missed.
No. 33's breathing became ragged.
Pain in his shoulder tightened his muscles visibly.
But his attacks didn't stop.
He continued almost one-armed.
The dagger struck again.
Still fast.
Seven's gaze didn't change.
He stepped forward.
His foot lifted.
The tip tapped inward toward No. 33's left knee.
Short movement.
Concentrated force.
Thud.
A precise hit to the inner joint.
No. 33's lower leg twisted sharply.
Dislocated.
His balance collapsed instantly.
He fell sideways.
A few seconds later—
He stood again.
His right arm hung useless.
His left leg unstable.
Yet he remained upright.
Breathing heavy.
Sweat sliding down his face.
The air fell silent for a moment.
Seven watched him.
Did not move immediately.
No. 33 still stared at him.
Dragging his steps.
Trying to move forward again.
The light in the old school building remained cold.
Dust settled slowly.
The air stagnated.
Seven exhaled softly.
"Can't be helped."
His voice was low.
The next instant—
He moved.
His steps circled behind No. 33.
Clean.
Efficient.
His hand rose.
The edge of his palm tightened.
From behind and to the side—
A swift strike to the back of the neck.
Short.
Focused.
Thud.
The blow struck the nerve point.
No. 33's body jolted.
Muscles lost strength instantly.
His eyes closed.
His body fell forward.
The daggers slipped from his hands.
They hit the ground—
a crisp metallic sound.
The open space fell silent again.
Dust drifted slowly in the light.
Seven stood where he was.
Breathing steady.
On the ground—
No. 33 had lost consciousness.
In the distance—
77 still lay there.
The blood on his forehead had partially dried.
Outside the old building—
The sky gradually darkened.
Time moved on slowly.