In one of Sakai's dueling courtyards, two men stood facing each other beneath an open sky.
Stone tiles scarred by old battles stretched wide, surrounded by wooden balconies already packed with spectators. Banners fluttered. The air buzzed with anticipation.
One man wore a mask and plain martial robes.
The other stood tall in full red samurai armor, lacquered plates gleaming beneath the sun. In his hands rested a beautiful yari, its blade polished to a mirror sheen, its shaft wrapped tight with silk.
Merun tilted his head.
"…You're not from the Kinzoku?"
Maeda's brow twitched. "Not every weapon master crawls out of that clan," he snapped.
Before steel could clash, Maeda turned and raised his spear to the crowd.
"This man wronged the village of Ota," he declared, voice booming. "He took justice into his own hands—justice that was never his to claim. Now, he dares to duel me for the custody of the criminal's younger sister."
He spread his arms.
"Tell me, people of Sakai. What should be done with this scum?"
The courtyard erupted.
"Kill him!"
"Feed him to the fishes!"
"Enact justice, Lord Maeda!"
"Do it, hero of Sakai!"
Merun exhaled slowly.
So that's it. A lord who fed on applause. A public execution wrapped in ceremony.
It sucked—but it had to be done.
"SHUT UP!"
Merun's voice cracked across the courtyard like a whip.
"I FINISHED MY MISSION AND I WANT MY... REWARD!" he shouted, stretching his hands obscenely. "IS THAT NOT FAIR?!"
The reaction was instant.
Disgust rippled through the crowd. Their faces twisted. Murmurs turned ugly.
Maeda stared at him like something he'd stepped in.
"…I regret ever speaking to you," Maeda said coldly. "You disgusting pig."
He turned to the officiator.
"Start."
The flag dropped.
Maeda moved.
He charged like a crimson storm, yari whistling through the air, each thrust precise, each swing layered with years of discipline. It was like a red storm of deadly strikes.
His strikes bent and curved at bizzare angles, near impossible to predict.
Merun's eyes widened.
He's arrogant… but he's the real deal.
A true spearmaster!
Steel met flesh.
The masked man was overwhelmed. He blocked late, his footwork was sloppy. He was far too slow.
The masked man shout in agony as Maeda's yari carved shallow cuts across his arms and ribs—blood sprayed, dramatic and ugly.
Each strike also smashed into the ground behind him, cracking stone, throwing debris skyward.
The crowd roared.
Merun staggered, stumbled, barely keeping his footing.
In truth, it took focus.
He was holding himself to less than half his strength to match Maeda's speed, his timing, letting himself be pushed back.
If it was him before fighting Noritsugu, he would have been turned into mincemeat.
But now... he had to lose convincingly.
Compared to Nortisugu's molten saber, Maeda's spear was much slower.
Compared to Merun himself though, the difference was obscene.
He surpassed Maeda in every parameter—strength, speed, reaction—by at least two times.
The only challenge Merun was facing was selling the lie.
Justice has to prevail.
The crowd howled as Maeda pressed the attack, overwhelming the "criminal" with flawless form.
But Maeda saw something the crowd didn't.
…He's watching me.
Observing.
Every lethal thrust hit... but only shallow wounds were created. Every killing angle sidestepped by a hair but still somehow hit. The man wanted to get hit?
His honed battle instincts were screaming at him.
Cold sweat soaked Maeda's armor.
He's... toying with me.
Does he want to lose?
Is this a trap?!
"RAAAAAAH!" Maeda spun his spear, blasting the masked man away as he leapt back, breaking the flow, breathing hard.
The crowd faltered.
"Lord Maeda?"
"Why did you stop?"
The masked man dropped to one knee.
"NO!" he wailed theatrically. "WHY DID YOU RUN?! I WAS ABOUT TO USE MY FORBIDDEN ULTIMATE MUTUAL DESTRUCTION TECHNIQUE!!!"
The courtyard exploded in outrage.
"Dishonorable!"
"What utter trash!"
"Kill him already!"
Merun threw his head back, laughing wildly.
"AHAHAHAHA! TIME TO DIE!"
He lunged toward Maeda like a madman—wild, reckless.
But Maeda saw it.
Those eyes.
Those black irises bore deep into his soul.
He wasn't crazy or reckless at all... it was all calculated!
Fear slammed into his chest.
What is he? What is he planning? Am I about to die?
Maeda panicked.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
His spear lashed out with a strong gale.
For the first time, it was a solid hit.
BAM
Merun went flying.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo—!"
His body arced high into the sky, shrinking to a dot.
The crowd gasped.
Then—
The dot flared orange.
Killing intent rolled outward.
BANG.
A thunderous, echoing clap split the air, rattling bones, ears and the earth itself.
Maeda's blood ran cold as he looked up.
…He was really going to self-destruct?!
Fortunately, the dot kept flying farther and farther, until it vanished beyond the horizon.
Silence.
Then the crowd erupted in cheers.
"YOU'RE TRULY THE BEST LORD MAEDA!"
"YEAAAAAH!!!"
"He saved us! He really saved us!!"
———
High above, Merun twisted mid-air.
The "impact" had been his cue to jump high up in the air.
He activated his divine arsenal just long enough to paint the sky orange—then clapped his hands together with controlled force, compressing the air into a thunderclap.
BANG.
"That oughta fool 'em," he muttered.
Below, justice had won.
As he was soaring through the air, he was alone in his thoughts.
What happened in Ota was tragic.
Innocents died—not from malice, but desperation.
If Merun truly cared only for law, he would've dragged the boy back in chains.
But Merun wasn't the law.
He was still human.
He understood the boy.
He understood choosing family over consequence.
So he chose a different path.
He took the hatred. He played the villain to soak in all their hatred. He let the world cheer while he carried the weight. He owned the guilt of denying the villagers of Ota their justice.
Why?
Was it because the medicine was actually cheap?
Was it because no one helped the siblings?
Was it because if it were his family—
He would have done the same.
And that was a burden he was willing to bear.
———
The crowd roared.
Sakai Port drowned itself in celebration as if justice were a festival to be consumed—cups raised, voices hoarse, names chanted until they blurred together.
"Hero Maeda!"
"Lord Maeda!"
"Savior of Sakai!"
Red armor gleamed beneath lantern light as Maeda strode through the streets, helm tucked beneath one arm. Everywhere he went, people parted for him willingly, eagerly, as if proximity itself might grant them virtue. Hands clapped his shoulders. Drinks were pressed into his grasp. Stories were already being told—retold—reshaped.
Justice had won.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
A man near the edge of the crowd raised his voice, drunken but curious. "Lord Maeda," he called out, swaying. "What of the girl?"
The noise dulled, just slightly.
"The one the madman tried to take," the man continued. "What'll happen to her?"
Maeda opened his mouth.
"Well—"
The word barely escaped before the man was struck across the back of the head by someone beside him.
"Idiot!" the second man barked, eyes bright, voice loud enough to carry. "Do you even hear yourself?"
He turned theatrically to the crowd.
"This is Lord Maeda we're talking about! The embodiment of justice itself!" he declared. "He saved that poor girl from the clutches of a monster. Of course he'll raise her as his own!"
A murmur rippled outward.
Then cheers.
"Ohhh!"
"That makes sense!"
"Lord Maeda would never abandon a child!"
Maeda lifted a hand instinctively, trying to correct them. "No, wait—"
But the tide had already turned.
Someone laughed. "I should write this down!"
Another voice chimed in, half-joking, half-serious. "I heard she's actually his illegitimate daughter!"
"What?"
"No way!"
"Hey, Lord Maeda, think you can give me one too?"
"You wish!"
Laughter broke out, sharp and carefree. Girls giggled. Cups clinked. The story grew legs and ran ahead of him.
Maeda stopped walking.
The sudden halt rippled through the crowd until people noticed, one by one.
"Lord Maeda?"
"Are you alright?"
Silence crept in—not total, but attentive.
Maeda stood there, red armor catching the firelight, expression unreadable. His grip tightened slightly around the helm.
Her face surfaced in his mind.
Small. Pale. Burning with fever.
A child who had survived tragedy through no effort of her own.
A symbol.
No—more than that.
An opportunity.
He straightened.
"Her name," Maeda said, voice firm, carrying easily over the street, "is Saika Maeda."
A collective inhale.
"She is now my daughter," he continued. "And she will grow strong under my care. One day, she will wield the spear as I do."
He raised his helm slightly, a gesture of promise.
"People of Sakai," Maeda declared, "I entrust her future to this city. Take care of her."
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
Then—
"YEAHHHHH!"
"All hail Lord Maeda!"
"To justice!"
"To Saika!"
Beer sloshed. Lanterns swayed. The story locked itself into place, solidifying like cooling steel.
Maeda smiled.
It felt… right.
Raising her would cement his image. A living testament to his mercy. His righteousness. His heroism.
Behind the celebration, two men exchanged glances.
The one who had first spoken. The "curious" drunk—watched Maeda carefully, eyes sharp despite his slurred posture.
The other, the one who had struck him and pushed the narrative forward... gave the faintest nod.
The seeds had been planted.
The story had taken root.
And Sakai would never question it.
Their mission was complete.