AKAME ASSASINATION (73)
"She's engaged to Germain?"
Akame's expression didn't shift. Didn't flicker. It was the face of someone reading yesterday's weather report—mildly informative, utterly irrelevant.
"How does any of that even remotely concern me?"
Ha! HA!
Junichi's laugh boomed through the timeless space, genuine and warm despite its volume. "I really thought you were going to care. You know, about what happened to her after you left." He shook his head, still chuckling. "But apparently not."
"I'd be more concerned if she got cancer. Something in that realm of fatality." Akame reached for another sweet, unwrapping it slowly. "Her being engaged to that exotic vampire is the least of my worries."
"Aren't you interested in why?" Junichi pressed, leaning forward. The table creaked.
"Midland wants control over the Land of the East Sun." Akame's voice was flat, factual. "In extension, the Vatican wants the same. That would only work if she accepted becoming the next Sword Master."
"Yep." Junichi nodded, impressed despite himself. "But she said no. Wanted nothing to do with it." His expression darkened. "Honestly? Lately it feels like the Five Swords are nothing more than politicians. They offered to make us lords of our own territories. Can you believe that?"
"Is it really that bad?"
"Goddamn it, Akame." Junichi's fist slammed the table. The cherry blossom wood rattled, the liquor bottle wobbling. "Don't you see? Why do you think I haven't talked to anyone else about this? Because nobody else gives a single fuck about the situation!"
His voice rose, raw with years of suppressed frustration.
"We aren't politicians! We're supposed to be warriors! Defending our country on the battlefield!" He jabbed a thick finger at his own chest. "But no. Every single one of them—they've gotten lax. Soft. Comfortable." He bit his lower lip, shaking his head. "It's so fucking annoying."
Akame said nothing. Let him continue.
"If we were more vigilant. If we actually did what we're supposed to do—then those people wouldn't have gone missing. The Vatican wouldn't be allowed to pull the bullshit they do right under our noses." Junichi's hands clenched into fists. "Instead we're out here fighting over land. Over taxes. Shit that doesn't matter." His voice dropped, rough with genuine anger. "What gives them the right? Those bastards."
The picture was becoming clear. The Vatican had recruited the Five Swords to work under them, with the Count Saints providing supplemental aid—a sharing system between the two powers. On paper, it looked like cooperation. A mutual defense pact.
In reality...
"You're saying this is all just a ruse," Akame said slowly. "To make the Five Swords weaker. The Vatican stronger. They cover it up by giving you political work instead of actual combat. Make you lax." He met Junichi's eyes. "I can see why that would upset you. You don't really like sitting in one place."
"And that's not even the worst part." Junichi's voice dripped with contempt. "The missions they give us nowadays? So ass, bro. They don't challenge us. They give us lame offerings in exchange for our time—when it was never about that." He leaned forward, intensity radiating from every pore. "What happened to the pride of being a warrior? Fighting for something bigger than yourself? Akame, I know you have that pride."
Akame was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't really think it matters anymore, does it?" he finally said. "In the end, that same pride is our downfall."
"Then why did you decide to take on a student?"
"!"
"I saw him." Junichi's eyes gleamed. "The kid with purple hair. He's your student, right?"
"Not remotely." Akame waved the notion away. "I barely teach him anything."
"So you don't want the next generation to go above and beyond us? To fix our past mistakes?"
Akame's composure cracked—just slightly. A flicker of something behind those emerald eyes.
"Ha!" Junichi's grin was triumphant. "Honestly? I have one too. She's a real piece of work." Fondness crept into his voice, softening the edges of his usual aggression. "But then again, I never wanted it to be easy."
"You're teaching her alchemy?"
"She wants to be a fire alchemist." Junichi shrugged massively. "Honestly, I don't see her being anything else. She's giving me a run for my money—smart, confident, bright. I see a star when I look at her. A way forward." His gaze sharpened on Akame. "I could tell when I saw the two of you headed into the museum. There's a new pride in you, Akame. I can't hold your past transgressions against you—none of us have done anything good."
Akame found himself at a loss for words.
Of all the people in the world, he never thought it would be Junichi saying this.
"But let me ask you something." Junichi's voice dropped. "How long are you willing to keep running?"
"As long as I need to, I guess."
Junichi chuckled—a low, knowing sound. "You still don't get it. You said 'I', not 'we'." He shook his head slowly. "You're not running by yourself anymore."
"!"
"If they get caught too..." Junichi let the implication hang. "Who knows what'll happen to them."
"Are you trying to guilt trip me into giving myself up?"
Junichi leaned back, hands raised in mock surrender. "Woah, tiger. I don't care what you do after you're done fighting me. All I'm asking is—what will you do? For the next generation to thrive?"
'It's true, isn't it?' The thought crystallized in Akame's mind, sharp and painful. 'Me being with them... that's what caused this mess. If I hadn't gone with them, they wouldn't be tangled up in this. What happens if they're named my accomplices?'
"Don't give up on yourself, Akame-kun." Junichi's voice cut through the spiral of doubt. "We both believe in the next generation, don't we? And we've brought them this far." He paused, letting the words land. "Why are you regretting that? You've worked hard to give back what you took. Maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe it never could be enough. That's the law of equivalent exchange."
Akame stared into those crimson eyes—seeing something there he'd never noticed before. Something almost like... kinship.
"I'm not telling you to give up." Junichi's voice was quiet now. Serious. "All I'm asking is—how much pride do you have in your students? How far are you willing to go to protect them?"
He leaned forward, and for a moment, the brawler was gone. In his place was something else. A teacher.
"I plan to protect her. Her pink hair. Her pink spark." Junichi's eyes burned. "I'll let it become a hurricane of fire that'll burn this country down—and build it back up. But she can't do that unless someone starts the fire. Unless someone chooses to find a lighter." He pointed at Akame. "You chose to spark hope in that boy. I suggest you keep fanning the flames."
He stood, looking down at the First Sword—the former First Sword—with something that might have been respect.
"Akame." His voice was heavy. "We're evil people, aren't we? We're forcing children to do what we couldn't."
He began walking away. Leaving the room. Leaving the empty space between souls.
'All this time,' Akame thought, the words echoing in the silence, 'what have I been doing? Everything I put those kids through...'
"Oh." Junichi stopped at the threshold, turning back. He scratched the back of his neck—almost shy, for a man his size. "I almost forgot."
A pause.
"Thanks." A beat. "For the... fight."
The dust began to settle.
Rays from the midday sun pierced through the haze, painting the scene in sharp gold and deep shadow. They stood in a crater of their own design—a perfect circle of devastation carved into the heart of the city.
Akame stood at its center.
Scratches covered his arms. A thin line of blood traced from his nose. His breathing was steady—calm, even—but the evidence of battle was written across him in a hundred small ways.
Junichi lay on the ground several meters away.
Defeated.
But not dead.
Akame stared at the fallen warrior—at the rise and fall of his chest, the slow blink of those crimson eyes still fixed on the sky. He'd pulled the final blow. Chosen not to end it.
Why?
"What was this fight even about?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
Around them, the city held its breath. Somewhere, a child cried. Somewhere else, a woman prayed. And in the heart of the destruction, two men who had tried to kill each other existed in the strange after math of violence—one standing, one prone, both changed.
A CHILLING REALIZATION
TO BE CONTINUED!