The first Marine reached Aira before the others realized she was moving.
He lunged for her arm, fingers brushing fabric—
—and Aira slammed her shoulder into his chest, knocking the breath out of him. She didn't stop to see if he fell. She twisted sideways, grabbed the dropped baton at her feet, and swung it hard into the knee of the next Marine rushing in.
Bone cracked against wood.
The Marine went down screaming.
"Hey!" someone shouted. "She's fighting!"
Good, Aira thought grimly.
Look at me.
She ducked under a clumsy swing, kicked sand into a Marine's face, and shoved him into a crate hard enough to knock it over. The noise echoed through the corridor, loud and messy, drawing attention where she wanted it.
Away from them.
Ryu felt the shift immediately.
Low-level Marines broke formation, instincts overriding orders as they turned toward the unexpected resistance. Their intent flared—confused, irritated, unfocused.
Space opened.
"Nice work," Kenji muttered without looking at her.
Aira didn't respond. She was already moving again, breath sharp, eyes tracking openings instead of enemies. She didn't try to win. She tried to **disrupt**—trip, shove, blind, vanish.
Ryu stepped forward as the Lieutenant advanced.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
His hands dropped to his sides.
Steel whispered free.
The twin grey knives caught the light as he drew them, their worn handles fitting his palms like they'd always belonged there. Familiar weight. Familiar balance. Fast.
The Lieutenant's eyes flicked down, registering the weapons instantly.
"Knives," he said. "Figures."
Ryu didn't answer.
He moved.
The first exchange was quick—too quick for the watching Marines to follow properly. Ryu slipped inside the Lieutenant's guard, blades flashing low, then high, forcing the Marine back with shallow, precise cuts that never broke skin but **threatened** to.
The Lieutenant gritted his teeth and adjusted.
"So you are trained," he said, circling.
Ryu felt every shift in stance, every tightening muscle, every breath taken a fraction too early. His Observation hummed quietly—not screaming, not straining—just *there*.
He dodged a slash that would've taken his shoulder, twisted aside, and hooked one knife against the Lieutenant's wrist, disarming him halfway before deliberately letting go.
The Lieutenant stumbled back, startled.
"Why didn't you—" he started.
Ryu stepped away.
He exhaled.
Then—deliberately—he lowered his knives.
The blades slid back into their sheaths with a soft, unmistakable sound.
The Lieutenant froze.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
Ryu reached behind his shoulder.
His hand closed around a familiar hilt.
Jiro's other sword.
The twin to Kenji's—balanced, responsive, unforgiving to hesitation. Ryu drew it smoothly, letting the blade settle into his grip, feeling the difference immediately.
Slower than knives.
Heavier.
Clearer.
Kenji noticed instantly and shot him a look. "You switching now?"
Ryu didn't look back. "This is cleaner."
The Lieutenant's jaw tightened. "You think you're above this?"
"No," Ryu replied calmly. "I'm trying to end it."
They moved again.
This time, Ryu didn't press.
He met the Lieutenant's blade head-on, steel ringing loudly, the impact reverberating through his arms. He stepped back when he could've advanced, let his footing slip just enough to look pressured, let the Lieutenant believe momentum was shifting.
From the outside, it looked like escalation.
Like Ryu was abandoning speed for desperation.
In truth, the sword forced restraint.
Forced commitment.
Forced him to **choose** every movement instead of reacting instinctively.
The Lieutenant pushed harder, confidence returning as Ryu gave ground inch by inch.
"There it is," the Lieutenant said. "You're slowing."
Ryu felt the lie settle into place.
Good.
Across the corridor, Kenji's fight had drawn its own crowd.
The Marine officer facing him was heavier than the others, posture squared, blade coated faintly with discipline and experience. Kenji absorbed another strike on his forearm, Armament hardening instinctively as pain flared through muscle and bone.
He grunted, stepping back half a pace.
The Marine officer's eyes widened.
"That should've broken you."
Kenji shrugged, rolling his shoulder. "Yeah. People say that a lot."
He didn't counter.
Not yet.
Aira darted through the chaos nearby, ducking between Marines who were too busy trying to grab her to notice how much space she was creating. She slammed a door shut behind one group, kicked a crate loose so it slid into another, and vanished behind a stack of barrels just as a rifle butt smashed down where her head had been a second earlier.
She popped up on the other side, panting, hair wild, grin sharp.
"Your left's open!" she shouted.
Ryu adjusted without looking, stepping aside before a Marine even realized he'd been flanking.
The Lieutenant noticed.
His eyes narrowed.
"You're coordinating," he said slowly. "Even now."
Ryu met his gaze briefly.
"Yes.
And no."
Ryu let the Lieutenant's next strike drive him back harder than necessary, boots scraping stone. The watching Marines murmured, tension rising as they saw blood—not Ryu's, but scraped from his knuckles where steel had rung too close.
"He's faltering!" someone shouted.
The Lieutenant pressed.
Kenji felt it too—the shift in perception. The Marines believed they were winning. Their movements grew sloppier, more aggressive, less cautious.
Kenji exhaled.
Then stopped holding back.
Not fully.
Just enough.
He stepped into the Marine officer's next strike instead of absorbing it, Armament flaring as he redirected the blade and drove his shoulder forward. The impact sent the officer skidding back several steps, boots gouging stone.
The officer stared at him, shocked.
"You—!"
Kenji didn't finish him.
He stepped back again.
Let it look even.
Ryu parried another strike and twisted, letting the Lieutenant's blade slide harmlessly past his ribs instead of breaking his guard entirely. He felt the man's frustration spike—sharp, angry, desperate to reassert control.
"You're playing with us," the Lieutenant snarled.
Ryu shook his head slightly. "No."
He stepped back again, breathing a little heavier now—on purpose.
"I'm sparing you."
The Lieutenant's eyes widened for half a heartbeat.
That hesitation cost him.
Ryu moved—not fast, not flashy—just precise. He knocked the blade from the Lieutenant's hand, swept his legs, and let the Marine crash to the ground hard enough to rattle teeth.
Ryu didn't follow.
He stepped away.
The corridor went still.
For a second, no one moved.
Then Aira's voice cut through, urgent and sharp.
"More coming from the docks!"
Ryu felt it—new intent surging closer, heavier than before. Reinforcements.
Kenji glanced at him. "Time's up."
Ryu nodded.
He stepped back deliberately, lowering his sword like his arms were giving out. Kenji mirrored him, staggering just enough to sell exhaustion. Aira darted between them, shoving a crate loose and kicking it over, smoke and dust bursting up as it shattered.
They ran.
Messy.
Uneven.
Barely controlled.
From behind, the Marines shouted triumphantly, convinced they'd finally broken them. Rifles were raised, but no clear shots presented themselves through the chaos Aira left behind.
"Don't let them reach the docks!" someone yelled.
Too late.
They vanished into a side route Aira had already chosen, feet pounding stone, breath finally breaking free as the pressure eased behind them.
They didn't stop until the sounds of pursuit dulled again.
Aira collapsed against a wall, laughing breathlessly. "You two are insane."
Kenji wiped sweat from his brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Ryu rested a hand on the hilt of the sword Jiro had given him, then finally sheathed it. His heartbeat slowed. His senses remained wide, alert.
Aira looked at the weapon, then at the knives at his waist.
"You switched," she said. "Why?"
Ryu met her gaze calmly. "Knives end fights too quickly."
Kenji smirked. "And we weren't trying to end anything."
Aira blinked.
Then slowly, understanding dawned.
"You were holding back," she said.
Ryu nodded once.
Behind them, Shells Town buzzed with confusion, reports already forming—about three fighters who barely escaped, about civilians who shouldn't have survived that long, about restraint that didn't make sense.
Ahead of them—
The sea waited.
And now, so did a navigator.
---