"I'm going to kill them."
Fingers tightened and loosened around the katanas, over and over, unable to stop.
"I'm going to kill every last one of them."
---
Flashback
Running at full tilt, staying so close to Nobuaki's heels that overtaking him nearly happened several times. To avoid falling behind, he had to reinforce himself with cursed energy just to maintain the lead. They ran until the estate had completely disappeared behind them.
At Zoro's waist, Shusui and Wado Ichimonji swayed with every stride, the weight of both massive blades fighting against short legs with every step.
None of that mattered. The mind had narrowed to two things and two things only: 'Go faster.'
And: 'Save him.'
Eventually the running stopped—in front of a building roughly five kilometers from the main estate. Dilapidated, gutted, barely standing. Windows shattered and boarded over with rotting planks. Paint stripped down to bare wood. Entire sections already caved in. A perfect caricature of abandonment.
"It's here," Nobuaki said, still catching his breath.
No answer. Both blades cleared their scabbards in one motion—Shusui in the right hand, Wado Ichimonji in the left—and the entrance approached.
Nobuaki followed close behind, words spilling out of him like someone trying to clear a debt.
"According to what the guys told me, members of the Akashi took him." He shoved the rusted door open with difficulty, the hinges grinding. "They've always thought they were superior to us, but they never had the chance to act on it directly. When they found out there were Kukuru members without cursed energy, they probably figured there'd be no repercussions if they—" he hesitated— "had a little fun."
The grip on both blades tightened until the knuckles ached.
They moved carefully through the interior, keeping low, watching every shadow. But the building was empty. Every room, every corner—nothing.
Nobuaki's search grew more frantic by the second, eyes darting left and right, already dreading whatever was coming.
"I swear it's the right place! The guys were certain this was their unofficial meeting spot." He was defending himself so desperately that he didn't notice the footsteps had stopped.
Then the bloodlust hit him. A wave of murderous intent so dense it froze him mid-step.
He turned.
A cold face. Eyes locked upward with an intensity that made no sense until he followed the gaze toward the ceiling.
What he saw didn't turn his blood cold because of the violence of the scene itself. It turned it cold because of what he knew would come next.
---
**Back to the present**
Zoro
"I'm going to kill them." The grip tightened and loosened, tightened and loosened. "I'm going to kill every last one of them."
Nothing in life had ever produced this particular desire. And the reason was hanging directly overhead.
Toji's body was suspended from the ceiling by his arms, chains biting into his wrists. Bruises and lash marks covered every visible surface of skin. Dried blood had settled into the creases of his face, and the swelling was severe enough that recognition took a moment—would have been impossible, without the context and the scar at the corner of his lips.
"Get him down." The voice came out flat, directed at Nobuaki. He hadn't moved. Couldn't seem to.
Patience ran out.
"GET HIM DOWN RIGHT NOW!"
The shout snapped him back. He crossed the room quickly and went for the crank controlling the chains, lowering Toji with a gentleness that the situation probably demanded—and that the expression watching him likely enforced.
When Toji's body finally reached the ground, each step forward felt weighted with something heavier than the broken ribs, heavier than the sprained ankle, heavier than any of it.
Because the truth was already known. Whatever had been endured over the past week—Toji had suffered worse.
The chains came off. His body lifted carefully.
Leaning close to his ear, barely above a whisper:
"Don't worry, Toji. They'll pay. Every single one of them. Even if it's the last thing I do."
The future didn't matter in that moment. The plot didn't matter.
"Every last one of them."
---
**Two days later**
A sterile room. A chair pulled close to a bed that hadn't changed since arrival.
Not the standard infirmary—this one belonged exclusively to the Kukuru head. Nobuaki, as successor, had access, and had used it without permission to get Toji proper care.
The equipment here was in another category entirely compared to what the recruits usually got. A sorcerer with a healing technique had been brought in—not Reverse Cursed Technique, but effective enough to matter. Nobuaki had sealed the sorcerer's silence with a Binding Vow.
The chair hadn't been left for the full two days. Nobuaki had been sent for massive quantities of meat, which meant the body's own recovery was moving well. But Toji hadn't stirred.
Until now.
Creak.
Eyes up immediately. Toji's body was slowly pushing itself upright.
"TOJI!"
Across the room in seconds, hands steadying him as he rose. His eyes opened slowly, scanning the room with a careful, measuring look.
Then, without warning, his face crumpled. He turned to the side and vomited onto the floor.
Nothing useful came to mind. A hand settled on his back and stayed there, moving in slow circles.
Several minutes passed before it stopped. When he straightened again, his expression had settled into something too composed to be calm. Colder than calm, really.
That coldness landed wrong. It sat badly in the chest and didn't leave.
"Toji, are you okay?" Soft.
"Yes, Zoro. I'm fine."
*Something is wrong.*
The feeling was immediate and specific. But before it could be examined properly, the relief of seeing him awake washed everything else aside.
"That's good, Toji." A hand moved to his head, gentle. "Tell me if anything hurts."
---
one month later
"Toji, you're my brother. You can be honest with me. Are you actually okay?"
The same detached expression that had been there for nearly two months looked back quietly.
"Like I've already told you, big brother. I'm fine. No injuries left. Not even a scar."
The face hardened.
"STOP JERKING ME AROUND!" A fist came down on the table.
Toji flinched. His gaze shifted slightly to the side.
That flinch landed like a dagger. But backing down wasn't an option.
"Toji, you are NOT okay." Both fists clenched. "Not your body—your head. Since the kidnapping, everything has changed. Every night you wake up screaming. The other members told me you spend your days looking over your shoulder like an attack is always coming. And every time training comes up, you find a reason to avoid it."
His lip pressed together. Eye contact was being avoided with visible effort.
A long breath. The bad cop routine dropped.
Standing up, crossing the room toward him. He turned his face the other way.
"Toji, look at me."
Nothing.
"Toji."
Still nothing.
Both hands took his face gently and turned it forward.
He flinched. He tensed. Both things were impossible to miss—and had to be ignored, for now.
The softest, most careful voice available came out.
"Toji. I know I keep saying this. But you're my brother. You can tell me anything."
Some of the tension left his shoulders. Not enough. The rest wasn't ready yet.
*Expected as much, honestly.*
A different approach. The direct one wasn't working.
"Fine, Toji. No more pushing. This is the last time I bring it up. But—"
The hug came without warning, pulled in tight.
"—whether you say anything or not, just know I'm always here."
Several quiet moments passed.
Then a dampness spread across the shoulder.
"Sniff… Okay, big brother. Sniff!"
Something in the chest loosened completely.
'There it is. That's what's been wrong.'