The ground felt cold beneath him.
His body trembled uncontrollably, drained to its very limit.
"Hah… hah…"
Each breath was ragged, uneven—barely enough to keep him conscious.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then—slowly—he lifted his head.
Strands of crimson hair fell over his eyes, shadowing his expression…
yet the light within them hadn't faded.
His gaze—sharp, unyielding—locked forward.
"It's pointless…"
His voice was low. Calm. Almost amused.
"…trying to break me."
Silence lingered for a second.
Then, a faint smile curved on his lips.
Not the smile of someone defeated—
but of someone who had already decided the outcome.
"I won't fall that easily."
His fingers tightened against the ground as he forced himself up—just slightly.
"You should know that."
A black-haired young man stood before him, looking down with calm, indifferent eyes.
There was no anger in his expression—
only a quiet, suffocating arrogance.
"You really think so?"
His voice was low. Steady. Certain.
"Because I don't."
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening as if piercing through everything.
"You're not the one chosen by destiny…"
A faint smirk formed on his lips.
"…not like me."
The air itself felt heavier.
"Struggle as much as you want," he continued, almost amused.
"In the end…"
He took a step forward.
"…I'll be the one who kills you, Makoto Mori."
Silence fell.
Then—
"Let's see how long you last."
—
"Haa—!"
Makoto's eyes snapped open.
His breath came out in a sharp gasp as his body jolted upright.
Cold sweat clung to his skin. His heart pounded violently against his chest.
"Hey! Makoto—wake up! Wake up!"
A voice cut through the haze.
Reality rushed back in.