The training grounds were unusually quiet.

  The moment Izan stepped forward, the commanding students turned toward him.

  Aiyana crossed her arms.

  "Well? You gonna keep standing there?"

  Izan blinked.

  "…Why am I here?"

  Kawa zily lifted her hand from the bench.

  "Straight to the point. I like him."

  Aiyana ignored her.

  "At the beginning of every school year, the commanding students fight."

  "To decide who's the strongest."

  Izan tilted his head slightly.

  "…All of you?"

  Shiranami adjusted his sleeve calmly.

  "It keeps the order clear."

  Ayame smirked.

  "It keeps egos in check."

  Aiyana continued.

  "We were going to invite you."

  Izan paused.

  "Me?"

  "Drex recommended you," she said simply.

  That made Izan straighten.

  Aiyana spoke again.

  "You all need a week to recover before the ranking matches begin."

  Ayame crossed her arms.

  "Yeah. Because someone overdid it."

  Shiranami looked at her.

  "You mean you?"

  Ayame scoffed.

  "No. I mean you. Your own damn power crippled you mid-fight."

  "It didn't cripple me."

  "You locked up," she shot back. "And you got tossed around twice."

  "At least I didn't get knocked out," Shiranami replied.

  Ayame's eyes narrowed.

  "And at least my power doesn't backfire on me."

  Shiranami stepped closer.

  "You don't even have power. Aiyana's the one lending it to you."

  "Say that again."

  Ayame stepped into his space.

  Shiranami didn't move.

  Their faces were inches apart.

  "At least I stayed conscious," he said ftly.

  Ayame's hands curled into fists.

  Aiyana stepped forward immediately.

  "Enough."

  They didn't move.

  "I said shut up."

  Her voice cut through them both.

  "You both did stupid things. Ayame, you rushed without thinking. Shiranami, you pushed your limit like an idiot."

  Aiyana rubbed her temple.

  "You both look terrible."

  Ayame immediately protested.

  "I'm fine."

  Shiranami answered at the same time.

  "I'm not injured."

  "You're limping," Ayame said.

  "You're favoring your left side," Shiranami replied instantly.

  They both paused.

  Then looked away at the same time.

  "…Temporary," Ayame muttered.

  "Minor," Shiranami added.

  Kawa ughed quietly.

  "Delusional."

  Aiyana stepped forward.

  "That's enough."

  Silence fell.

  She looked at Izan again.

  "When we recover, you'll fight with us."

  Not a question.

  A statement.

  "Don't get weaker."

  She turned.

  "Let's go."

  Shiranami walked off calmly.

  Ayame followed, still muttering something about "next time."

  Arashi walked in the opposite direction without a word.

  Izan watched him.

  "…Who's that?"

  Daiki stepped beside him.

  "That's Arashi."

  "He's the oldest out of us. Eleven."

  Izan blinked slightly.

  "Eleven?"

  Daiki nodded.

  "Yeah. And his power's weird. He can make imaginary concrete."

  "…Imaginary concrete?"

  "Yeah," Daiki shrugged. "Stuff only he can visualize at first, but once it forms, it becomes real. Walls, ptforms, traps… whatever he imagines."

  Izan gnced back toward where Arashi had walked off.

  "…His eyes are intense."

  Daiki smirked.

  "Right? They kinda stun you if you stare too long."

  "They do," Izan admitted quietly.

  Daiki stretched his shoulders.

  "Anyway, enough watching people. Training?"

  Izan nodded, then suddenly paused.

  "Oh — wait."

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch.

  "I forgot to give you this."

  Daiki raised a brow as Izan tossed it toward him.

  The weight made his hand drop slightly.

  "…Gold?"

  "Half," Izan said. "From the bounty. Yours."

  Daiki blinked, surprised.

  He tied the pouch to his belt.

  They moved toward the training field.

  Kami had already curled up nearby, completely asleep, one arm hanging off the bench.

  Daiki ughed.

  "She's out already."

  "Let her sleep," Izan said.

  He rolled his shoulders.

  "Ready?"

  Daiki stepped forward, stance lowering.

  "Always."

  The sound of fists colliding echoed across the field as their training began.

  Far beyond the academy walls, while young fighters chased strength beneath an open sky, another world was already moving.

  In the northern continent, where cold winds carried the scent of iron and ash, the cns of the War Nation began to gather.

  Within the Amagawa District, banners rose toward the sky.

  Bck.

  Deep green.

  Colors of conquest.

  Colors of survival.

  The War Nation stood divided into three ruling dominions.

  The first—

  The Amagawa Cn.

  The strongest by blood.

  Descendants of the God of War himself.

  His first name had long vanished from history, erased by time and buried beneath endless battles.

  Only his surname remained.

  Amagawa.

  A name carved into steel.

  A name written across centuries of war.

  The second—

  The Kurozu Cn.

  The strongest in the present era.

  Descendants of the God of War's cousin — a warrior whose name had also been lost to history.

  Only "Kurozu" survived.

  Two founders.

  Two bloodlines.

  One origin of conquest.

  And the third—

  The Mizukage Cn.

  A cn born not from honor… but from chains.

  Forged from sves taken across distant nds.

  Most from the Water Country — a nation long considered easy prey.

  The throne room stood vast and silent beneath high stone arches.

  Daigo sat upon the bck throne at its center, posture rexed yet commanding, one arm resting against the carved armrest as if the entire hall existed beneath him.

  Knights lined the left and right walls in disciplined rows, armor dark beneath the flickering torchlight. Their eyes remained forward, unmoving, waiting.

  Behind them stood personal advisors and military strategists, whispering quietly among themselves before falling silent at the slightest shift in the king's presence.

  The air felt heavy.

  Controlled.

  Every step inside the chamber carried weight.

  Then the doors opened.

  Behind him followed the thirteen main warriors of the Kurozu Cn.

  The elite children of the bloodline.

  Among them—

  The three brothers who had watched their father fall at the hands of Yara and Jack.

  They walked in silence.

  The rge man grinned the moment he reached the center of the hall.

  "It's been a while, brother."

  Daigo gave a small nod from the throne.

  "Yes, Masaru. And you're still fat as ever."

  Masaru ughed loudly.

  "And you're still too damn serious. Do you ever smile without plotting something?"

  "Only when the results are guaranteed," Daigo replied calmly.

  Masaru crossed his arms, still smiling.

  "I heard your northern campaign ended early."

  "I grew bored."

  "Still chasing perfection, huh?"

  "Still talking too much."

  Masaru ughed again, the sound echoing through the hall.

  "At least I enjoy life."

  "And at least I win efficiently," Daigo answered.

  Masaru shook his head, grin fading slightly as his tone shifted.

  "Fine. Let's talk business."

  "One of your officials is dead," Masaru said immediately. "Another from the Justice Country too. And the Mothernd has officially allied with the Water Country. Their structure is shifting and the Water Country is already falling apart. So I'll ask again — why aren't we going to war?"

  Daigo sat calmly on the throne, watching him without urgency.

  "Because the Justice Nation is not ready yet."

  Masaru frowned.

  "We are stronger than them. Why should we wait for their timing?"

  "Because they requested it," Daigo replied. "They want their new king's power to grow first."

  He stood from the throne and began walking slowly toward his brother.

  "His name is Shirou."

  Recognition flickered across several faces in the room.

  "The gifted child," Masaru said. "I've heard rumors."

  "They are not rumors," Daigo answered as he continued walking. "He possesses a gift worthy of a god. His power is still immature, but once it develops, he will become a major piece on the board."

  Masaru crossed his arms.

  "So we let them slow us down?"

  "For now," Daigo said. "The Justice Nation may be second strongest, but they are still a dangerous ally to lose. A direct war with them would cost too much, even if we win."

  He stopped a few steps in front of his brother.

  "They are holding the War Nation back… but only temporarily. Once Shirou stabilizes, they intend to move. And when they move — we strike alongside them."

  He tilted his head slightly.

  "And after the Water Country falls… the Mothernd will be destroyed as well."

  A cruel smile spread across his face.

  "The Justice Nation despises them. They want them wiped out or turned into sves."

  A low chuckle escaped him.

  "Most of them are women anyway. They'll breed them, break them, and enjoy themselves while doing it."

  Masaru ughed darkly.

  Several of the thirteen main soldiers standing behind him ughed as well, some exchanging amused looks.

  Masaru shook his head with a grin.

  "You really are ruthless."

  Then his expression shifted slightly.

  "And Rin?"

  At the sound of her name, the maid standing beside the throne stiffened slightly.

  A few soldiers shifted uneasily.

  Daigo continued without hesitation.

  "Once we capture Rin, we gain our true advantage."

  He csped his hands behind his back.

  "She may become Shirou's wife. If necessary, we will force the union and have them produce children. A combined bloodline between War and Justice would surpass anything that exists now."

  Some soldiers exchanged brief gnces but remained silent.

  "Those heirs would become the foundation of the next era," Daigo continued calmly. "And when the world is under our rule, their power may allow us to break the barrier itself."

  Masaru let out a low whistle.

  "And if you decide not to use her that way?"

  Daigo's eyes sharpened slightly.

  "Then we take her power for ourselves instead."

  He stepped closer and pced both hands on Masaru's shoulders.

  "Either outcome benefits us."

  A faint smirk appeared on his face.

  "Enough strategy for now."

  He squeezed slightly before releasing him.

  "For now… we feast."

  Night settled over the pace like a heavy cloak.

  Bck and green banners swayed above the courtyard, illuminated by rows of torches that painted everything in restless shadows.

  The feast of the War Nation had begun.

  Long tables stretched across the open grounds and into the grand dining hall. Soldiers ughed loudly, advisors spoke in low strategic tones, and members of the ruling families occupied the raised stone yer above — not a stage, but a ptform that separated rulers from those beneath them.

  At the center sat King Daigo.

  To his right, his brother ughed loudly, reclining in his seat as attendants served him food and drink.

  The thirteen main family children were present as well.

  Among them, Tesuro — the most serious of the three brothers — stood instead of sitting.

  "I'll go to the Water Country," Tesuro said firmly. "I won't sit here waiting for the Justice Nation."

  Daigo looked at him calmly.

  "Tesuro," he said, "you are one of the strongest among the thirteen. You will not travel there before war begins."

  Tesuro's jaw tightened.

  "We can handle them. The thirteen of us could clear the Water Country alone."

  Daigo shook his head.

  "Their numbers are lower than ours. But they are not weak."

  He leaned forward slightly.

  "There are roughly twenty individuals there who are genuine threats. Together, they could wipe all thirteen of you."

  Murmurs spread among the siblings.

  "You will wait," Daigo continued. "Grow stronger. Do it for your father."

  Tesuro clenched his fists but said nothing more.

  Daigo waved dismissively.

  "Until then, enjoy yourself. Train harder than anyone."

  Tesuro returned to his seat, anger restrained behind discipline.

  Meanwhile, the feast continued.

  Below, the Mizukage workers moved like silent machinery.

  Some women and men carried trays filled with roasted meats and steaming dishes.

  Those who could not cook cleaned endlessly — wiping tables, scrubbing dishes, collecting scraps before they touched the floor.

  Children moved quietly among them, small hands working just as hard.

  Near the back kitchens, a young boy stood on a stool, scrubbing ptes twice his size.

  The smell of food surrounded him.

  His stomach growled.

  "Father…" he whispered, eyes fixed on the trays passing by. "Can I have a little?"

  His father continued cutting meat without looking at him.

  "It's not ours," he said quietly. "We eat ter."

  The boy's hands tightened around the cloth.

  "We don't eat ter," he muttered, anger and sadness mixing together. "We eat bones. We eat what falls on the floor."

  The knife in his father's hand paused mid-cut.

  For a moment, the noise of the feast faded.

  The man looked down at his son.

  Really looked.

  The thin arms.

  The tired eyes.

  The quiet resignation no child should carry.

  Something inside him broke.

  Later, hidden between stacks of crates, he pressed a small knife into the boy's palm.

  "Hide this," he whispered. "Stay under the table until I come back with your mother."

  The boy's eyes widened.

  "Are we—"

  "Yes," the father said softly. "Tonight."

  The Pn

  After giving his son the knife, the father returned to work as if nothing had changed.

  His hands moved automatically, cutting and arranging food while his eyes searched for familiar faces.

  One by one, he approached the men he trusted most.

  Not openly.

  Never directly.

  A quiet word while passing a tray.

  A brief whisper while exchanging dishes.

  A simple phrase repeated just enough times:

  "Tonight."

  Each man reacted differently — a stiff nod, a sharp inhale, a flicker of disbelief — but none refused.

  They had waited too long for a chance like this.

  From across the kitchen, another worker swept the floor slowly.

  Too slowly.

  His eyes kept drifting toward them.

  Watching.

  Trying to understand what they were pnning.

  The father noticed… but said nothing.

  There was no time to change course now.

  Soon, three of the men — including the leader — slipped toward the dining hall entrance.

  They stopped near the heavy wooden doors and peeked through the narrow opening.

  Inside, ughter echoed loudly.

  The rulers sat above.

  Guards stood nearby.

  And the women they needed were spread throughout the room.

  One of the men swallowed nervously.

  "…How are we supposed to get them away?"

  "They won't just let them leave," the second whispered.

  "If we try to pull them away, they'll kill us before we reach the exit."

  The leader remained silent.

  Watching.

  Thinking.

  His eyes followed the movement of trays.

  The rhythm of servants entering and leaving.

  The ziness of the drunk guards.

  Then his expression changed.

  "We don't take them by force," he said quietly.

  The two men looked at him.

  "We give them a reason to move," he continued. "We say they're needed elsewhere. Preparing guest rooms. Preparing the king's private chambers. Something no guard wants to question."

  The first man hesitated.

  "And if they refuse?"

  "They won't," the leader said calmly. "Not if it sounds like an order tied to the king's comfort."

  The two men exchanged looks.

  Slowly… they nodded.

  And for the first time in years, hope felt more dangerous than fear.