Unforgivable.
This can’t be allowed. It shouldn’t even exist—and yet here it is.
I keep my P90 leveled, locked on his center mass, tracking every move.
I don’t ease up for a second.
The smoke choking my lungs, the fire eating this mansion alive—that’s not what’s messing me up.
It’s everything that led here. A stack of tragedies crashing down.
My head’s nowhere near normal.
I steady my breathing. Keep it low and controlled.
This is when I need my head coldest.
“If you’d just died from that first hit, you could’ve gone out easy. But you’re gonna be stubborn, so now it’s gonna hurt.”
“When did it start?” I ask. “When did you turn traitor?”
“Who knows?” He grins. “When do you think it started? Wanna make it a quiz?”
That’s him. Always shallow, always joking. But sharp when it counts.
Smooth talker. Pretty face. Natural talent. Handles everything like it’s nothing.
Annoying as hell, but impossible to hate. That’s Hayate Akayanagi.
“Why did you betray us? Why you, of all people?”
“Betray, huh. Well, I guess that’s what it amounts to. This.”
“Of course it does!”
“You could also say I just made a choice. Really. I just chose. That’s all.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“C’mon, Ikaku. You might understand where I’m coming from.”
“Planning to beg for forgiveness now?”
“That’s not it.”
He bends down and picks up the severed forearm he ripped off a corpse.
Plays with it like a bored kid flipping a toy between his fingers.
He’s not even looking at me. Not like I’m a threat.
“102nd Cohort Boot Camp. Twenty-one of us. Just you and me left. Why do you think that is, Ikaku?”
“We doing nostalgia now?”
“Just answer. Might be your last chance.”
“…The others moved on. You got scouted.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly the wrong answer I wanted. Sure, that’s what it looks like on the surface. But underneath? Different story.
If they’d lived seriously—if they’d really taken it to heart when Instructor Kisame said, ‘Get strong enough to die for it’—they might’ve made Coral Terminator. Don’t you think?”
“You think that’d have saved them? Four die every year in that unit.”
“Well, they didn’t have to become that specifically. That’s not what I’m getting at.”
He starts pacing across the landing. Calm. Like some smug professor with a mic and a clicker, about to change my worldview.
“If they’d trained like normal people, pushing until they hit their limit—until they screamed ‘This is it! This is everything I’ve got!’—then they wouldn’t have been taken out by Category 1s. That much, I believe.”
I say nothing.
“Yeah, people have limits. One guy jogs ten laps, no sweat. Another collapses after three. Of course there’s a difference. Everyone’s got their own pace, right? Individual variation. Nice and fair.
Bullshit. That’s just an excuse.
I can tell what you’re thinking, Ikaku. Been watching you since day one. You and me, we were the only ones living like it matters. The only ones who meant it. The rest? Half-assed. Not a drop of blood in their convictions. Pathetic. You must’ve thought so too.
Remember the party after Boot Camp? Everyone’s all smiles, acting like the war’s over. I couldn’t celebrate. It hadn’t even started. If they’d understood that—just a little—they wouldn’t have laughed like that.”
His voice rises. A manic edge creeping in.
“Be a manga artist? Go to college? Direct a movie? Get a girlfriend? You fucking shitting me?! None of ‘em ever stood a chance! Look how that turned out! Every single one of them is dead now!
And Instructor Kisame warned us! Only one in ten would live to see twenty!”
He points at me, grinning like a lunatic.
“You weren’t laughing either, Ikaku. You knew. You were the only one who got it. Hell, I didn’t even get it when I joined. Not right away. But you changed me.
Six years old. First day of Boot Camp. Out there doing push-ups at dawn like a machine. Like somebody possessed.
It shook me. Made me wonder—Is this what it takes? Watching you, I realized: stop making excuses. Set the bar higher. Go harder. And I did. I made it to twenty-seven because of you.
I owe it all to you, Ikaku.”
“Then repay me by dying here.”
“I can’t do that. I’m living like it matters, and that brought me here. Led me to this decision—to side with the Demons.”
He takes a step down. One stair.
“Don’t move.”
He freezes.
Then stretches out his hand. Like he’s inviting me to dance.
“You should join us.”
“…What are you talking about?”
“You and I were on the same path. The only difference is, I had talent and you didn’t. Sucks, but that’s life.
But you clawed your way up. Closed that gap with sheer effort. You got here too. And I respect that. Even just a minute ago, you dodged Red Claw Code barehanded. No mana. Just your body.
So I’ll give you a chance. You’ll thank me for it, partner.”
“Don’t call me ‘partner,’ you disgusting traitor.”
“Ouch. So cold.
But don’t be like that—you’re gonna end up dying. Like all the rest of them worthless weaklings. Like a dog. I’ve seen enough to know.
I’ve fought a lot of Demons, and frankly, I’m a genius.
Mana: 100 points. Talent: 100 points. Effort: 100 points. That’s me. Look where I am.
You? Mana: 0. Talent: 0. Effort: 120. Still not enough. Doesn’t add up. Too bad.”
“Old news. I already settled that score.”
“Then let me correct your math. For your own good.
You’re smart. You get it. No matter how much Kung Fu you cram in, it’s pointless. Even holding that P90 looks dumb. Your bullets can’t even scratch me.
You’re just running from the truth.”
“Sure. I can’t enchant my ammo. Can’t break through a Demon’s armor. But I can shoot through a normal fucker just fine.”
“If I were still normal.”
No. No way.
“You fight me, you lose. Guaranteed. And it sucks that this—this is where all your serious living got you.
One last time, Ikaku. Become a Demon worshipper. There’s no future for you as an Exorcist. You’re worse off than I ever was.”
I lower the barrel of my gun. Slowly.
“How does that help me survive?”
“You get protection. From a powerful Demon, or a contract. That shields you from the dangers of Soul Brands. How’s that for a good deal?”
“I see. Tempting offer. Life would be easier without having to fight Demons.”
I nod three times.
Then bring the barrel back up, masked by Void—and pull the trigger.
Mercury rounds slam into his chest like a hammer from God.