Arthur’s boots hit the tallic floor with a muted thud, his landing deliberate, practised. His face carried an expression of cool bravado, though the faint glisten on his forehead betrayed him. His A.A.S. suit humd, flickering with faint lines of light as it calibrated.
"Arthur Kammabuki, thirty-eight per cent," the system’s voice rang out.
Arthur exhaled sharply. Thirty-eight, enough to spar with the rookies in his squad, maybe even best a commander on a good day. But standing across from him was her. Akio stretched lazily, rolling her shoulders with a casual smirk that made his skin crawl. She wasn’t even ard. No suit. No sword. Just herself.
Arthur tightened his grip on his hilt. His dream wasn’t simply to prove his worth; it was to claw his way into her inner circle, the elite guardians who shadowed Akio wherever she went. That thought alone made his pulse quicken, a cocktail of nerves and ambition boiling under his skin.
A woman stepped onto the spectators’ ledge between them, but higher up, to maintain a safe distance; she raised her arm. Arthur’s throat constricted. His stance tightened. He told himself he was ready, but his heartbeat hamred against his ribs like a war drum. Akio, on the other hand, looked like a predator amused by a trapped mouse.
The official’s hand dropped.
"Begin!"
Arthur didn’t rush. He circled, light on his feet, waiting for her to make the first move. But she didn’t move at all. Her stance was strange, tight, central, both fists drawn in. Narrow, efficient, with no obvious openings.
"Crap," Arthur muttered, sweat already trickling down his temple. "Where the hell do I even strike?"
Akio tilted her head, smirk widening. "Co on, boy! Let see how you fight!"
The taunt stung. Gritting his teeth, Arthur darted sideways, then sprang off the wall with explosive force. His sword arced overhead in a deadly downward slash, air hissing around the blade.
For a heartbeat, he thought he had her.
Then Akio shifted. A single step, a twist of her wrist, effortless. She avoided the slash without even facing him, her motion so fluid it felt choreographed. Arthur snarled, imdiately retracting his blade into its shorter form, slashing low at her legs for maximum speed.
The blade stopped dead.
Akio’s bare hand had caught it.
Arthur’s knuckles whitened around the hilt as he poured strength into the strike, but it was like trying to cut through steel. The blade didn’t even tremble. Akio’s smirk deepened, eyes glinting with cruel amusent.
"Damn... What beautiful technique you have, Miss Akio!" Arthur forced a laugh, hopping back as her counter-kick whistled past his chest. He wiped his brow, breathing raggedly.
"Ha!" Akio’s chuckle cut sharply through the air. "Your smooth talk won’t work on !"
Before he could react, she launched. One instant she was grounded, the next she was gone, vanished. Arthur’s stomach dropped. He jumped, activating his suit’s thrusters, soaring thirty feet into the air near the spectator’s ledge.
"Where?!" He spun wildly, scanning left, right, down. Nothing. His breath ca too fast, fear nipping at the edge of his composure.
Then.
"ABOVE YOU, ARTHUR!!!" Milly scread.
His head snapped upward just in ti to see her descending, boot first, like a teor tearing from the heavens.
Impact.
The kick detonated against his shoulder. Agony flared, and the world beca a blur of motion as his body was hurled downward. The floor shattered beneath him, smoke erupting into the air, swallowing the battlefield.
Spectators gasped, shielding their eyes from the shockwave.
"Holy, what the hell was that?" Kira muttered, eyes wide.
"Hahh... honestly, this was a mistake," Isak groaned, rubbing his forehead.
"How did she even jump that high?" Milly whispered.
Isak’s jaw tightened. "Because she’s Akio. Every muscle in her body is inhuman. Arms, legs... She’s built to break the laws of physics."
The smoke thinned.
Two silhouettes erged: Akio, standing calm as ever, and Arthur, slumped against her shoulder, barely upright. His legs shook as he tried to stand on his own.
Akio steadied him with ease. Her voice was soft, but cutting. "You’ve got potential, kid."
Arthur grimaced, pain thick in his tone, but still managed a crooked smile. "Hearing that from such a beauty... ans the world."
Akio actually chuckled. Isak and Milly swooped down, gently hauling Arthur off her. He gave Kira a half-delirious grin as they set him against the railing.
"Heh... Lasted more than a second..." He wheezed.
Milly exhaled, shaking her head. "Damn. Just one kick. Sure, Arthur’s a dolt, but he’s not weak. And she one-shots him like it’s so busted video ga with a cheater in the lobby."
Kira didn’t answer. Her gaze was locked on Akio, who stretched casually as though she’d just finished a morning jog. No sweat. No fatigue. Just composure.
It pissed Kira off. Not because Akio was strong, she already knew that, but because she was untouchable. And if Kira couldn’t reach that level, she couldn’t protect Kentaro.
She clenched her fists, ready to demand her chance.
"I wan-"
"Milly, you’re next. Get ready." Isak cut her off.
Kira’s eyes snapped wide. "Wait!"
But Milly was already hopping the railing, her face bright with excitent. She flashed Kira a grin and a thumbs-up. "If I last longer than Arthur, you’re buying lunch!"
Kira reached out, but Milly had already descended into the arena. With a sigh, Kira forced a smile. "Fine. But if you don’t your buying lunch, good luck..."
Akio grinned, rolling her shoulders, voice carrying across the arena. "I hope you’re better than him. Because at this rate? I won’t even be ward up by the ti we’re done."
Milly bowed, her tone respectful, almost reverent. "Thank you for sparring with , Supre Commander. Since I was young, I’ve admired you not just your strength, but your beauty."
For a mont, Akio’s eyes flickered. The respect caught her off guard. Then her smirk returned. "Very well. Since you honour like that, I’ll make sure not to hold back."
The air grew heavy as Akio dropped into her stance.
The second match was about to begin.
*
The streets of Oshawa were dim and restless that night, the lamps glowing a faint amber against cracked pavent. Four girls walked in a neat line, humming an odd little tune that didn’t belong to any chart, nor any culture known to the locals. The harmony was eerie, out of place, just like them.
The four Shaulas turned into the main street, where night-shift workers were hunched over steaming bowls of food, the air thick with the scent of fresh ran. Peppers, pork broth, and seared garlic, the aroma hit all four of them at once, stopping them in their tracks.
The smallest, with her pink hair bouncing lightly, was the first to halt. She pressed a hand to her stomach, eyes sparkling.
"Baby Shaula’s hungry. Can we eat now?" She asked in a voice so sweet it could rot teeth.
The others glanced at each other, lips curling with the sa mischievous grin.
"Why not?" said the Shaula on the right, her tone playfully indulgent.
The youngest’s eyes lit up, and in unison the others joined her cheer.
"LET’S EAT!"
The bell above the ran shop door jingled as they slipped inside. The place was cramped, barely six seats against a counter, but the sll inside was intoxicating, a warm punch of umami in the air. Behind the counter, the shop owner turned at the sound of footsteps. His practised smile froze mid-greeting.
Four identical faces stared back at him.
He chuckled nervously, forcing composure. "Ah... Please, girls, take a seat."
They slid into their stools with perfect synchronicity, like it was rehearsed. All four ordered the sa dish.
The man shook his head with a smile as he ladled broth into the first bowl. "You girls sisters?" He asked, more out of habit than curiosity.
The eldest Shaula, green headband tied neatly above her sharp eyes, bead. "Yep. Bestest of sisters."
He laughed lightly, setting down the steaming bowl in front of the youngest. "I see. Must get confusing, though hard for people to tell which one they’re talking to, eh?"
"Sotis!" another Shaula giggled.
But the eldest’s smile faltered. Her eyes narrowed at the bowl placed before her "younger" sister. Her stomach grumbled. She had expected, no, demanded to be served first. The faint twitch of her brow was the only warning before she abruptly pushed back her stool.
The others stilled, then smirked knowingly.
Without a word, she vaulted over the counter. The owner flinched. "H-hey! What are you-"
The question died with a swift chop to the back of his neck. His body crumpled, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. The eldest Shaula brushed her hands together as if it were nothing, then reached for the ladle and pots.
Within seconds, she was back over the counter, slurping noodles loudly, cheeks puffed out in satisfaction.
"It’s ti to eat!" she declared with a full mouth.
The other two who hadn’t been served stared wide-eyed for a mont before bursting into laughter and vaulting over the counter themselves. Soon, all four were eating happily, broth dripping down chins, leaving the unconscious shopkeeper sprawled behind them.
When their bowls were emptied, they rose as one. No paynt left. No apology given. But at the door, the eldest lingered, lips curling into a darker smile.
"Let’s play one more ga before we leave."
With a shimr of pink light, sothing materialised in her hand, an umbrella. Its canopy glittered dark blue, faint starlight glimring across the fabric as though it had been pulled straight from the night sky. This was no common trinket. This was her Sublimation.
Click. She opened it.
Instead of rain protection, the umbrella released a radiant glow that poured across the shop, spilling over the unconscious man and the counters he had once worked behind. The light was warm, suffocating, unnatural.
She closed it with a snap, satisfied.
"That should do it," she murmured, snickering as she caught up to her sisters outside.
The bell chid once more as the door shut behind them, leaving only silence and a shop now touched by Shaula’s whims.
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