Chapter 4: Echoes of Fire

  Ranma moved across the rooftops of Tokyo, his body flowing through each jump like second nature. The morning sun beat down on him, a lingering humidity clinging to him as he moved. The city stretched beneath him, sunlight glinting off glass-paneled skyscrapers, casting sharp reflections across the streets below.

  The hum of morning traffic wove through the air, a steady undercurrent to the rhythmic thump of his landings against concrete and steel. The wind cut against his face, the rush of movement sharpening his focus. His mind, however, refused to settle.

  The Nerima he knew wasn’t there. changed, not rebuilt—just different.

  He had double-checked, triple-checked. What should have been familiar streets were something else entirely. He landed on the edge of a glass-panel rooftop, his boots skidding slightly against the smooth surface. The skyline stretched beneath him, bright with movement, neon displays shifting even against the daylight.

  The sharp scent of ozone clung to the air, mingling with the faint, ever-present tang of asphalt and heated metal. ‘Too modern. Too clean. Too much Tokyo, not enough home.’ It didn’t sit right.

  Ranma exhaled, eyes narrowing as he pushed off again, sailing over an alleyway. ‘Alright… think. No Furinkan, no Tendo Dojo, no Ucchan’s.’

  ‘Hell, even the Cat Café was missing.’ He wasn’t just in the wrong part of town. He wasn’t in his Tokyo.

  He landed lightly, rolling with the impact before springing forward. The skyline stretched around him, vast and unrelenting, a neon sprawl that pulsed with artificial life. Rooftops shimmered under the morning light, their surfaces gleaming with residual moisture from the lingering humidity.

  A faint vibration ran beneath his feet—Tokyo’s pulse, a tremor running through steel and concrete. The distant buzz of voices filtered up from the streets, distant and detached, swallowed by the ever-present hum of a city that never stopped moving.

  The tech level was off. Sleek, digital billboards flickered against the daylight; way too advanced for the Tokyo he knew. ‘So, either I hit my head really hard, or…’

  His stomach tightened. 'I got thrown through time. Again.'

  Ranma adjusted mid-air, twisting before his next landing. The idea made sense—the last time he’d ended up bouncing through time, it was thanks to that damn Nanban Mirror. This wasn’t any weirder than that. Probably.

  He landed, boots skidding against a steel rooftop, momentum carrying him into a sprint. 'So, how far ahead am I? A few years? Decades?' The problem was, he had no way to tell. No old landmarks, no familiar faces, just a city that moved on like he had never been in it.

  He vaulted a railing, flipping onto the next building with barely a thought. His breathing stayed even, his body running on trained precision, but his mind was working fast. 'Alright. If it’s time travel, there has to be a way back. And if there’s a way back, it starts where I landed.'

  His eyes locked onto his next jump, a longer one across a busy street. Below, cars flowed through the streets, their polished surfaces catching the sun, flashes of red and white flickering in the morning glare. the distant honking of horns blending into the static of the city. Heat shimmered off the pavement, distorting the air above the rooftops before dissolving into the midday glare.

  The air shifted as he pushed off, the weightless moment mid-jump stretching just long enough for the rush of wind to steal his breath before he landed again, the sharp scrape of boot against concrete grounding him back into the moment. He pushed off, sailing through open air, letting the realization settle.

  ‘Shinjuku. The Rift. Whatever the hell that thing was—that’s my only lead.’ His jaw tightened slightly, eyes scanning the skyline as his muscles coiled, ready to move.

  He landed hard, knees bending to absorb the impact before he straightened. He wasn’t gonna get answers standing around. Whatever had pulled him here, he’d find it.

  His breath steadied, his muscles coiling, his body moving before thought could catch up. Push, leap, twist, land. The moment stretched between each bound, a fraction of weightlessness before impact, before motion swallowed hesitation whole. His boots scraped against metal, the vibration humming through his bones before momentum carried him forward again. No pause. No doubt. Just movement.

  ‘If there’s a way back, I’m finding it. No way I’m getting stuck here.’ Tension coiling in his muscles as the thought settled deep.

  Another jump. A sharper turn. His balance dipped, corrected. The thrill of it hummed in his pulse, the split-second edge between risk and certainty. His footing barely touched before the next bound pulled him forward.

  The city blurred past like a challenge thrown at his feet. He smirked. The world had changed, but he was still Ranma Saotome. And whatever had thrown him into this mess? It was going to regret it.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Ranma touched down on the rooftop without a sound, his movements effortless, instinctual. As his weight settled, his senses sharpened, tension coiling in his frame like a drawn bowstring.

  Below, the battlefield lay in ruins, the ground scarred and broken beneath the weight of the fight. Smoke curled in slow, lazy tendrils, a lingering reminder of the destruction that had unfolded here. The skeletal remains of the workshop stood among charred wreckage, its walls collapsed inward, stone and steel twisted from the heat.

  The air still carried the acrid scent of scorched metal and burning wood, though the worst of the fires had died out. Heat clung to the space, but it felt different now—no longer wild and consuming, but something subdued.

  Figures moved through the ruins, their dark uniforms cutting stark silhouettes against the wreckage. They worked in pairs, cataloging damage, scanning the scorched earth for something unseen. Some knelt near the collapsed sections of stone, others moved methodically, examining the remnants of the fight with quiet efficiency.

  The rubble where Rekka had fallen had been disturbed, the collapsed stone now shifted and uneven. They had pulled him out. Ranma’s gaze narrowed slightly. No body, no immediate sign of how bad off Rekka was—just fresh gaps where debris had been moved and the faintest smears of blood against fractured stone.

  ‘Damn, they got a whole squad out for this.’ Ranma’s gaze flicked across the scene, taking in the disciplined movements, the tension in the air.

  He exhaled slowly, scanning the scene. They weren’t just looking at the damage. They were reading it. ‘What the hell did I even walk into?’

  Didn’t matter. He wasn’t here for them.

  Ranma’s gaze shifted past the figures below, dismissing them as an afterthought. Whatever they were looking for, it wasn’t his problem. He was here for one reason—to find the Rift. Once he confirmed what he needed, he’d be gone.

  He let his Ki stretch outward, feeling the battlefield like ripples spreading through still water. In a fight, Ki let him anticipate motion before it happened, a rhythm of energy shifts woven into movement. But here, the rhythm was broken. There was no flow, no give-and-take—just remnants of something unnatural, disjointed and erratic, clinging to the air like an afterimage that refused to fade.

  Sight caught only the immediate—dust shifting, embers flickering in the wreckage. But Ki moved deeper, tracing the residual warmth of footsteps, the restless energy clinging to the ruins. This wasn’t just lingering heat. It pulsed—unsettled, unnatural.

  Every movement left an impression—shifting heat signatures, energy fragments that refused to dissipate. The Fire Soldiers’ steps broke those ripples in predictable patterns, allowing him to map out movement.

  The energy traces here were distinct, unstable—fluctuating wildly, as if the energy burned too hot to fully settle. Unlike Ki, which flowed in harmony with the body, this power lashed outward, twisting in unpredictable currents.

  It didn’t move with the natural balance of life—it consumed, shaped, and then faded, leaving behind a lingering presence of something unnatural. It felt hollow, like an echo of energy that had been forced into existence rather than born from it. The remnants of flame energy clung to the ruins like ghostly fingers, flickering at the edges of his Ki sense, erratic and restless, as if the fire had never fully let go of what it had touched.

  Ranma’s gaze swept over the scene, tracking the movements below. Most of the firefighters moved with coordinated purpose, their efforts spread across the wreckage—scanning, clearing debris, documenting damage. But not all of them.

  Four figures stood apart, distinct before he even focused on them. Their attention was sharp, lingering in ways that felt deliberate. They weren’t just working. They were looking for something.

  An older man with gray hair stood near a collapsed structure, his presence an unmoving anchor in the chaos, while Tamaki remained beside him, her twin tails flicking slightly as she squared her shoulders, stiff, hands clenched at her sides. Her weight shifted slightly, as if resisting the urge to step back, her gaze flicking downward before forcing itself forward again. The tension in her stance betrayed an unease she refused to voice.

  Ranma had seen people like that before—men who didn’t flinch, didn’t rattle. But this wasn’t just composure. It was something deeper.

  His Ki stretched outward, mapping the battlefield in layers. Most people carried tension, even when they didn’t know it. Tiny shifts in weight, micro-adjustments in their stance—subtle tells that exposed their instincts. But the older man? Nothing. No weight shifts, no uncertainty, just absolute stillness.

  'That’s not normal.’ Ranma thought. ‘Power should settle, return to balance. This wasn’t just stillness—it was something else, something that didn’t shift the way energy should.'

  Even the best fighters had a pulse, a rhythm to their energy. A trained stance still had movement—like the steady rise and fall of breath. The gray-haired man? He didn’t move. The chaos shifted—not him. Like gravity bending space, everything adjusted around his stillness.

  'Is he controlling it, or does it just obey him?' The thought lingered, unsettling in a way he couldn’t quite shake.

  His gaze shifted, drawn to the movement beside him. Tamaki stood stiff, her weight unsettled, tension leaking through the smallest shifts in her stance.

  Tamaki’s energy flickered, not just in fire, but in the way she held herself—like she was bracing for something even when she wasn’t moving. Ranma recognized that stance. Fighters who weren’t sure if they were supposed to be in the ring.

  His Ki reached outward, tracing the subtle fluctuations around her. Normally, energy followed a natural rhythm, a steady pulse that synced with a person’s breath, their intent, their movement. But hers? It faltered, like two mismatched signals trying to align but never quite connecting.

  Her fire didn’t settle within her—it pulsed erratically, out of step with her stance. That disconnect, that hesitation—her body knew something was off, even if her mind hadn’t caught up yet. Energy should settle, even when at rest. But hers? It stuttered, hesitated, like it was second-guessing itself.

  'She’s reacting before she even knows why,' he realized, the disconnect obvious now.

  She squared her shoulders, but her weight wasn’t evenly distributed. A fraction of a shift, just enough to lean away from her own presence. It wasn’t much—but to Ranma, it was obvious. Her own fire didn’t move the way she wanted it to.

  He knew the feeling—when instinct caught something the mind hadn't processed yet. 'Does she feel it too? Or is this normal for her?'

  Even Rekka had been more in sync with his flames—dangerously so. But this? It was like her energy and her body weren’t speaking the same language.

  Ranma’s gaze shifted past her. The battlefield still hummed with fading heat, embers flickering at the edges of his vision. And yet, not everyone here struggled with control.

  A man with sharp features and an almost lazy stance stood near a cluster of burned wreckage, headphones hanging loosely around his neck, his breath visible in the cooling air as he seemed to drain heat from the remnants, analyzing the battlefield.

  At first glance, he looked relaxed. Unbothered. But Ranma wasn’t fooled. His Ki stretched toward him, feeling out the space around him—cold. That was the first thing he noticed. Not just the air around him, but the way heat pulled toward him, drawn in like water circling a drain.

  Fire faded, sure, but it shouldn’t be collected. This wasn’t suppression—it was absorption. That wasn’t how energy worked, not in any way Ranma understood. Heat dispersed, it didn’t pool like this, and even Ki followed a cycle—flowing through the body, dispersing naturally when spent. But this? It was being pulled in, controlled, held in place like it was being redirected instead of fading on its own.

  And the way he stood—he wasn’t just observing. He was dissecting everything. Every movement, every trace of energy, breaking it down before he ever said a word. ‘He’s not just looking—he’s piecing it together, step by step.'

  Ranma tilted his head slightly. If the other guy was unraveling the scene in his head, the second was shaping it with his presence.

  A stern-faced officer, his distinct hat casting a sharp shadow over his face, blending with the blond hair that veiled his seemingly closed eyes, directed Fire Soldiers, issuing clipped commands as they cataloged structural damage and collected data.

  This one held himself differently—there was weight behind his stance, the kind that made people instinctively listen. It wasn’t just his authority. It was control.

  Most people pushed their presence outward, forcing it into the space around them. But this guy? His fire didn’t push—it pulled back, disciplined, contained. 'That’s experience,' Ranma noted, recognizing the steadiness that only came from battle-tested control.

  Ranma knew that kind of presence. Fighters who had gone through hell and come out the other side knowing exactly where they stood. His energy didn’t waver, didn’t lash out—it just existed, completely under his command.

  'He’s fought against his own power before. And he won.' That made him dangerous. Not because of raw strength—but because he knew exactly what he was capable of.

  He’d fought people who could harness energy in ways he didn’t fully understand. Even when their power dwarfed his, there were rules. Cycles. Ki followed its own logic, its own flow. This didn’t follow any of them.

  His Ki reached out, feeling along the battlefield’s scars. Even old fights left echoes—residual energy that settled into the world before vanishing. But this wasn’t settling. It pulsed, flickered at the edges of his senses like it was waiting.

  ‘Like it’s not finished,’ the realization settled in his gut.

  That wasn’t how power worked. If it wasn’t being used, it should have dissipated, returned to balance. But the fire that had burned through this place—it still had something left to say.

  Ranma exhaled slowly. This wasn’t like any battlefield he’d ever stood on before. It didn’t just carry the weight of destruction. It carried something else, something unresolved.

  And despite all that—nothing remained where the Rift had been.

  Nothing. No warped energy, no lingering pull, not even a disruption where space should have bent. It was like it had never been here at all. His fingers curled slightly. It should have left something. A tear, a scar, some kind of disturbance. Anything. But there was nothing, and that meant he had nothing. No answers. No way back.

  “Damn it.” He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as his gaze shifted, taking in the scene below.

  His Ki flickered, unfocused for a moment, like a light struggling to catch in the dark. He almost dismissed it—just residual heat, the wreckage settling. But then, there it was again.

  A shift, a break in the stillness. It wasn’t just the weight of collapsed stone or the heat seeping from the wreckage. It pulsed—subtle, but insistent. Like a heartbeat buried under layers of rubble, weak but steady, waiting to be found. The deeper he concentrated, the more distinct it became, a presence just out of reach, waiting.

  ‘It can’t be.’ His breath hitched slightly, the possibility gnawing at the edge of his thoughts.

  His fingers curled against the rooftop, tension coiling in his muscles. Every instinct screamed—move. Close the distance and confirm what he already knew in his gut.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  But one misstep, one wrong move, and he’d have a dozen firefighters swarming him before he could reach the ruins. It wasn’t just about being seen—it was about what came next. Questions, containment, a fight he didn’t want to start.

  The weight of unfamiliar eyes pressed against the ruins below. He stilled his breath, letting the rooftop heat settle under his hands.

  The firefighters moved in shifting patterns, never lingering too long in one place. Pairs swept through the wreckage, scanning scorch marks, overturning debris. Their rhythm was unpredictable, making it harder to time a clean approach.

  Ranma’s eyes flicked between them, mapping their rhythms, anticipating the gaps that would allow him to move unseen.

  He controlled his breathing, letting the Umisenken settle over him, his presence vanishing like a whisper in the wind. The air still carried the acrid scent of scorched metal and lingering smoke, the heat from the fires dissipating but not fully gone. A faint breeze cut through the wreckage, cool against his skin, but it did little to chase away the heavy warmth still radiating from the ruins.

  ‘I need to get down there.’ The thought settled heavy in his mind—not just a decision, but the only move left.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  He timed his descent with a lull in their voices and the sound of shifting debris, making sure no one noticed his presence. He slid down a broken slab of concrete, letting gravity carry him before landing lightly, his knees bending to absorb the impact.

  Ranma moved like a shadow, slipping effortlessly between the wreckage, his every step measured and precise. The ruined landscape stretched before him, jagged structures jutting out like broken ribs, but he flowed through them with practiced ease.

  He wasn’t simply blending in—he was part of the destruction itself, his presence absorbed by the ruins like a specter moving through forgotten wreckage.

  Even with the Umisenken suppressing his presence, he wasn’t invisible to technology—only human senses. He kept his body temperature in check, subtly adjusting his heat output to blend with the cooling debris. Instead of keeping it steady, he let the heat bleed in uneven bursts, mimicking the way metal cooled naturally. Too precise, and it would stand out—nature wasn’t perfect, and neither was this.

  Ranma became part of the silence, blending into the ruins, his Ki threading through the shifting landscape. He could feel the pulse of active scans slicing through the wreckage—subtle, artificial bursts, too precise to blend with the lingering warmth of the ruins. Unlike natural heat, these signals came in rhythmic intervals, predictable enough for him to time his movements between them.

  His breath was steady, his weight shifting with absolute precision. The world around him became a map of opportunities—cracks in the terrain, gaps in movement, spaces where silence already existed. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, recalibrating as a gust of wind sent loose ash spiraling through the air.

  A firefighter shifted nearby, adjusting a scanning device, momentarily blocking the view of another. "Huo Yan Li, check the impact radius. See how the patterns concentrate and concentrate on the patterns?"

  The scanning device hummed, its cycle near completion, emitting a faint vibration that pulsed through the air. "I see it, Karim," another voice responded, smoother, measured. " The destruction isn’t random—it’s precise. Something shaped this, but it wasn’t fire. Tamaki’s report wasn’t wrong—this wasn’t reckless fire usage. The heat patterns stop too suddenly. It’s like the flames collapsed mid-burn. The pattern suggests intent, not collateral burn-off."

  Karim Flam adjusted his scanning device, his voice sharp. "The damage—it’s too controlled. That’s not normal. If it had been smothered, we’d see charring, but there’s nothing.

  Huo Yan Li exhaled, fingers tracing the edge of a collapsed beam. His voice was slower, more thoughtful. "The way this place fell apart… it wasn’t fire. It’s too clean, too deliberate. Steel cut instead of melting. If it were an explosion, we’d see warping—not these sheer breaks. What kind of force does this?"

  Karim nodded, still scanning, muttering to himself in frustration. "It’s absurd. Even if he wasn’t using fire, Tamaki reported he cut through Rekka’s flames. How? Not even a Second Gen could extinguish a flame this fast without replacing it with something else. Nothing cuts fire."

  Huo Yan Li frowned, his usual easy demeanor slightly strained. "Maybe it wasn’t the flames he was cutting. Maybe he was cutting the air itself, disrupting the heat."

  Karim scoffed, shaking his head. "That would require ridiculous speed and control. No untrained civilian controls speed like that. Even Second Gens need a source of heat to manipulate, and Third Gens produce their own fire. You’re suggesting he cut heat itself out of the air?

  Ranma narrowed his eyes. That explained a lot. Second Gens? Third Gens? So, they have categories for this stuff. But that doesn’t explain how their fire actually works—what the hell are they tapping into?

  The way Rekka’s flames had surged, the way the battlefield still hummed with something unnatural…

  This wasn’t just them using fire. It was pushing back, feeding into itself. Ranma exhaled slowly, keeping his Ki compressed, his senses threading through the air. ‘Ki didn’t work like that. Energy was energy. You built it, refined it, shaped it. But these guys weren’t pulling from themselves—not completely.’

  Huo Yan Li sighed, crossing his arms. "I don’t know what I’m telling you. But look at the evidence. No burns, no fuel, no trace of residual heat. It’s like something erased the fire completely."

  Karim clicked his tongue, irritation leaking into his voice. "This guy? No flames, no fire. But whatever he did, it worked. If he’s not a Second or Third Gen… what the hell is he?"

  Ranma smirked. ‘This isn’t complicated. It’s the Kijin Raishū Dan—force the air apart fast enough, and you make a vacuum sharp enough to cut. Fire needs oxygen. No air, no flames.’

  Ranma stilled for the barest moment; his breath steady as he listened. The firefighters weren’t just scanning—they were reading the battlefield, mapping destruction the way a fighter analyzed an opponent. Their movements were precise, deliberate. Too structured.

  Ranma wasn’t used to opponents working like this—not with this level of discipline. He had to be careful. They weren’t just looking for damage; they were looking for answers.

  He moved in perfect sync with their cycles, slipping between unseen gaps in their detection range. But as their conversation continued, he realized he had no immediate path forward without risking exposure. Any step now could betray him, forcing him to pause and wait for an opening.

  But Karim’s presence complicated everything—where heat should have dissipated naturally, unnatural pockets of chill disrupted the temperature flow, leaving distortions in the wreckage. If Karim detected an anomaly, he might investigate.

  Huo Yan Li turned toward where Rekka had fallen, sighing as he pressed his palms together in a brief prayer. "The mother and children confirmed Tamaki’s report. This stranger… Ranma Saotome. He saved them. No hesitation."

  Karim gritted his teeth slightly, irritation leaking into his tone. "Right. And he also tore through Rekka like it was effortless."

  Huo was quiet for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhaled sharply, his voice tight. “Rekka was one of us. A Fire Soldier. We trained together. Fought together. And then… he did this."

  Karim’s voice was flat, edged with disgust. “This is what he calls faith? Burning children?"

  Huo Yan Li’s expression hardened, his jaw tight. "Because he wasn’t the man, we thought he was. He was a damn murderer." He exhaled sharply, arms crossing as he glanced toward the collapsed structure. "I don’t need to make sense of it, Karim. He did this. He chose this. And I’ll never understand how."

  Karim frowned, voice quieter, eyes narrowing as he adjusted his scanning device again. "Doesn’t mean we should stop questioning. There are too many gaps in this story."

  A slight crunch of shifting rubble made Ranma still completely, his breath steadying as he pressed himself lower against the debris.

  Huo Yan Li glanced toward the transport vehicles where Rekka had been taken, his voice unreadable. "Have you heard anything yet? About Rekka?"

  Karim shook his head, jaw tightening. "No. They pulled him out, but that’s all I know. I don’t even know if he’s still breathing."

  Huo Yan Li exhaled; his voice laced with disgust. "If he is, he’s got more to answer for than just his sins."

  ‘They’re not wrong,’ Ranma admitted. Rekka hadn’t just stepped out of line—he’d set fire to it and danced on the ashes.

  His gaze flicked toward Karim. ‘The guy still wants to understand. Why Rekka did it. How someone standing beside him could have been walking another path the whole time.’ But the other one—Hou Yan Li—he wasn’t looking for answers. He already had them. Rekka had burned people. That was enough.

  Silence stretched between them briefly. Ranma, hidden within the wreckage, kept still, sensing the weight behind their words. ‘Fire Soldier. They say it like it means something. Not just a job—something more. A role? A title? Like they were called to it.’

  Ranma exhaled slowly, Ki settling low in his core. ‘Neat little labels. Duty. Betrayal. Faith. Maybe it made things easier to wrap up that way.’ But the battlefield didn’t deal in easy answers. He knew that better than anyone.

  Heat still lingered in the air, seeping through the wreckage, curling against his skin. ‘And they talk about fire like it’s theirs. Like it’s something they control. But I can still feel it. Lingering, clinging. It doesn’t want to let go. It’s waiting.’

  His breath came slow and steady. ‘But nothing about this fire is simple.’

  Karim shook himself slightly, shifting topics, his voice still tight but moving forward. "And the other one? The kid from Company 8?"

  Huo Yan Li nodded, speaking matter-of-factly. "Shinra Kusakabe. He’s alive, but he suffered serious damage. They moved him to Captain Huang at Company 6."

  Karim tucked his hands into his coat pockets, grim. "Kid gets knocked out of one fight and wakes up in another. It never ends for him, does it?"

  He froze, waiting for a break in their patrol. The debris was unstable—one misstep, and it would betray him. When a loose piece of rubble shifted underfoot, he stilled instantly, weight redistributing before the sound could carry.

  Huo Yan Li sighed, shifting his stance as if finalizing his thoughts. "We should report this directly to Captain Burns. He needs to hear our assessment first-hand."

  Karim grunted in agreement, adjusting his coat as he turned to leave. "Yeah. Let’s move."

  The faint crunch of debris underfoot marked their departure. Ranma remained still, senses sharp. They weren’t his concern anymore—but what was buried beneath the rubble still was. Time was slipping away, and he had no choice but to follow.

  Ranma stayed low, tracking their movements through the wreckage. Karim and Huo Yan Li weren’t searching anymore—they were moving. Their boots crunched over loose debris as they made their way toward the grey haired man and Tamaki.

  He adjusted his weight, syncing his steps with the shifting terrain to avoid detection. The unstable ground made it impossible to move recklessly. The moment they passed the last unstable section, he followed—silent, deliberate, keeping just outside their range of awareness.

  A single misstep, and they'd be on him. He could feel the tension in his muscles, his instincts screaming at him to keep moving but knowing patience was key.

  The Fire Soldiers weren’t just scanning—they were reading the battlefield. And if he wasn’t careful, they’d find more than just wreckage.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  The wind cut through the ruins, carrying the distant murmur of Fire Soldiers moving deeper into the wreckage. Ranma stayed low, tracking the shifting patrol routes while keeping his focus on Karim and Huo Yan Li. The faint crunch of boots against rubble mixed with the distant hum of scanning devices, each sound threading through the heavy air like a warning. They weren’t scanning anymore—they were heading toward their superior.

  As they approached, the air around them seemed to settle, the weight of unspoken tension shifting toward the grey-haired man standing beside Tamaki. The way the others adjusted their stances, the way their steps slowed just slightly—it was instinctual. A presence like his didn’t demand attention. It commanded it.

  Ranma let his Ki compress further, blending into the stillness of the ruins as Karim and Huo Yan Li came to a stop. He waited. The battlefield wasn’t done speaking yet.

  Burns turned slightly, his voice cutting through the settling dust. "Do you understand what happened here, Kotatsu?"

  Ranma stayed still, listening. This guy didn’t waste words. He didn’t sound angry, just… certain. The kind of certainty that came from experience. But certainty could be dangerous too. He’d seen people follow the wrong leader with that same blind conviction.

  Tamaki tensed but kept her voice steady. “I know I messed up, Captain. But I didn’t know—”

  He cut her off, his voice calm but firm. “Not knowing isn’t an excuse. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t doubt him. You let your trust blind you, and because of that, a mother and her children almost died.”

  Tamaki clenched her fists, looking down. Shame coiled in her chest, hot and suffocating. She should have seen it—should have questioned him—but she didn’t. She hated that he was right.

  “I trusted him… He was my superior. He was supposed to be one of us,” Tamaki said quietly.

  Burns' voice softened, but he remained unyielding. “And now you know better. Trust is earned, not given blindly. If you’re going to be a Fire Soldier, you need to see beyond rank and expectation.”

  Ranma let out a quiet breath, keeping his focus steady. Yeah. He knew that lesson. Had learned it the hard way, over and over. Didn’t mean people ever stopped making the same mistake.

  His gaze sharpened, eyes smoldering like banked embers. “And what does that mean, Kotatsu? What does it mean to be a Fire Soldier?”

  Tamaki’s jaw tightened. She wanted to argue, to push back—but the words wouldn’t come. ”To… protect people?” The hesitation sat heavy in her throat.

  He shook his head slightly. “Protection is a duty, not a purpose. Our purpose is to guide souls to rest. To be the line between the living and the burned. We are the ones who carry out that burden, who ensure that no one else has to.”

  Tamaki looked away. She knew all of this, but hearing it now, after what happened, it felt different—like it carried more weight.

  His voice remained steady, but there was something heavier in it now. “A Fire Soldier must always seek the truth. Not just in battle, but in everything. You didn’t. You let faith take the place of reason, and it nearly cost lives.”

  Tamaki’s hands clenched at her sides. She wanted to argue, but she knew there was nothing she could say.

  After a beat, his voice shifted. “You’re suspended from Company 1 until further notice.”

  Didn’t expect that. Not a slap on the wrist, not an endless lecture—just gone. For now, at least. No room for second chances? Or was this his way of giving her one? Ranma had seen that kind of judgment before. Sometimes it was punishment. Sometimes it was a test. Either way, it left you standing at a crossroads with no way back—only forward.

  Tamaki’s breath caught. She blinked, staring at him in shock, her hands clenching at her sides. “What?” Her voice barely registered, caught between disbelief and something she couldn’t name.

  Burns remained calm, matter-of-fact. “You need time to understand what it means to be a Fire Soldier. I won’t have someone in my company who doesn’t.” Tamaki’s heart pounded. She wanted to protest—wanted to tell him she did understand, that she knew what she did wrong. But the words wouldn’t come.

  “Company 8 has agreed to take you in,” Burns continued.

  That threw her off. She expected punishment—maybe even dismissal. But this…? “You’re… sending me away?” Tamaki struggled to process.

  He shook his head. “No. I’m giving you an opportunity.”

  Tamaki didn’t know what to say. Her emotions were too tangled. She looked down, silent.

  Burns spoke quietly but with weight. “If you’re going to stay in this job, Kotatsu, you need to decide whether you want to be carried or stand on your own.” He didn’t wait for a response. He turned, walking away, leaving Tamaki to process everything.

  Tamaki exhaled shakily, her gaze fixed on the ground, thoughts racing. Karim and Huo exchanged a glance before silently following Burns. She hesitated, then forced herself to move, falling into step behind them.

  Not far from them, hidden within the ruins, Ranma remained motionless, breath steady as he listened, letting their conversation settle before making his next move.

  As Burns walked, his gaze stayed forward, his expression unreadable. His fingers flexed once at his side—brief, absent, almost idle. A motion too small to draw attention, too subtle to mean anything at all. Without breaking stride, he moved forward, his presence as steady as ever.

  This place wasn’t his problem. This wasn’t his fight. But something about it—about them—kept him watching. Didn’t matter. The battlefield still had something left to say. And he had his own answers to find.

  Ranma's focus sharpened. The Ki signature was still there, buried, pulsing faintly beneath the weight of stone and steel—he had to move fast.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  The wind moved through the ruins, carrying with it the settling dust and heat that still clung to the fractured stone. The battlefield had begun to cool, but the weight of the destruction remained. Captain Burns turned, taking in the aftermath without reaction. His gaze moved slowly, reading the way the wreckage had settled, the way the air still held remnants of something unfinished.

  “Karim, Huo Yan Li,” he said, his voice level. “Expand the search pattern. There’s more here than we’re seeing.”

  Karim adjusted his coat, exhaling through his nose before nodding. “Understood.”

  Huo Yan Li glanced at the collapsed structures, his breath measured as he traced the damage with his eyes. “Any specific area of concern, sir?”

  Burns let the question settle, his gaze shifting to where the wreckage pressed unevenly against the fractured ground. He considered the way the destruction had spread, how certain areas bore signs of controlled collapse rather than random devastation. There was intent behind the damage, something deliberate hidden within the chaos.

  “Check the debris line,” he said. “If there’s structural instability, I want it marked.”

  Huo nodded, stepping toward the wreckage. The Fire Soldiers around him adjusted their positions as they moved, their footing careful over uneven terrain. They scanned, assessed, and cataloged. Their movements expanded outward, spreading into a natural search pattern that avoided overlap.

  Burns turned slightly. “Karim. Get me a temperature read on the outer perimeter.”

  Karim frowned, adjusting the device in his hands. “The heat’s mostly dispersed, but I’ll run it again.”

  “Not the heat,” Burns said. “Check the cold zones.”

  Karim’s fingers paused briefly over the controls, his brow furrowing for the briefest moment. He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself before pressing forward. Whatever the reason, Burns had a purpose, and questioning it wasn’t an option. His device flickered as he adjusted the scan, shifting the readings to highlight thermal variance.

  Burns then glanced toward Tamaki, who stood tense, silent, her hands clenched at her sides. A tightness settled in her chest, the weight of unspoken judgment pressing down on her. She wanted to speak, to prove she still had a place here, but the words wouldn't come. The moment stretched, and in the end, she remained motionless, forced to swallow the truth of her dismissal.

  Burns shifted slightly, his expression unreadable. "Kotatsu, stay here. If you see anything unusual, don’t act—report it first."

  The words settled between them, firm but leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t dismissing her entirely—he was managing her, keeping her within sight but out of the way.

  The soldiers carried on, their work unfolding with steady precision. Each movement was deliberate, every action part of a well-rehearsed routine. Every task had purpose. Every adjustment followed a rhythm they didn’t need to question. The debris shifted under careful hands, tested for stability before being marked and moved.

  Burns stepped forward, his posture unchanged. The air settled.

  “Move,” he said.

  The Fire Soldiers followed.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Ranma exhaled softly, letting the Umisenken fall away. The faint presence that had kept him hidden dispersed, his Ki settling back into his core. With his cover dropped, he placed a hand on the wreckage, Ki threading into the debris. He mapped out its weight distribution, feeling for key support points and identifying which pieces could be shifted without triggering a collapse.

  Instead of lifting a large section at once, he worked methodically, removing smaller pieces in sequence to maintain balance. He waited, ears tuned to the shifting sounds around him—Fire Force members moving debris, the low hum of scanning equipment.

  Each movement was timed to blend seamlessly into the background, aligning with the shifting rhythms of the Fire Force soldiers around him. He moved when they moved, letting their actions mask his own, careful to remain nothing more than a fleeting presence among the ruins. A slight shift in weight. A controlled burst of Ki. No wasted effort. No trace left behind.

  Ranma hesitated for a fraction of a second, gauging the weight of the final piece of debris. The metal was warped and brittle, its edges dusted with soot and flecks of charred wood. A faint breeze funneled through the wreckage, shifting loose fragments of stone with a whispering scrape, setting his nerves on edge. His muscles tensed, a faint strain running through his arms as he prepared to lift.

  The wreckage creaked in protest, a low, warning groan that made him pause. His breath stilled, his fingers flexing subtly as he recalibrated his grip. The tension curled in his chest, his muscles coiled tight, waiting—one wrong shift and the entire structure could collapse. The moment stretched, his heartbeat slow and deliberate, before he made his next move, guiding the weight with precise, measured control.

  He adjusted his grip, ensuring stability before applying precise pressure, guiding the weight as he lifted. If he miscalculated, the shift could cause a chain reaction—too much noise, too much movement. Holding his breath, he applied precise pressure, guiding the weight as he lifted. The rubble gave way, and Nyx stirred beneath it.

  She was trapped. But she wasn’t panicked. She had just been waiting. Her eyes met Ranma’s—calm, unreadable, as if she had expected him all along.

  He exhaled, shaking his head, mild irritation flickering beneath his focus. “Of course you were just sitting there.”

  Nyx stretched lazily, completely unbothered by the situation, letting out a slow blink before releasing a small yawn. With effortless grace, she hopped onto his shoulder, her tail curling lightly as if she had merely been indulging in a moment of stillness. To her, there had been no urgency, no threat, just a predictable outcome. Ranma exhaled through his nose, suppressing the irritation prickling beneath his skin.

  Of course, she hadn’t doubted he’d come for her. He had spent the last several minutes dismantling a potential disaster, and she had simply waited. Figures. The stark contrast between her nonchalance and the tension of the moment made Ranma’s eye twitch. He had risked everything, every movement calculated down to the breath, and she just sat there, waiting.

  Of course she did.

  A brief stillness hung in the air, tension coiling in Ranma’s chest as he exhaled slowly. Then—a voice behind him. “Find what you’re looking for, kid?”