Chapter 5: Checkmate in Flames

  The sterile hum of medical monitors filled the quiet space, punctuated only by the faint beeping of Shinra’s heart rate. The air still carried the acrid scent of burnt flesh, clinging stubbornly to the sterile confines of Company 6’s infirmary.

  Captain Kayoko Huang sat at the sink, sleeves rolled up, the cool light reflecting off her tan skin and the sharp angles of her face. Her short, dark hair, usually kept in a neat side part, was slightly disheveled, stray strands falling loose as she let cold water run over her open palm.

  The burn on her hand ached—a sharp, stinging reminder of what had just happened.

  She had healed more pyrokinetics than she could count, treated wounds caused by flame in every form, but never once had fire left a mark on her.

  Until now.

  She turned her hand over, watching droplets trail down reddened skin. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but it was wrong. Her Ignition Ability should have protected her, should have adapted to any heat she came into contact with, yet Shinra’s flame had burned through it like paper.

  She exhaled slowly, flexing her fingers as she pressed her palm against the cool steel of the sink. Residual heat? Overexposure? No... This wasn’t just heat.

  The memory flickered behind her eyes—Shinra’s body trembling, his flames surging beneath her hands as she worked to stabilize him. The moment she touched him, there was a pull, something deeper than just raw energy.

  A heat that wasn’t just fire, but something fundamental, something that felt like it existed beyond the room, beyond her, beyond anything she had ever encountered.

  She curled her fingers, feeling the dull pulse of pain in her palm. She wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but the sensation had been different. Fire was something she understood—it had weight, physics, a behavior she could predict.

  This burn? It wasn’t just seared skin. It felt like something had reached through her, like she’d touched the edge of something too vast to comprehend."

  Her gaze flicked toward Shinra’s unconscious form, the steady rise and fall of his chest betraying no sign of what had just happened. He looked like any other patient, another soldier too stubborn to die.

  But that burn on her hand told a different story.

  She reached for a roll of bandages, wrapping her hand with methodical precision, mind still turning over possibilities. If it had been anyone else, I’d call it an accident. But it wasn’t. It was him.

  As Huang finished the last of her bandage work, her thoughts drifted back to the flames she had touched, but the sudden sound of the door sliding open cut through the quiet.

  The door hissed open behind her, and she didn’t bother turning. "If you’re here to ask how he’s doing, he’s alive."

  A familiar voice cut through the quiet. "I was actually here to see if you were still alive. You don’t usually sit still this long."

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Hibana leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Her rose-colored eyes gleamed with their usual sharp amusement, framed by long, golden-pink hair that cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves.

  Dressed in her usual pristine white coat, she looked every bit the queen surveying her court, even in a dimly lit infirmary.

  Huang paused, her fingers tightening around the bandage roll as her mind ran through the possible consequences. She had seen enough in her time to know when something was worth investigating, but this... this felt different. And she wasn’t sure who to trust with this just yet.

  Huang huffed, securing the last wrap around her palm before flexing her fingers experimentally. "It’s nothing serious. Just residual heat."

  Hibana arched an eyebrow. "Residual heat doesn’t leave a burn like that."

  This wasn’t something she could ignore. But she’d seen enough to know that chasing answers too soon could be as dangerous as leaving them alone.

  Huang didn’t answer right away, instead pulling her sleeve back down over the bandage. "No, it doesn’t."

  For a moment, neither spoke. The weight of the unspoken sat heavy between them. Huang wasn’t in the business of jumping to conclusions, but she knew Hibana well enough to recognize when she saw something worth investigating.

  "Keep this quiet for now," Huang finally said, pushing off the counter and rolling her stiff shoulder. "I don’t like dealing in mysteries. When I have answers, I’ll let you know."

  Hibana tilted her head, watching her for a moment longer before smirking. "I’ll hold you to that. But don’t wait too long, Huang. You know how this city works—if something’s burning, someone’s bound to notice."

  Huang didn't respond right away. She met Hibana’s eyes, then cast one last glance at Shinra before turning to leave. Her mind churned. Something told her that when she finally found the answer—she wouldn’t like it.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  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?”

  Ranma spun on his heel. For a fraction of a second, his pigtail stood on end, a sharp, instinctive response—his short black hair whipping around with the motion, the unruly strands momentarily obscuring his eyes before settling back into place.

  His muscles tensing for an instant before smoothing into controlled ease.

  His eyes immediately drawn upward to the imposing figure behind him. Burns stood tall and muscular, his wavy grey hair catching the light, partially tied back into a neat ponytail.

  A bearded chin-strap framed his jaw, and his single visible green eye regarded Ranma steadily—the other concealed behind a stark black eye-patch.

  His protective outer jacket draped casually over his broad shoulders, revealing a crisp white collared shirt beneath. His arms were folded across his chest, dark trousers and sturdy boots grounding his formidable presence.

  He hadn’t heard a single step. Not a shift in weight, not a breath out of place. That wasn’t normal. His breath steadied, the flicker of surprise fading as his weight shifted effortlessly.

  His mind was already mapping the ground, cataloging spacing, bodies, and angles. The terrain was uneven, dust and broken stone shifting subtly beneath his feet. A faint, acrid scent of scorched debris lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic bite of rusted steel from fractured structures.

  Each breath carried the weight of the ruins, thick and unrelenting. Burns wasn’t just standing there—he had positioned himself exactly where he needed to be. Ranma's gaze tracked the subtle shifts in formation. The exits hadn’t just been blocked—they had vanished.

  Burns hadn’t moved aggressively; he had adjusted their positions with the ease of experience. No sudden movements, no overt signals—yet the men were exactly where they needed to be. It wasn’t an obvious trap—it was a battlefield shaped to corner him long before Ranma realized there was nowhere left to go.

  He stood between Ranma and his best escape route, weight balanced, his single eye unreadable.

  A short distance away, Karim stood quietly, his gaze idly scanning the ruins, expression unreadable. His short, straight dark-grey hair was brushed forward sharply, the sides neatly shaved. His small, dark eyes were narrowed slightly, a perpetual hint of irritation etched into his features. Beneath his sleeves, his fingers twitched slightly, brushing against the headphones draped loosely around his neck in a habitual motion.

  Huo Yan Li stood near Karim, his weight shifted slightly to one side, hands resting loosely at his sides. The brim of his dark hat cast shadows over his short, shaggy blond hair, which fell across his face, giving the illusion his eyes were gently closed.

  The slow, rhythmic motion of his breath suggested patience rather than distraction, but his attention lingered on the shifting Fire Soldiers.

  Even Tamaki had been positioned as an obstacle—and judging by the confused flicker in her eyes, she was just starting to piece it together.

  Ranma’s eyes narrowing slightly in quiet recognition. 'He moved his pieces without them even noticing. This guy’s good—really good.'

  He shifted subtly; the durable fabric of his jacket comfortably loose over his lean, muscular frame. 'Makes sense now, why I didn't see it coming. He doesn't think like a soldier; he thinks like a general.'

  A smirk crossed his lips as he tilted his chin slightly. "Dunno. You need a cat? I got an extra."

  Nyx flicked her tail, smacking him across the back of the head. Ranma blinked, then shot her a look.

  Burns’ brow lifted a fraction. His gaze shifted from Ranma to the cat, slow and deliberate. “That’s a new one.” His stance didn’t shift, “But I’m more interested in the one who pulled it out.”

  Ranma rolled his shoulder. "Yeah? Well, she wasn’t gonna dig herself out." He exhaled, brushing dust from his sleeve. “I bust my ass saving her, and she acts like I took too long."

  Burns finally exhaled, breaking his stillness as he glanced over the ruins. "Funny. Most people run from places like this. But you—you dig deeper."

  He made a quiet sound—something close to a hum, though his face remained unreadable. "And here I thought you were just looking for answers. Turns out, you’re the helpful type."

  Ranma didn’t blink, meeting Burns’ gaze without hesitation. "You’ve been watching me for a bit. Gotta ask—am I passing whatever test this is?"

  Burns’ brow lifted a fraction, his stance as steady as ever. "That depends. You planning to pass?"

  Ranma tilted his head, smirk still in place. "What happens if I fail? Or better yet—what does passing look like?"

  Burns’ gaze didn’t waver. "If you have to ask, you already know the answer.” He let that sit, his single eye steady. “But maybe you’re hoping I’ll say something different."

  Ranma arched a brow. "And what if I am? You gonna tell me what I wanna hear?" He let his hands slip casually into his pockets. "Cause it sounds like your way of saying that you already made up your mind."

  Burns made a sound—something close to a chuckle but gone as quick as it came. "You’re quick to turn things around." His gaze flicked to the ruins before settling back on Ranma. "So, tell me—what were you really doing out here?"

  Ranma shifted his weight, his posture easy but his eyes alert. "Funny. You already know what I was doing.” He let that sit for a moment before tilting his head. “So, what is it you really wanna ask?"

  Burns exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. "You’ve got a habit of answering questions with questions."

  Burns tilted his head slightly, eye steady. "You’ve got instincts. I see that much."

  "What I don’t see is why you’re here in the first place." His gaze flicked to Nyx before returning to Ranma. "So, tell me—was she what you were after, or just what you found?"

  Ranma let out a slow breath, giving Nyx a glance before locking eyes with Burns. "Wasn’t looking for anything."

  He held Burns' gaze. "But when I find something worth pulling out..." He shifted slightly. “I don’t leave it buried."

  Nyx flicked her ears, eyes narrowing slightly. After a pause, she lightly bumped her head against his jaw, tail curling around his neck.

  Burns tilted his head slightly, something unreadable in his eye. "Interesting philosophy." He let the words settle before his gaze drifted over the surrounding soldiers. "Shame you picked the wrong place to test it."

  Burns brought two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp, shrill whistle that cut through the ruins like an alarm, snapping every Fire Soldier to attention.

  Karim's head snapped toward the sound, his stance shifting instantly as his eyes locked onto the source. His gaze flicked to Ranma, lingering just a beat too long—a silent recalculation, adjusting for a variable he hadn’t accounted for. His fingers curled slightly, the faintest flex of readiness, though his face remained unreadable.

  Huo Yan Li was already in motion, his weight shifting fluidly as his boots pivoted to reposition. But in that same breath, his head tilted ever so slightly—a minor tell, a moment of reassessment. His movements, while smooth, carried a different kind of intent now.

  The whistle wasn’t just a signal—it was a checkmate call.

  Ranma's blue grey eyes narrowed slightly, muscles tightening in response to the piercing whistle. 'And there it is—the real trap snapping shut. He’s been holding that card the whole damn time.'

  Nyx’s ears twitched, her gaze snapping toward the shift in movement before it even fully emerged.

  The Fire Soldiers moved as one, their boots scraping softly against the rubble-strewn ground in a synchronized response drilled into muscle memory.

  The muted echoes of their movements whispered through the ruins, heightening the tension with every precise step. They tightened formation, shifting seamlessly to cut off every viable escape route. Stances firm, bodies coiled with readiness—no hesitation, no wasted motion.

  The net was closing, sealing the exits with a practiced precision that came from years of fieldwork, their movements sharp and decisive.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Tamaki’s breath hitched at the sight of him as her golden eyes widened. For a moment, her body froze, delicate features caught between surprise and recognition. Standing in the middle of the ruins like he belonged there.

  For a moment, she just stared. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and yet, somehow, it felt inevitable.

  Then, she saw the way Burns stood—the way Karim and Huo Yan Li moved. Recognition settled like a weight in her chest. This wasn’t a meeting. It was a cornering.

  Karim and Huo Yan Li shifted subtly, moving into flanking positions behind Ranma. They weren’t pressing in, but the space around him shrank all the same.

  Karim’s fingers twitched slightly; a practiced motion barely noticeable under his sleeve.

  Huo Yan Li’s weight distributed, his stance loose but ready. Neither spoke, but a brief glance between them said enough.

  Tamaki stepped into the ruins, her protective outer jacket shifting around her slender yet curvaceous form, the reflective blue lines catching brief flickers of ambient light, her stance guarded yet uncertain.

  The whistle meant something. But her focus stayed on Ranma. The way the air felt heavier, the way movements tightened—it wasn't until she was fully in the space that she recognized just how neatly he had been boxed in.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

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  Nyx jumped to an adjacent piece of ruins, her paws landing lightly on crumbling stone flecked with soot and ash. The surface shifted subtly under her weight, sending tiny fragments skittering downward.

  Her sharp eyes flicked toward Ranma, alert and calculating.

  Ranma’s Ki sense flared at Tamaki’s presence, catching an irregularity he hadn’t noticed before. Her energy had never fully settled, always just a fraction out of sync with her own movements. But now, the inconsistency had shifted. It wasn’t faltering anymore. It was aligning.

  Ranma’s eyes narrowed slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows. 'Her Ki's different. Not just off—it's like it's answering something she doesn't even know she's asking.'

  There was no surge, no pressure, nothing forceful enough to draw attention. Just a quiet shift taking place beneath the surface, threading through her stance before she even moved. It wasn’t something she was doing consciously. Her body was simply responding to a pattern that had already been set.

  Ranma’s jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of unease ghosting across his expression. 'It's subtle—almost natural. If I wasn't paying attention, I'd swear this was just bad luck.'

  His breath left him evenly, adjusting to the way her Ki pulsed ahead of her. It wasn’t an attack, wasn’t even a disruption—it was a moment settling into place before it happened.

  A buckle in her uniform had already begun to slip, though she hadn’t noticed yet. A soldier at her side shifted just slightly before losing balance, reacting before there was a reason to.

  The adjustments were small, almost imperceptible, but they were too precise to be random. A chill prickled at the edge of Ranma's senses. 'She doesn't control it. It controls everything around her—small nudges that add up to something inevitable.'

  Ranma didn’t have to think about his own stance. His body had already accounted for the shift before his mind caught up with what he was sensing.

  His attention stayed on Tamaki. Her Ki shifted first, a fraction ahead of her body, the signal of motion before motion itself. Ranma's muscles tensed. 'Guess I'm not the only one who's got chaos chasing me around. Hers just has a different style.'

  A faint, ironic smirk tugged at the corner of Ranma's mouth, recognition flickering in his eyes. ‘Better make my move now before I'm part of whatever she's about to set off.’

  Her foot caught against a jagged piece of debris, long dark hair whipping forward from her twintails as she pitched ahead, arms flailing, and at the worst possible moment, her loosened uniform slipped free. Her clothing fell off just as she crashed toward Ranma.

  Ranma moved without hesitation, flipping effortlessly over her.

  His jacket was already sliding off his shoulders before the thought even fully formed, his body twisting midair with the kind of fluidity that didn’t seem real.

  Tamaki barely registered the weight of the fabric before the world spun—literally. In a blur, she caught a glimpse of Ranma twisting over her, his movements smooth, controlled, impossibly fast.

  For a split second, their eyes met—gold and blue-gray locking mid-motion—then gravity took hold, her momentum carrying her forward, and as she fell, her arms slipped into the sleeves of his jacket—backward.

  Before she could even process the shift, her breath caught as the world realigned in a way she hadn’t dictated.

  A firm but seamless shift redirected her trajectory, rotating her just enough so that when Ranma landed behind her, he was perfectly aligned.

  The zipper slid up in a single fluid motion, securing the jacket in place before her feet had fully stabilized.

  Heat crept up Tamaki’s neck—not from embarrassment, but from the sudden, unfamiliar weight of fabric that wasn’t her own. The scent of smoke and steel lingered in the cloth, mixing with something faintly crisp, something undeniably Ranma.

  Her arms, still caught in the sleeves of the backward jacket, flexed instinctively, testing the fit, but the realization struck harder than the landing—he had dressed her before she even knew she was falling.

  Ranma smiled, his voice teasing and light. "Careful there, Kitten—your chaos is showing."

  Her breath caught. Fingers digging into the jacket reflexively, as if anchoring her to the moment. Realization crashed in like a delayed aftershock, the sheer absurdity of it making her stomach twist.

  She snapped her head back toward him, golden eyes burning. “I—this—shut up!”

  Nyx, still perched lazily, tilted her head as if unimpressed by the display.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Burns exhaled slowly, his eye narrowing—not in frustration, but in quiet acknowledgment. His weight shifted slightly, boots grinding against the rubble as he reevaluated the space between them.

  Ranma’s movements had already shifted the balance, and Burns couldn't help but watch him with quiet interest. His lips pressed together, brow furrowing as his understanding of the situation deepened. Ranma hadn’t just reacted to Tamaki—he had placed her exactly where he needed her to be.

  She was now in the way.

  Not cruelly, not carelessly. A seamless pivot, shifting the weight of the battlefield itself into an advantage before anyone had even realized it.

  Burns’ jaw tightened slightly. Fast. Ridiculously fast. Not just in movement, but in thought.

  His single green eye flicked toward Tamaki. The girl, still gripping the jacket, looked too stunned to realize what had just happened.

  And that was the difference. Ranma hadn’t needed her to know.

  Burns finally let out a slow breath, unreadable as ever. His stance remained firm, but something had shifted—not caution, but recognition.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Karim and Huo Yan Li moved in unison; their timing honed by experience. No wasted motion—they weren’t reaching, they were sealing off exits, forcing him into a shrinking space.

  Ranma pivoted sharply—not backward, not straight through, but angled just enough to slip past Karim’s reach.

  Instead of retreating, he stepped deeper into their closing space, turning his own back toward Huo at the last second.

  At the same moment, Nyx sprang from her perch, trailing him from above, bounding across broken beams with silent precision.

  The moment Huo lunged, Ranma shifted suddenly, stepping aside so that Huo’s momentum clipped into Karim, throwing them off balance.

  Nyx followed the motion, leaping across another fractured ledge, her timing perfectly matched with his movement.

  A third soldier barely had time to react before Ranma was airborne.

  Ranma stepped up onto his head, pressing down just long enough to use it as a platform. The soldier’s body buckled slightly, but Ranma was already in motion, launching himself into a twisting aerial somersault.

  Nyx launched herself at the same instant, her arc mirroring his as she tracked his leap from above.

  Ranma’s boots met the top edge of a splintered beam—just for an instant—its wood groaning beneath his weight, threatening to splinter and collapse before he kicked off again, using the precarious momentum to redirect.

  Nyx landed on his shoulder at that precise moment, her tail curling easily around his neck as if she'd planned it all along.

  Ranma glanced back over his shoulder. "Gotta admit, you know how to move people around." A smile played on his lips. "Shame it only worked on your own guys."

  His eyes flicked toward Tamaki, his smirk lingering. “Try to keep that jacket in one piece, cat-girl. It suits you.”

  The formation collapsed inward beneath him, hands grasping only empty air. By the time their heads snapped upward, he had already slipped past their reach, landing low on the rubble, disappearing into the battlefield.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Karim exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. That wasn’t just speed—that was something else. The space he should have been forced into didn’t exist by the time they moved to close it. Like he had seen it coming before they even acted.

  Beside him, Huo Yan Li let out a quiet breath, a low chuckle just barely audible. His stance remained loose, but his weight shifted forward, like a runner at the starting line.

  His eyes, half-lidded and unreadable before, now followed the space where Ranma had been.

  “Hah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “That was fun.”

  Burns exhaled slowly, his single eye narrowing slightly. He didn’t turn, didn’t call out orders—there was no point. Nearby, Karim flexed his fingers unconsciously, tension lingering in his posture. Huo Yan Li let out a measured breath, his gaze flicking toward Burns as if waiting for an order that would never come.

  No one moved. No one breathed. A soldier near the back swallowed hard. “That was… What the hell was that?"

  The kid had read them like an open book, turned their net into a door, and left without breaking stride.

  He had taken advantage of an unplanned disruption and slipped through the cracks before anyone could react. It wasn’t luck, not in the way others might think.

  It was awareness, instinct, and control working in perfect tandem.

  Burns clenched his jaw, tilting his head just enough to catch Karim’s sidelong glance.

  "Not bad," he admitted, voice low, unreadable.

  Karim hummed in agreement. "Not bad at all." He gave his coat a slight tug. “Not at all bad.”

  Burns finally shifted, his gaze flicking toward Tamaki. She was still standing there, golden eyes flickering between where Ranma had vanished and the men who had just failed to contain him.

  Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something, but no words came.

  "Kotatsu," he said evenly, his voice cutting through the smoldering air. "That was him, wasn’t it?"

  Tamaki swallowed; she didn’t hesitate. "Yeah," she muttered, voice just above a breath. "That was Ranma Saotome."

  She shifted, fingers tightening around the jacket’s fabric. It didn’t feel like she’d just watched him move—it felt like she’d been pulled into the motion itself. Like the moment had passed through her, shaping her before she even realized she’d been part of it.

  She hadn’t been an obstacle—she had been a piece on the board, played before she even knew she was part of the game.

  Whether she’d meant to be or not.

  Burns exhaled again, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the weight of his coat. Ranma hadn’t just slipped through their grasp—he had dictated how they would lose. He moved like he was reading ahead, not reacting. No hesitation, no tells—just fluid control. Every step accounted for, every shift anticipated.

  Not a soldier. Not just a fighter. Something else. Something unpredictable.

  “Pull back,” Burns said, his voice steady. “We're done here."

  Burns’ jaw tightened; the flicker of admiration buried under layers of restraint. Not many had the ability to read a battlefield so quickly, to turn a trap into an advantage. And yet, Ranma had done just that, with an ease that was... impressive.

  He didn’t watch the ruins where Ranma had vanished. He didn’t need to. The day wasn’t done, and neither was this game.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Ranma flowed across the rooftops, his body moving on instinct, each leap, each bound carrying him forward.

  The city blurred beneath him, neon and steel flashing in quick bursts as he pushed off from ledges, vaulted over vents, and rolled into his next sprint.

  The midday air pressed against his skin, cool and sharp, cutting through the lingering heat of the ruined battlefield he had left behind.

  Nyx rode comfortably on his shoulder, her small weight barely noticeable as she adjusted to his movements without complaint. Her tail flicked in an idle rhythm, occasionally curling around his neck before uncoiling just as easily.

  His mind, however, refused to settle as smoothly as his movements.

  Burns had been playing a different kind of game—one Ranma hadn’t even realized he was part of until it was already in motion.

  A trap woven not from brute force, but from positioning, pressure, and the quiet understanding of how a fighter like him operated.

  Ranma had been careful, had moved unseen, yet somehow, Burns had still been aware. He hadn’t been detected outright—no one should have been able to see him—but the battlefield had already been set. All it had taken was a single moment, a misstep too small for most to notice.

  But Burns wasn’t most people. He had anticipated not just his movements, but his instincts, setting up a controlled space where every reaction only further limited his options.

  That wasn’t something just anyone could do. That was experience.

  Each step flowed effortlessly into the next, his momentum, a perfect rhythm of motion. His body moved before his mind finished the thought, launching over a gap, rolling mid-air before touching down on a narrow concrete ledge.

  A gust of wind cut across the skyline, carrying the scent of city life—exhaust fumes, grilled food, and the faint electric tang of neon signs.

  And then there was Tamaki.

  She wasn’t weak. Not exactly. But she was out of step with herself, her energy never fully aligning.

  Ranma had felt it in the fight—her power and her body weren’t speaking the same language, like a rhythm thrown just slightly off-beat. It wasn’t something she was doing consciously, but it had made her easy to push, easy to pull.

  Burns had used that, and whether she realized it or not, it had dictated the role she played in the fight.

  That stuck with him. Because if someone could shape a battle that way, turn someone’s own presence against them, then that meant Tamaki wasn’t just fighting her opponents—she was fighting herself.

  He could almost feel the familiar unease, the kind of dissonance he’d lived with for years. Fighting yourself, he thought. I know that feeling all too well.

  Nyx adjusted on his shoulder as he landed light on the next rooftop, her small weight shifting effortlessly with him. He barely noticed—she moved as naturally as his own breath.

  Except… he hadn’t noticed her before. Not in the fight with Rekka, not when he first arrived. His Ki should have picked up on her presence, but it hadn’t.

  He had been too focused, maybe—but no, that wasn’t it. Even in the heat of battle, his instincts wouldn’t have missed something like that.

  So, where the hell had she been?

  His brow furrowed slightly, but he shook off the thought for now. He had bigger questions to deal with. Whatever the answer was, it would come in time.

  A flick of her tail brushed against his ear, pulling him from his thoughts.

  “That old guy was sharp,” he mused aloud, leaping across a metal beam protruding from a half-finished construction site. Nyx remained silent, but her ears twitched as if listening.

  Ranma continued, rebounding off a slanted awning. “Didn’t waste a move. Never showed his hand. And he was already a step ahead before I even realized we were playin’.”

  His lips twitched, not quite a grin, but close. “Kinda like an old ghoul I know.”

  She let out a quiet chuff, something between a sigh and amusement. Ranma shook his head, twisting in the air as he adjusted his trajectory.

  “I ain't used to playing catch-up,” he murmured, landing low before pushing off again, the hum of the city beneath him. “Feels like running downhill and realizing you ain’t the one steering.”

  And yet, even as he pushed forward, the thoughts lingered. Burns' understanding of combat was deeper than just fighting—it was about control, about knowing when to let something play out and when to shut it down.

  And Tamaki—if she couldn’t even trust her own power, then what did that mean for her? Was it something she could fix, or something she was stuck with?

  He knew what it was like to fight against himself, to push through instincts that sometimes worked against him. But if she wasn’t aware of the problem, how was she supposed to overcome it?

  Ranma exhaled sharply, adjusting his footing as he cleared another alleyway.

  One thing was clear—he wasn’t done with either of them yet. Whether they were done with him, though, was another question entirely.

  Ranma landed on the billboard and crouched, breath steadying. The city stretched below—loud, unbothered, and moving without him.

  Nyx shifted slightly on his shoulder, her tail flicking lazily before curling around the back of his neck.

  Silence stretched between them, comfortable but weighted. The midday air pressed warm against his skin. His mind turned over the past hour, filing away details, measuring what mattered.

  Then—his stomach growled.

  Loudly.

  Nyx’s ears twitched.

  Ranma sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Guess all that running around worked up an appetite.”

  He took a breath, scanning the city below for anything promising. He needed food. And for food, he needed money. Which he didn’t have.

  He rubbed his stomach, sighed. “Damn, looks like I’m running on good looks and air again.”

  A street vendor called out below, advertising grilled skewers to passing workers. A train rumbled in the distance, drowning out the chatter of a crowded intersection.

  With a slight shift of weight, he pushed off the billboard, flipping mid-air before landing lightly on the next rooftop.

  His momentum carried him forward, the city below alive with possibilities. And knowing his luck? Mostly trouble.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Ranma vaulted across another rooftop, twisting mid-air to absorb the momentum before landing lightly. He let the motion carry him into a fluid stride, his pace instinctive, effortless. Then, without warning, the air changed.

  The late afternoon sun bled into the cityscape, staining the rooftops in hues of deep gold and burnt amber. The sky, once sharp and clear, now softened at the edges, fading into the cool blue of encroaching evening. Long shadows stretched across the uneven terrain, twisting over the cracked pavement and rusted scaffolding like ink spilling across a page.

  The scent of food hit him first.

  Grilled meat, fried dough, the rich spice of simmering broth—all of it curled into the air, sharp and inviting, a reminder of just how empty his stomach was.

  Nyx’s ears twitched, her tail flicking once against his shoulder. She made a soft clicking sound in the back of her throat, whether in irritation or hunger, Ranma couldn’t tell.

  He glanced at her. “Yeah, I smell it too, girl. But first things first.”

  Ranma vaulted over a gap, his foot barely skimming the rooftop’s edge before he shifted low, momentum carrying him smoothly into position. A few steady strides brought him to a stop at the building’s ledge, where he let himself pause.

  Below, the market stirred with its own rhythm—shopkeepers haggling, distant laughter weaving through the hum of conversation, the occasional clatter of wooden crates as merchants packed up for the day.

  Nyx adjusted her stance, tail curling tightly against him, her head tilting toward the market below as if scanning it herself.

  His expression remained calm, but his sharp gaze betrayed his constant awareness as he took in the scene beneath him. He shifted slightly, weight adjusting as if anticipating movement, his fingers idly brushing against the rough surface of the rooftop.

  The market district stretched out in a web of narrow alleys and cluttered stalls, a lively mess of sound and movement.

  His stomach growled again, but he ignored it. The world had shifted around him—not just the smell of food, but something sharper, out of place.

  Ranma's gaze flicked downward toward a narrow alley directly below, where a flicker of movement had caught his eye—shadows shifting unnaturally, a sharp intake of breath barely audible over the market noise.

  Nyx stiffened slightly, her ears flattening for a brief second before perking up again. A low, almost inaudible vibration ran through her body—Ranma didn’t know if it was curiosity or warning, but it was enough.

  Ranma's eyes narrowed. Below, three men loomed over a hunched shopkeeper, their postures casual, but the tight grips of their fists and the glint of menace in their eyes made their intent unmistakable.

  One of them—a stocky guy with a scar running down his cheek—grabbed the old man by the collar, shaking him slightly. The merchant sputtered, his hands trembling as he clutched at the thug’s wrist.

  “Please, I—I just need more time—” His voice wavered, desperation thick in his tone as he clutched at the thug’s wrist, his knuckles whitening.

  A solid thud as the shopkeeper was shoved backward, colliding with a stack of crates that toppled around him.

  Ranma exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening slightly as he took in the scene. He had seen this too many times before—in back alleys, on dimly lit streets, in places where the strong preyed on the weak without consequence. It was always the same story—different faces, different excuses, but the same ugly power play.

  Protection rackets. Bullying. The kind of people who thought fear was just another currency to collect.

  Nyx shifted on his shoulder, ears twitching as her tail flicked in agitation.

  Ranma lingered for a heartbeat, muscles coiling in quiet anticipation as the rough texture of the rooftop pressed against his fingertips.

  He could practically hear Cologne’s voice in his head. ‘Every fight brings new trouble, boy.’ But he didn’t care. Right now, trouble had a face. ‘Like I’m just gonna stand here and watch.’

  A faint breeze stirred the dust around him, carrying the scent of oil and spices from the market below—then he moved.

  He dropped from the rooftop, the rush of air brushing against his skin as he descended.

  He landed in a crouch, boots pressing firm into the uneven pavement, dust kicking up around him. His movement was too smooth, too controlled—his boots hit the ground with just enough force to draw attention, but not enough to suggest a threat.

  Nyx leapt from his shoulder in the same motion, landing lightly on a stack of crates. Her tail flicked once as she settled, golden eyes locking onto the thugs below. A low sound, almost a growl, rumbled through her throat.

  He straightened, flicked his pigtail off his shoulder. "Man, rough way to make a living, huh?” He rolled his neck, smirking. “Bet you guys pull in a decent haul, though.”

  The thugs turned, startled, their momentary confusion flickering into annoyance.

  “Y’know,” he drawled, his tone light, amused, “if you’re gonna shake a guy down, at least do it with some style.”

  The thugs exchanged glances, their initial irritation shifting into wary confusion. The scarred thug’s lips curled, but his eyes flicked toward Ranma with a trace of hesitation.

  One of them took half a step back before catching himself, while the scarred thug scowled, his grip tightening on the merchant’s collar.

  The scarred thug’s brow furrowed. “The hell are you supposed to be?”

  Ranma smiled. “Saotome Securities—certified in street-level taxation.” He cracked his neck, then flexed his fingers. “We offer a high-interest beating plan.” His knuckles popped lazily. “Your contribution?” He gave a slow shrug. “Yeah, not optional.”