Ren screamed.
The pain in his ribs burst like firecrackers, but he didn't care. His throat tore with the effort as he thrashed beneath the rubble, veins bulging, eyes wide with rage.
"You bastard—!!"
Ren's scream ripped through the chamber, hoarse and raw. His arms trembled beneath the weight of stone and broken architecture, muscles straining as he pushed. Rubble scraped against his back, his ribs flaring with agony. Blood dripped from his chin.
Trickstarr waited until the scream died to silence.
Then, with the air of a man slipping back into a monologue, he turned.
"As I was saying," he murmured, eyes glittering with smug poise.
He tapped a single finger to his temple—slow and deliberate.
"Right now… Raine Mizuki is center stage. Top of this very tower. Her final concert in Shibuya Square. Sold out. Broadcast live. Millions watching."
He spread his arms wide, like a conductor ready to summon the final crescendo.
"And once that curtain falls—my show begins."
He chuckled to himself. "With a single word, I'll turn everyone who came to see her—every screaming fan, every sobbing devotee—into monsters."
His voice deepened.
"Soon, Tokyo will burn with chaos. And it'll all begin with applause."
"No…" Ren croaked, still straining beneath the slab. "Stop—!"
A ping echoed.
Trickstarr's wrist buzzed. His phone lit up.
He glanced at the screen. The message was short, sterile.
Staff: Mizuki's final number complete. Crowd primed. Time for your set.
He smiled.
"Wish I could stay, Ren," Trickstarr said lightly, his voice fading like the end of an overture. "But the stage upstairs is calling—and I do so love a grand finale."
He paused in the doorway, one hand lifting theatrically before the velvet curtain.
"Oh, and before I forget…" His tone dipped lower, crueler. "I'll need to kill everyone you care about."
Ren's breath caught.
"Your sensei… his beautiful wife. That little girl you saved. Your crew."
He turned, grin stretched too wide.
"And of course… her. Your precious girlfriend who I kidnapped. I've saved her for the climax."
Then, with a final, mocking bow, Trickstarr dipped low—his grin wide, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. As he did, the eerie bird-creature that had been perched silently beside him gave a soft, hollow caw and fluttered down, folding neatly back into the depths of the magician's oversized top hat like smoke slipping into a bottle.
With a flourish, Trickstarr donned the hat once more, adjusting it with theatrical precision. His long coat billowed like ink in water, tendrils of shadow curling at its edges.
And just like that—he vanished into the velvet drapes.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"...No," Ren whispered.
The world didn't answer.
"NOOOO!!"
His voice tore through the room, a hoarse, ragged scream that echoed off velvet and stone and pain. He shoved against the slab crushing his back—his arms trembling, body shivering from blood loss.
But the rubble didn't move.
It pressed tighter, heavier, as if mocking him. His breath hitched. His strength failed. He collapsed against the cold floor, coughing hard as tears blurred his vision.
"Damn it…"
He beat the floor weakly. "Damn it—move… move!!"
But he was alone.
His scream, loud and wild, faded into nothing. No footsteps came. No hands pulled the stone off his back.
No one heard.
No one could.
"…Please," he choked. "Somebody… anyone… please…"
The pain spread through his limbs like fire. His arms gave out again. His forehead hit the floor.
It was over.
They were all going to die.
Yui. Yujiro sensei. Aunt Kiyomi. Andre. Bonk. Jingli. Celia—
His breath caught. His eyes stung.
He wanted to sleep. To disappear. To stop hurting.
But then—
A voice.
"Running won't bring you the answers you seek."
Yujiro's voice. Firm. Steady. Kind.
"No matter how far you go, Ren…"
The dojo. The wind chimes swaying. His sensei standing tall beneath the mountain sky.
Ren's heart clenched.
Another voice. Softer.
"Kindness isn't about what people deserve, Ren."
His mother.
"It's about who you choose to be. If someone needs help… you help them. Always."
He remembered her eyes, filled with warmth. The way she wrapped a blanket around him when he cried. Her smile. Gone.
And then—
A hand. Warm. Heavy. On his shoulder.
His father, on that quiet hilltop where they stargazed together.
"Even the hardest rock gets shaped by water—not because water's strong, but because it never gives up."
"If something that soft can change the world just by keeping at it… so can you."
Ren's eyes snapped open, tears drying as his expression hardened.
He coughed, breath shaky—but his voice, when it came, was low and certain.
"…No more running."
He clenched his fists against the rubble. He swallowed the pain, the fear, the tears.
"I've gotta do this…" he murmured, teeth gritting as he shifted. "No one else is coming."
His hands pressed harder. Muscles screamed. Skin split open.
"I have to save them."
And then—he pushed.
The rubble didn't budge.
He screamed. In agony. In fury.
"AAAGGHHH—!"
Stone scraped against bone. Blood soaked into the debris below.
But he kept pushing.
And as he strained, eyes wide and brimming, memories surged like lightning through his mind—
—Yujiro, standing outside his door after Ren locked himself in again. Rain pouring. A tray of food left quietly, still warm hours later.
—Kiyomi, sharp-tongued and unsmiling, but always placing lunch at the corner of the table with a muttered, "Eat it while it's hot."
—Little Yui laughing, eyes wide with joy as she pointed to a spinning ride at the amusement park. "Big bro Ren, let's go that one next!"
—Celia, sighing in mock irritation after he tripped over his words again. "You're hopeless," she'd said—but never stopped smiling.
—The forest in Okutama. A blanket, a shared thermos of cocoa. Stars hanging above like frozen fireworks.
Her voice whispering beside him, soft as wind:
"Do you think people live on those stars?"
—Fireworks crackling over summer skies.
Andre striking a dumb pose. Bonk stuffing three taiyaki in his mouth. Miss Yue with a rare grin.
Yui on Ren's shoulders, cheering.
And Celia—in that pale blue yukata, laughing at them all.
Smiling at him.
Ren sobbed once, from somewhere deep. Not just from pain—from love.
"I won't lose you… I won't lose any of you…not anymore…"
Push.
The weight shifted—a fraction.
His heart thundered in his chest. Pounding.
Push!
He screamed again, not in pain—but in defiance.
And something inside him—ignited.
A thrum.
Like a second heartbeat. No—not a second.
The real one. The new one.
The Essence.
He felt it.
Coursing through his limbs.
Binding his thoughts.
Washing through the cracks in his soul and filling them with light.
The golden pulse of it surged up his spine, down his arms, blooming beneath his torn skin like molten threads.
He didn't fight it.
Didn't resist it.
He accepted it.
And the moment he did—
"RRRAAAAAAHHHH—!"
The slab above him cracked.
Lifted.
Stone buckled under his hands—and rose.
Dust rained down as rubble tumbled aside in thunderous shudders.
And then—*
He was free.
Ren dragged himself out, bloodied and trembling, but standing.
Barely.
But standing.
The room around him was a shattered crypt, broken by Trickstarr's mockery—but it no longer held him.
His breath came ragged, but behind it was a rhythm. His heart—no, their heart—beat strong.
He could feel it. Her.
Not just in memory—but in the power surging through his body.
"Celia…" he whispered. His voice cracked, but his gaze sharpened, lifting toward the heights above. "I'm coming to save you."
But far above them—at the very top of the tower—
"Yo, he's actually here? That's the guy? That's Trickstarr?"
"He looks way younger in person, huh?"
"Shhh, the show's starting—!"
The rooftop stage of the Shibuya Sky Tower pulsed with electric light. Massive screens flashed brilliant golds and crimsons, cascading suits of cards and ribbons that fell like confetti. Drones whirred silently overhead, casting perfect shadows along the ring of the rooftop. The audience—hundreds of fans, influencers, thrill-seekers, and press—all cheered as the spotlight snapped to the center.
And there, emerging through a slow swirl of glittering smoke, was Trickstarr.
He stepped forward with grace, dressed in an immaculate longcoat of obsidian and white, golden trim catching the moonlight. A single red spade glinted over his heart. He waved—and the crowd erupted.
"Japannnnnnnnn!" he called, his voice amplified through the crystal mic fused to his collar. "Are we feeling magical tonight?"
Cheers. Applause. Some even whistled.
"Good," he purred, walking a slow arc across the front of the stage. "Because tonight isn't just a show. It's a celebration. A farewell. And an arrival."
He flourished one hand, and a deck of black-and-gold cards shimmered into existence midair, spinning slowly like a galaxy in his palm.
"Tonight, I want to show you something rare. Something royal."
He snapped his fingers—and four cards flipped outward in a crisp arc.
The Kings of each suit: Spade, Heart, Diamond, Club.
Each one glowed faintly as they hovered midair above the stage, then rotated and slammed into the ground in a perfect square.
The crowd gasped.
Beneath the stage, something rumbled.
And from within that square—roots burst upward.
Wood groaned, the floor split—and a giant sakura tree erupted from the center of the rooftop, spiraling up into the sky like something divine.
Its petals glowed faintly pink, then turned a soft violet.
Then—darker.
The staff backstage stared at each other. One of the floor crew leaned into his mic.
"Is this part of the act?"
"I—I don't have anything in the schedule about that tree."
"Are those real roots? That's not a hologram—"
"Guys, the scaffold's cracking! Someone cut the FX—!"
But the tree kept growing.
Its limbs cracked steel. Its petals detached and began to float downward—beautiful, hypnotic.
Until the screaming started.
One petal brushed against a woman's cheek in the front row.
She froze. Her pupils widened.
And then—she shrieked.
Her body convulsed, limbs twisting, spine arching.
Others turned to look—confused. Too late.
The transformation was instant.
Her form exploded outward—bone rupturing, skin tearing—until what remained was not human.
It shrieked and lunged at the nearest person, biting down with impossible jaws.
The petals fell like rain.
Dozens more were touched.
Dozens more began to change.
Some burst apart, others screamed as long, blade-like limbs erupted from their torsos. The crowd descended into chaos—a frenzy of screams, blood, and bone.
Someone yelled over the comms, "We need to shut the feed—shut the goddamn feed—!"
Trickstarr stood at the edge of the growing slaughter, arms wide as if conducting a symphony.
A slow smile bloomed on his face—radiant, real, and terrifying.
"The final act…" he whispered.
He reached up, pinched the brim of his crooked hat, and gave a sweeping bow, arm outstretched like a showman before the curtain falls.
"…has begun."