In a place far away, in a room where even the air felt stale, Makoto Ryuzen woke with a violent jolt.

Pain flashed up his arms. His wrists were bound behind the chair, ankles tied to its legs. The floor beneath him was cold stone, damp enough that it seeped through the fabric of his pants. His mouth tasted like iron and ash.

His eyes adjusted slowly.

The room was almost completely dark, lit only by a single lantern set on a low table. Its weak flame trembled as if afraid to exist here.

And sitting across from him, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other like this was a casual meeting was Renjiro.

Makoto’s throat tightened. His shoulders instinctively strained against the rope. Renjiro’s scythe wasn’t in his hands. That was somehow worse. He watched Makoto like a man watching an insect crawl out of a crack in the wall, amused that it thought it had escaped anything.

“Well?” Renjiro asked lightly. “You awake, Makoto?”

Makoto’s voice came out rough. “Where… am I?”

“A place far away,” Renjiro said, smiling like that answer was the joke. “Now, before you start screaming or pretending you’re brave let’s keep this simple.”

Renjiro leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. The lantern glow caught his purple eyes and made them look almost luminous. “Do you remember everything?”

Makoto frowned, trying to drag his thoughts into order. His head throbbed like it had been cracked open. “I remember fighting,” he rasped. “Some brat…”

His jaw clenched. “Then it went dark.”

He swallowed. “I woke up to that Radiance Knight.”

Renjiro’s smirk widened. “So you don’t remember being corrupted.”

Makoto stared. “Corrupted?” he repeated, like the word didn’t belong to him.

Renjiro laughed softly, genuinely entertained. “Nope. Not a single flicker of it in that pretty little memory of yours.”

Makoto’s pulse spiked. “Stop talking in circles. What happened?”

Renjiro’s fingers tapped the edge of the table once, slow and deliberate. “You became corrupted,” he said. “Full snap. Poisoned aura. Madness. The whole ugly performance.”

Makoto’s stomach turned. “That’s not possible.”

He tried to pull free again, the rope biting into his skin. “Corruption doesn’t just happen.”

“Oh, it happens,” Renjiro said cheerfully.

Makoto’s breathing grew heavier. “And I’m still alive. So what, did you cure it?”

Renjiro tilted his head, as if genuinely considering how to answer. Then his grin returned. “No,” he said. “That’s the fun part.”

Makoto’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Renjiro leaned back again, settling deeper into his chair. “You reversed it.”

Silence.

Makoto blinked once, slowly. “I… what?”

Renjiro chuckled, shaking his head as if Makoto’s confusion was adorable. “Corruption reversing has never happened before. Not once. Not in any record worth reading.”

He lifted a hand, palm up. “And I should know. I’m a corruption expert.”

Makoto stared at him, distrust and anger tangling together. “You expect me to believe-”

“Oh, I don’t care what you believe,” Renjiro interrupted smoothly. “I care what you know.”

Makoto’s jaw tightened. “Then tell me what I know.”

Renjiro’s eyes slid across him, sharp and assessing. “You know the slave empire. Its routes. Its methods. Its faces. Its buyers.”

Makoto’s expression darkened. “I know enough.”

“Good.” Renjiro’s voice carried a pleasant edge. “Then you also know the head.”

Makoto froze.

The lantern crackled softly.

“…Why do you want him?” Makoto asked, voice lower now. “You already have power. You already have monsters at your call. What do you gain from this?”

Renjiro’s smirk didn’t fade, but something behind it shifted, something colder. “Motivation,” he said. “Direction. Entertainment.”

He shrugged. “Pick one.”

Makoto glared. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you get.” Renjiro leaned forward again, resting his forearms on his knees. “Now, why did I take you?”

Makoto spat the words. “Yeah. Why?”

Renjiro smiled as if he’d been waiting for that exact phrasing. “Because you’re useful,” he said. “And because you’re one of the only people alive who can point at the head of the slave empire and say, that’s him.”

Makoto’s lips curled. “Lots of people know him.”

Renjiro’s eyes flashed faint amusement. “No. Lots of people know of him.” He lifted a finger. “But you’ve seen him.”

Another finger. “You’ve stood near him.”

Another. “And you hate him enough to chew through your own bones to reach him.”

Renjiro lowered his hand. “That makes you rare.”

Makoto’s chest rose and fell as he fought to stay calm. “So you’re using me as bait.”

Renjiro’s grin widened again. “Bait implies you’re helpless. I prefer key.”

Makoto swallowed, staring at the lantern flame as it flickered.

His daughter’s face flashed in his mind. Her laugh. The warmth of her small hand in his. The way it all ended. His fingernails dug into his palms.

“…If I help you,” Makoto said slowly, “you let me kill him.”

Renjiro’s smile turned sharper. “No,” he said simply.

Makoto snapped his head up. “What?”

Renjiro’s tone stayed calm, almost bored. “You don’t get to make demands. Not after what you’ve done.”

Makoto’s eyes burned. “Then why should I agree?”

Renjiro leaned in just enough that Makoto could see the faint reflection of lantern-light in his irises.

“Because whether you like it or not,” Renjiro murmured, “you’re already involved.”

He straightened. “And because I’m the only reason you’re still breathing.”

Makoto’s jaw tightened so hard it hurt.

Renjiro stood slowly, unhurried. He walked behind Makoto, boots scraping softly on stone. Makoto tensed, expecting pain, but Renjiro only stopped beside him, close enough that Makoto could feel his presence like a blade against his neck.

“You know what he looks like,” Renjiro said quietly. “You can walk into the right room and identify him without hesitation.”

Makoto’s throat bobbed.

Renjiro continued, voice smooth as silk. “And I can make sure you get into that room.”

Makoto’s breathing trembled.

He hated this. Hated being trapped. Hated being handled like a tool. But hatred was familiar. Hatred was fuel.

“…Fine,” Makoto rasped.

Renjiro’s smile returned immediately, satisfied. “Good.”

Makoto’s eyes hardened. “But if you betray me-”

Renjiro laughed, stepping away like Makoto had just told the funniest joke all week. “Oh, Makoto,” he said, turning back over his shoulder. “If I betray you…” 

His purple eyes gleamed. “…you’ll never even realize it happened.”

Renjiro’s smirk deepened as the lantern flame flickered, and the darkness around them seemed to lean closer, listening.

“Welcome to the real war,” he murmured.