Rumors spread like wildfire, racing through the Academy's halls with electric urgency.
Arashi had defeated Kaito. With nothing but a glance.
To some, it was a fluke—a momentary lapse in Kaito's legendary concentration.
To others, it was terrifying—a glimpse into powers they'd only heard whispered about in ancient texts.
But one thing crystallized in everyone's mind—his House was no longer just a curiosity.
It was a threat that sent chills down the spines of even the most seasoned fighters.
Renji leaned back in his mahogany chair, the wood creaking beneath his weight as he absorbed the reports with narrowed eyes.
"He broke Kaito's sword with no visible movement?" The words felt strange on his tongue, almost impossible.
The informant nodded, a bead of sweat tracing his temple. "Everyone saw it. The blade just... shattered."
Renji's fingers drummed the table with mechanical precision, each tap echoing in the hushed room.
"There are only three possibilities." He held up a finger, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"One—Kaito was holding back." His eyes darkened. "Unlikely. His pride wouldn't allow it."
Another finger joined the first, cutting through the air.
"Two—Arashi used some unknown technique." A pause. "If so, he's far more dangerous than anyone in this Academy has anticipated."
A third finger rose slowly, deliberately.
"Three—he's not what he seems. Not even close."
Silence swallowed the room, heavy and oppressive.
Then a slow, predatory smile spread across Renji's face, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of discovery.
"I wonder... which one is true?" The question lingered in the air like smoke. "And how far am I willing to go to find out?"
Arashi stood on the rooftop, motionless as stone, gazing at the city lights that glittered below like fallen stars.
The wind whipped his clothing but couldn't disturb his perfect stillness.
Behind him, Kaito approached, footsteps deliberately loud against the concrete.
"There are already rumors circling the Academy like vultures," Kaito said, tension evident in every syllable.
"They think you're hiding something powerful beneath that calm exterior."
Arashi's expression remained impassive, carved from marble.
"Of course they do. That's precisely the point." His voice carried no emotion, yet something about it made the air feel heavier.
Kaito hesitated, his usual confidence wavering. "Do you... actually have a plan beyond creating fear? We're drawing dangerous attention."
Arashi turned slightly, moonlight catching his eyes in a way that made them seem to glow. "Do you?"
Kaito frowned, a flash of irritation crossing his features.
"I wouldn't have joined your cause if I didn't believe you were capable of reshaping this place. But we're playing a dangerous game with forces that could destroy us both."
Arashi's lips curved into a ghost of a smirk. "You only say that because you can see the board as it appears to be."
Kaito's eyes narrowed, searching Arashi's face for any hint of doubt. "And what exactly do you see that the rest of us are missing?"
Arashi stepped past him with fluid grace, walking toward the edge where darkness swallowed the building's boundaries.
"The pieces moving in the dark." His words hung in the air like a prophecy. "And the hands that guide them."
That night, a letter materialized in Arashi's room, appearing on his pillow without triggering a single ward or alarm.
No sender. No mark. No trace of how it bypassed his defenses.
Just four words written in crimson ink that seemed to shimmer in the candlelight.
"Come to the Abyss."
Kaito's brow furrowed deeply as he read it, his shoulders tensing. "That's... the underground arena. Where careers and lives end in equal measure."
The Abyss was whispered about in hushed tones—a place where students fought in illegal duels beneath the Academy's foundations.
No rules constrained the fighters. No limits existed. No witnesses survived to speak of defeats.
Arashi held the letter between his fingers, turning it to catch the light, considering the weight of its meaning rather than its words.
"Someone's testing me." His voice was quiet but certain. "Someone with enough power to breach my wards."
Kaito crossed his arms, anxiety radiating from him in waves. "You're not actually going, are you? Even you must recognize this trap for what it is."
Arashi's eyes met Kaito's, and a smirk slowly formed on his lips—cold, calculated, and tinged with anticipation.
Of course he was going.
Traps worked both ways, after all.
The underground arena throbbed with energy and anticipation, carved from ancient stone deep beneath the Academy's foundations.
Torch flames danced along the walls, casting monstrous shadows that writhed like living things.
The circular space was packed to capacity, the air thick with sweat and tension.
Figures in hoods whispered conspiratorially, their faces hidden in shadow.
Bets exchanged hands with the urgency of addiction, fortunes made and lost on the edge of a blade.
In the center of the stone circle, a masked opponent stood waiting—tall, imposing, radiating lethal confidence.
His mask, bone-white with crimson streaks, concealed everything but eyes that burned with killing intent.
Arashi stepped forward, his footfalls echoing in the sudden hush that fell over the crowd.
He wore no armor, carried no visible weapon—just simple black clothing that seemed to drink in the surrounding light.
The announcer's voice boomed through the cavern, magnified by ancient acoustics.
"The challenger—Arashi of the House of Shadows!"
A murmur rippled through the crowd like a living current, excitement and fear intermingling. In the front row, money changed hands more frantically.
The masked fighter rolled his shoulders, a sound like grinding stone emanating from beneath his armor as he cracked his knuckles.
"I've heard about you, shadow-walker." His voice echoed metallically through the mask. "They say you can defeat enemies without touching them."
Arashi tilted his head slightly, regarding his opponent with the casual interest one might give a moderately unusual insect.
"Have you come to discover if the rumors are true, or to become another one?"
A flash of movement—the opponent lunged with preternatural speed, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat.
Faster than Kaito had moved in their confrontation.
Faster than anyone in the Academy had demonstrated before.
Faster than human eyes could properly track.
His fist, wrapped in crackling energy that hummed with destructive potential, aimed directly at Arashi's heart.
But Arashi—
Didn't move a muscle.
Didn't flinch from the imminent impact.
Didn't even blink as death hurtled toward him.
And yet—
The masked fighter froze mid-attack, his fist stopping inches from Arashi's chest as if it had struck an invisible barrier.
A violent tremor ran through the arena. The air felt... heavier, thicker, as if reality itself had suddenly become dense and difficult to navigate.
Torches flickered, some extinguishing completely, plunging sections of the audience into darkness.
Sweat poured down the masked man's face, visible now through the eye-slits of his mask.
His arm trembled with the effort of trying to complete his attack, muscles straining against an invisible force.
"What... the hell... are you?" The words escaped in a strangled whisper, tinged with growing horror.
Arashi simply stared at him, his eyes reflecting nothing but calm certainty.
Then, with deliberate slowness, he raised a single finger and placed it against the fighter's chest.
The masked man flew backward as if struck by lightning, his body crashing into the arena wall with enough force to crack the ancient stone.
He slid to the ground, mask shattered, revealing a face contorted in terror.
He didn't rise again.
The match ended without Arashi taking a single step from where he'd started.
And for the first time in the Abyss's long, blood-soaked history—
The audience felt true, visceral fear crawl up their spines and nest in their hearts.
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the sound of someone dropping their betting purse, coins scattering across stone like whispered prayers.