Anros jabbed a button on his phone, hand trembling. Richard watched from the rooftop, clarinet in hand, but didn't move. Let them come. Anros was the head of the snake, but the betrayal ran deeper—through every thug tied to the Vellucci bloodbath. Richard wanted them all.
Anros' eyes burned, voice hoarse. "You're done, Richard. They're coming."
Richard's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Good. I'll wait."
He stepped forward, closing the gap in a blink. The clarinet flashed, cracking against Anros' knee. Snap. Bone gave way, and Anros crumpled, screaming.
"Quiet," Richard said, voice low. He struck again, breaking Anros' arms with two sharp hits. Anros gasped, pain choking his cries. Richard dragged him to the roof's edge, propping him up. "Watch closely. It's your last show."
Anros glared, hate twisting his face, but a flicker of confusion lingered. "How?" he rasped. "You were nothing… two days ago."
Richard didn't answer. Explanations were pointless. He raised the clarinet, notes of Crazy Sonata spilling out, soft but piercing. The street below stirred—motors growled, footsteps echoed. Anros' men were here.
Hope sparked in Anros' eyes. "They'll end you," he spat.
Richard kept playing, aura steady with Ten. His Hatsu wove through the air, unseen but heavy. The first gang member rounded the corner—an elite, gun raised, moving like a hunter. Anros leaned forward, expectant.
The man froze, eyes reddening. His gun turned inward, and a single bang dropped him, blood pooling. Anros' jaw slackened.
More arrived—dozens, pouring into the street, all claw-marked jackets. They were Anros' core, controlling the city's underbelly. Each one hit the same wall: Sonata's notes turned their minds, sparking chaos. Fists flew, knives flashed, screams rose. One smashed his head against a car, another shot his own leg, howling. Blood streaked the pavement, the air thick with it.
Anros' hope drained, face paling. "No…" he whispered. "What are you?"
Richard's notes didn't waver, eyes fixed on the carnage. "Just Richard," he said, voice flat but edged, like a blade held back. "You killed my family, Anros. Chased me. Thought you'd won." He paused, letting a note linger. "Feel that power now?"
The street fell quiet—bodies everywhere, none left standing. Nearly the entire gang, gone in one song. Anros slumped, trembling, eyes hollow. "Monster," he muttered, voice breaking.
Richard stopped playing, stepping closer. "Not a monster," he said, clarinet raised. "Just someone you shouldn't have crossed."
Anros flinched, mouth opening, but no words came. Richard's arm tensed, ready to end it.
A blur shot past, forcing Richard back. Something—a thrown blade—grazed his sleeve, embedding in the roof. A figure landed beside Anros, tall and lean, aura crackling. Nen.
The man glanced at Anros, then Richard, eyes calm but sharp. "Korkin," Anros gasped, clutching at hope. "Kill him!"
Korkin ignored him, sizing Richard up. "That's some Nen," he said, voice smooth, almost curious. "Turning a whole street mad? Never seen that." His aura flared, dense and focused—Enhancement (Kyōka), built for close combat. "But it's over. Let Anros go."
Richard tilted his head, clarinet still in hand.
"You know what he did? Betrayed them. Slaughtered them. My family." His voice stayed even, but each word cut. "Would you walk away from that?"
Korkin's face hardened, a flicker of something—memory?—crossing it. "Don't lecture me, kid," he said, fists clenching, aura spiking.
"I'm giving you an out. Take it, or I'll break you. Your music won't help up close."
Anros whimpered, pleading. "Korkin, save me. Alice—take her, anything."
Korkin's lip curled, disgust flashing. "Shut up," he snapped at Anros, then locked eyes with Richard. "Last chance. Walk."
Richard twirled the clarinet, notes humming faintly. "No deal," he said, voice low, like a fuse burning short. "He dies. You want to stop me? Try."
Korkin's aura roared, and the roof trembled under his step.