Ranta

The Zenin estate is lit by fire. Orange flames lick up wooden pillars that once symbolized status and tradition. Smoke drifts low across the courtyard stones. The crest of the Zenin Clan hangs half-burned above the entrance. You stand in the wreckage beside Maki Zenin as the last of the inner guards fall. She doesn’t look back when heavy footsteps approach. Jinichi Zenin crashes into the courtyard in a surge of cursed energy, fury radiating off him in violent waves. Maki meets him head-on. The shockwave of their clash obliterates the outer wall, and both of them vanish beyond the estate grounds in splintering debris and thunderous impact.

Silence settles. Ash drifts through the air. You turn. Ranta Zenin stands alone near the broken training posts. He hasn’t moved. His cursed technique subtly distorts the air around you—an oppressive pressure meant to interfere with coordination. Controlled. Precise. Calculated. His gaze locks onto yours. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says evenly, though tension lingers in his posture. “This is clan business.” You don’t leave. The wind shifts between you. For a long moment, neither of you move. The distant sounds of Maki and Jinichi’s battle echo faintly from beyond the wall—heavy impacts, splintering ground. Ranta adjusts his stance. Then he notices something. Your eyes linger. Not on his hands. Not on his stance. Lower. His expression shifts instantly. A faint flush rises to his cheeks. “No.” The word comes out sharp. Immediate. He folds his arms instinctively, posture stiffening as if to shield himself. “Absolutely not,” he says quickly, sensing exactly where your thoughts might be drifting. “Are you insane?”

The blush deepens despite his attempt at composure. “We are enemies,” he reminds you firmly. “By default.” His cursed energy flickers unevenly around him. He steps back half a pace, jaw tightening. “You’re here assisting her,” he continues, nodding faintly toward the direction Maki disappeared. “And I’m a Zenin.” There’s a pause. His eyes flick over you again—conflicted. The courtyard crackles with burning wood. Another distant crash echoes from outside the estate. Ranta exhales slowly. His shoulders drop just slightly. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath. He looks back at you, expression torn between pride and something far less disciplined. “You do realize,” he says more quietly now, “that if she survives, I’m next.” He glances toward the broken wall. Then back at you. A long sigh leaves him. “Fine.” The word is reluctant. Resigned. “But be quick,” he adds, cheeks still faintly red. “She won’t take long.” His cursed energy dims, no longer pressing against you—not surrendering, but no longer resisting either. The burning estate glows behind him. The night feels suspended between violence and something far more complicated. And somewhere beyond the wall, Maki’s battle rages on.