The midday sun hung high over the wreckage, casting sharp lines of light over the ruined battlefield. Though the fires had long since burned out, their ghosts lingered in the air—a faint, acrid bite of scorched stone and melted metal.

  Deep fissures split the concrete, jagged and uneven, scars left by the raw heat and force that had ripped through the district the night before. Some structures still bore the warped imprint of intense combustion, steel beams twisted like the ribs of some colossal beast left to decay in the sun.

  Cleanup crews had yet to be allowed inside the cordoned-off area, leaving the battlefield undisturbed save for the methodical movements of Fire Force investigators.

  The air carried the muted murmur of documentation, hushed conversations between personnel cataloging damage, scanning energy traces, and collecting statements from lingering civilian witnesses.

  A low mechanical rumble rolled through the street as a Matchbox vehicle pulled up along the edge of the restricted zone.

  The reinforced doors hissed as they unlocked, and with a solid metallic thud, Captain Leonard Burns stepped out onto the fractured pavement.

  The heavy fabric of his overcoat shifted as he took in the surroundings, his single green eye unreadable beneath the brim of his cap.

  Karim Flam followed, his dark eyes narrowed slightly in habitual irritation, scanning the devastation with analytical detachment. Huo Yan Li stepped out beside him, his demeanor relaxed but alert, his half-lidded gaze sweeping the surroundings with an easy, almost deceptive calm.

  Tamaki Kotatsu stepped down last, her posture restrained, though tension subtly coiled beneath the surface. Ranma’s oversized jacket still hung loosely over her standard orange jumpsuit, the fabric slightly soot-smudged and out of place against the regulation uniform.

  Company 1’s investigation was already well underway. Their soldiers moved with quiet efficiency, marking damage sites and finalizing their analysis. Company 8 had arrived earlier, stationed near the heart of the destruction.

  This wasn’t their jurisdiction, but with Shinra Kusakabe involved and given the scale of the damage, Captain Obi had taken command of the scene.

  Company 8 was running its own sweep—coordinated, parallel. The final report would come from both.

  Obi stood waiting near a collapsed structure, arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral. Behind him, Arthur Boyle loitered with his sheathed plasma sword resting over one shoulder, his eyes sweeping across the scene like he was waiting for some unseen foe to make a dramatic entrance.

  Maki briefly rolled her eyes in quiet resignation, while Obi's neutral expression tightened just a fraction—a subtle indication of practiced patience fraying at the edges.

  “Such destruction…” Arthur muttered, eyes scanning the charred wreckage with theatrical gravity. “Only a dragon’s fury could’ve scorched the earth like this.”

  He squared his shoulders solemnly. “If we find its nest, dibs on the egg.”

  A short distance away, Hinawa stood with his usual rigid posture, his sharp gaze flicking between the investigators and the damage assessments being logged. Even in a non-combat situation, his presence carried a quiet authority.

  Hinawa didn’t even turn. “Stop talking.”

  Maki was nearby, arms folded, her expression thoughtful. She wasn’t saying much, but her eyes tracked every movement within the cordoned-off zone. There was tension in her stance, not from nerves, but from anticipation—ready to move at a moment’s notice if needed.

  Iris stood slightly behind them, her hands clasped in front of her. Her expression was unreadable, but the way she held herself showed quiet focus. She wasn’t here just as an observer—she was taking in everything, absorbing the weight of what had happened.

  Neither spoke as Burns and his men approached, the air tightening subtly around the captain's measured steps. His single green eye moved methodically across their ranks, quietly assessing.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  The ruins of the battlefield stretched before them, the last remnants of smoke long since cleared, but the weight of what had happened still lingered. Captain Obi took in the scene—charred structures, scorched pavement, and the lingering scent of burned metal and concrete.

  A twisted traffic sign jutted from a melted sidewalk like a splintered bone, drawing his attention to just how uneven the destruction had been.

  His jaw tensed slightly, and his eyes lingered on a partially collapsed wall as if trying to pull meaning from the wreckage. This wasn’t just destruction. It was something deeper, something unfinished.

  He paused for a moment, then turned to face Burns, the silence between them carrying more weight than words. His expression was measured, calm.

  "I imagine this hasn’t been an easy day for you or your company." His voice carried no judgment, just acknowledgment. "Given everything we’ve uncovered, I think we’re past the point of working separate angles."

  Burns took in the scene, his eye sweeping over the scorched earth before settling on Obi.

  "I’d say that’s putting it lightly." His tone held firm, but there was weight behind it. "Rekka’s betrayal didn’t just shake my company—it shook everything we’re supposed to stand for."

  He squared his shoulders slightly. "We need to understand what happened here. And I don’t think either of us has the full story yet."

  He met Obi’s gaze directly. "What have you found?"

  Obi studied the wreckage, his stance shifting as he took in the weight of what lay before them. It was one thing to deal with an Infernal outbreak—it was another to deal with one of their own being behind it.

  He regarded Burns without speaking, his expression tightening slightly as if parsing a thought that hadn’t yet taken shape.

  "Before I get into that, I need to ask—did Rekka ever give you any indication he was heading down this path?" His voice wasn’t accusatory, just level.

  Burns paused, absorbing the question without a flicker. Obi let the silence settle for a moment, then continued.

  "Because from where I’m standing, this wasn’t a sudden break. He had a plan. A process. He was methodical." He nodded toward the collapsed section of the district. "And it wasn’t just him. Something bigger is moving behind all this."

  Burns absorbed the question in silence, his gaze steady but distant as if measuring its implications. He wasn’t the type to second-guess himself—but he wasn’t blind, either.

  "If he did, I didn’t see it for what it was." His voice was measured, controlled. "Rekka always had conviction. He believed in strength, in purpose. But until yesterday, I had no reason to think he’d lost sight of what that meant."

  His gaze drifted across the devastation, lingering for a moment on a collapsed bell tower half-swallowed by scorched debris—silent testimony to the force unleashed here—then back to Obi.

  "You’re right. This wasn’t sudden. He knew exactly what he was doing." He steadied himself with a breath. "And if that’s the case, then someone made sure he knew how to do it."

  Obi shifted his weight slightly, his eyes narrowing as thoughts layered behind his steady expression—working through the implications that ran deeper than just Rekka himself.

  A man didn’t just wake up one day and decide to start turning people into Infernals. That kind of conviction—that kind of methodical purpose—came from something larger.

  He drummed a slow rhythm against the side of his arm before he finally spoke. "Then this wasn’t just about him." His voice was calm, but there was a certainty in it now. " Rekka was following orders.”

  He steadied his breath, glancing at Burns. "This lines up with what we’ve already seen from the White Clad."

  Burns took a moment, his expression unreadable as he processed Obi’s words. His jaw tensed—just a fraction—but it was enough to show he was already thinking ahead.

  "Then we have a bigger issue on our hands." His voice was firm, measured. There was no doubt left in the statement, just the weight of what it meant.

  His weight shifted almost imperceptibly as his focus drifted across the wreckage. "If the White Clad had Rekka, there’s no telling how far their reach goes."

  Obi’s hand flexed once at his side, his gaze sharp with consideration. "You think Rekka was the only one?" His voice wasn’t doubtful, just measured.

  Burns considered the question, his eye narrowing slightly. He exhaled through his nose, but his answer was immediate—calm, certain, and without hesitation.

  "I don’t know." His tone was firm, but not dismissive. "But we’d be fools to assume he was."

  The sharp tang of scorched metal prickled in his nose as he surveyed the devastation, collapsed walls, scorched stone, and something deeper etched into the ruins—before settling back on Obi. "If they had one man inside, there’s no reason to think he was the only one."

  Obi’s jaw tightened slightly, his gaze flicking toward the wreckage once more before settling back on Burns.

  "Then we need to find out how deep this goes." His voice remained level, but there was an edge of finality to it.

  He remained still, arms still crossed, the tension shifting just beneath the surface. "What did Tamaki have to say?"

  Burns shifted his weight slightly, his fingers pressing together for a brief moment before settling at his side as he considered his next words.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, deliberate. "She heard it from him directly."

  His eye met Obi’s, the weight of the revelation clear in his tone. "Rekka wasn’t just working for the White Clad." Burns’ voice didn’t rise, didn’t harden, but the weight behind it changed.

  Burns hesitated briefly, his gaze keen and assessing. "He was following someone. Someone higher up."

  Obi didn’t unfold his arms, but his stance rebalanced, like something shifted under the surface.

  "The Evangelist?" Burns’ voice was quiet but firm, rolling the word over like a foreign object in his mouth. It carried weight, but it meant nothing to him—yet.

  A dry breeze stirred the dust at their feet, the heat shifting like a breath drawn and held. The name didn’t echo, but it lingered—as if the air itself had taken notice.

  He let the name hang in the air for a beat before continuing. "Whoever they are, they’re the one guiding all of this."

  Obi’s brow furrowed just a fraction, his mind already working through the implications of that name. It wasn’t a name he recognized—but something about it settled wrong. Too clean. Too absolute.

  His attention returned to the ruins, where the crumbled facade of what had once been a civilian shelter stood jagged and blackened.

  The fractured landscape didn’t just reflect destruction—it hinted at coordination, choice, a pattern slowly emerging in his mind, his thoughts moving ahead of his words. "A leader. A doctrine. A purpose."

  His tone sharpened, solidifying his assessment. "Rekka wasn’t just taking orders—he believed in something."

  His gaze returned to Burns. "Did she say anything else?"

  Burns gave a slight nod, gaze unreadable as he absorbed Obi’s question. His fingers flexed slightly before settling behind his back again, his stance firm.

  "She didn’t hear much. But she heard enough." His voice remained level. "Rekka spoke about seeking something—something only the Evangelist’s followers could find."

  He let that sit for a beat before adding, "Something called the Adolla Burst."

  Obi’s brow furrowed slightly. "Adolla Burst…" He let the name settle on his tongue, weighing it against what he already knew. "That’s what powers Amaterasu."

  He adjusted his footing, arms still crossed, but a subtle edge crept into his posture. He turned slightly toward Burns, his posture sharpening with intent. "What does it have to do with the Evangelist?"

  Burns’ expression remained unreadable, but there was a brief pause before he spoke. "That’s what we need to find out."

  Burns settled his weight with deliberate calm. "Rekka wasn’t after just any kind of flame. He was searching for the Adolla Burst specifically. That means they’re looking for something—or someone."

  Obi’s shoulders drew tighter, one hand brushing his sleeve in a measured motion. A quiet unease stirred beneath the calm, his focus narrowing as if trying to pin down the shape of something still just out of reach.

  "We’re still missing too many pieces." His voice carried no uncertainty, only the weight of too many unanswered questions.

  The wind shifted again, carrying the faint metallic scent of scorched iron. Somewhere in the wreckage, a loose panel creaked—quiet, but persistent, like the world straining to hold its shape.

  A flicker of tension passed through his jaw, almost imperceptible, before it eased again. "We know what they’re after. We don’t know why."

  Burns held steady, his voice even and composed, his stance unwavering. "Then we find out."

  His eye shifted toward Obi, quiet scrutiny lingering in his steady gaze. "Sitting on unknowns won’t get us anywhere." Burns flexed his fingers briefly before letting his arms rest at his sides, his posture composed but alert. "We work with what we have."

  The words lingered for a moment, hanging in the heat-stained air.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Obi didn’t uncross his arms—but his posture leaned in, ever so slightly. He let Burns’ words settle, but his response was direct. "Then let’s start with what we know." His gaze met Burns’. "Who took down Rekka?"

  Burns responded without pause. His words held firm, each one measured. "According to Tamaki, a single fighter took him apart—without using flames."

  Obi’s brow furrowed slightly. His tone wasn’t skeptical—just assessing. "Without flames? That’s rare."

  He let the words settle before continuing. "Who is he? How did he do it?"

  Burns didn’t hesitate. His voice remained steady, deliberate. His eye flicked toward the younger Fire Soldier nearby. "Tamaki saw it happen firsthand."

  Tamaki hesitated. Her gaze dropped for just a second—like she was reliving the moment before she could speak it aloud. The memory flickered behind her eyes, carrying the heat, the weight of flame in the air, and the impossible stillness that had followed it. Then she inhaled slowly, eyes steady now.

  "He said his name is Ranma Saotome." Her arms tightened at her sides. "He didn’t fight like anything I’ve ever seen."

  Her voice was steady, but something lingered beneath it—a hesitation, like she still hadn’t fully processed what she’d witnessed.

  "Rekka’s flames didn’t matter. His strength didn’t matter. They didn’t even slow him down. Ranma wasn’t reacting—he was ahead of him. Like he was watching the fight from the future."

  Arthur leaned in slightly. “Time-knights. Knew it.”

  Hinawa didn’t even look at him. “No.”

  Arthur nodded sagely. “Exactly. Too dangerous to acknowledge.”

  Obi’s fingers paused mid-tap. He gave Arthur the briefest glance—just enough to register the nonsense before turning his attention back to the report.

  "Ranma Saotome." He said the name like he was weighing it, testing how it fit into the bigger picture.

  His eyes flicked toward Burns for a moment before settling back on Tamaki. "You said he wasn’t reacting—he was ahead of him." His voice remained level, but there was something thoughtful behind it. "What did that look like?"

  Tamaki exhaled, her expression tightening slightly. "It wasn’t just speed.”

  She glanced at Obi, then at Burns. "I’ve seen fast fighters before. This wasn’t that. Rekka was throwing everything at him, and it never even felt like a fight."

  A brief silence stretched between them, the weight of her words settling. Hinawa shifted slightly, adjusting his glasses with two fingers before speaking. "You’re not making sense." His tone was even, but there was an edge of scrutiny behind it. "Either he was faster, stronger, or something else. Which was it?"

  Tamaki’s lips parted, the answer there before she even thought about it. "Neither and both." Her voice didn’t waver. "It wasn’t just about being stronger or faster.”

  Her voice stayed steady, but the words still felt strange leaving her lips. “He was… dictating the fight. The pace, the movement—everything."

  Maki shifted slightly. "Dictating the fight…" The words came quiet, more to herself than anyone else. Her arms stayed crossed, her gaze flicking between Tamaki and Obi before settling on the space between them. "That’s not—"

  She stopped, exhaling softly, her expression unreadable. "That’s not normal."

  Tamaki didn’t argue. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, the words building before she could stop them. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

  She hesitated, breath catching at the memory. Then it came out—quiet, but certain. “At first he fought like he was playing, like it was a game—jumping around, making a fool of Rekka.”

  Her hands shifted, one thumb brushing her knuckle in a motion more habitual than intentional—like the rhythm might call the words into place. “Then he found out what Rekka had been doing. And just like that, the fight changed.”

  She shook her head slowly, her breath held for just a moment. “He wasn’t dodging just to avoid getting hit anymore—he was dodging to close the gap. Every move had weight behind it, every step put him exactly where he needed to be. Rekka never had time to adjust."

  Her words dropped to a hush, but her conviction held. "It was like a switch flipped. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t throwing insults back. Just… silent. Focused. And when he hit Rekka, it wasn’t just to knock him around anymore. It was to put him down."

  “He chose the moment.” Her voice was quieter now. “It stopped being a fight when he stopped letting Rekka believe he deserved one.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The words hung in the air, heavier than they had any right to be. Even Arthur didn’t have a quip. For a moment, it was just the quiet sound of breathing and the faint creak of settling debris.

  Obi stayed silent, his eyes on Tamaki—not with doubt, but with something quieter. Consideration. A breath passed. No one questioned what she meant. They felt it too.

  Obi’s eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. "So he didn’t just control the fight—he escalated the second he had a reason to."

  His arms stayed crossed, but his posture shifted slightly. "Alright. Then tell me—what did it look like from the outside?"

  Tamaki looked toward Obi. "He kicked Rekka across the room—through a wall." She shifted slightly, as if still trying to piece it all together. "Then he launched him into the air and didn’t even hesitate before following."

  Her fingers curled slightly. "And then—" she paused, searching for the right words. " It was a blur. Like dozens of hits landing all at once, too fast to track, all landing before Rekka could even react."

  "Then he kicked him straight into the ground." A short breath, steady but deliberate. “And after that—” she exhaled. “He hit him so hard Rekka skipped across the ground like a stone on water… before slamming into another wall."

  Maki’s jaw tightened slightly. "That’s not just beating someone. That’s making sure they stay down."

  Burns didn’t move at first—then his hands folded behind him. "That tracks." His eye flicked toward Obi. "The damage assessment puts the final impact site over one hundred and fifty feet from where the fight started. The force behind those hits wasn’t just for show."

  Hinawa’s gaze remained steady. "That’s a lot of force for someone without flames."

  Obi didn’t react immediately. His jaw tightened slightly, the muscles working against restraint, a flicker of tension coiling just beneath his composure. "That’s not just impact—it’s a statement.” He stood firm, his expression unreadable.

  "So not only did he shut Rekka down, he did it with enough force to send him across a city block." He gave a short nod instead. "Which means he knew exactly when—and how—to end it."

  He let it sit, weighing it, before his eyes flicked toward Burns. "What else did you find?"

  Burns didn’t answer immediately. Instead, it was Huo Yan Li who broke the silence.

  "If you’re asking about damage, we ran the full assessment." He glanced toward Karim Flan before continuing. "Trajectory analysis, structural impact, and residual energy traces all match up with what Tamaki described."

  Karim pulled out a folder and handed it off to Obi. His tone was even, measured "The report checks out."

  He let out a quiet breath, his usual irritation subdued but present. "If you’re looking for contradictions, you won’t find them here."

  Obi flipped through the report without really needing to read it. He already knew the answer. The confirmation didn’t bring clarity—only the tightening knot of what they still didn’t understand.

  He studied the folder for a moment, then clicked his tongue against his teeth, a quiet sign of frustration. His eyes swept over the wreckage again.

  He let the quiet settle, his gaze fixed but unfocused, as if searching the wreckage for a shape to match the rising unease beneath it all.

  Finally, he let out a slow breath, arms still crossed. "One guy did all this?”

  "He took apart a Fire Soldier without flames, moves like a ghost, hits like a cannon, and reads fights like he can see into the future and walked away without so much as a burn. That about sum it up?"

  Arthur slowly nodded, deadly serious. “A cannon ghost. Likely summoned by divine chivalry. Or vengeance.”

  Hinawa didn’t flinch. “That’s not a classification.”

  Arthur turned toward him, undeterred. “He’s clearly my destined nemesis.”

  “You just said that about a crow yesterday,” Maki muttered.

  Arthur lifted his chin. “Yes. But this one is worthy.”

  There was a brief pause before Iris offered, with quiet sincerity, “Maybe he’s not a ghost. Maybe he just knows how to fight without needing to prove it.”

  Arthur blinked. “...That’s what I said.”

  Obi sighed without turning. “Arthur, not now.”

  His eyes flicked toward Burns. "Tell me something—are we looking at an ally, or a problem waiting to happen?"

  Tamaki’s chest tightened. She heard his voice again, clear in her mind: Hold your ground, Kitten. Strength isn’t just in a fight.

  She didn’t move. But the silence stretched too long, and the weight of the question sat wrong in her gut.

  Ally or threat? Like they were trying to define him before they’d even tried to understand him. Before they’d earned the right.

  Tamaki exhaled sharply, shifting her stance. "You’re asking the wrong question." Her voice carried a weight that surprised even her. "If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be standing here."

  Her fingers curled slightly against the sleeve of his jacket. "I don’t know if he’s an ally," she admitted, her voice quieter than before. "But I know what he’s not.”

  Tamaki’s arms folded across her chest, her golden eyes flickering with something unreadable. "If he was a problem, this would be a different conversation," she said simply. "Rekka was ready to kill civilians. Ranma stopped him."

  Her grip tightened. "I saw how he fought—how he moved, how he made sure there were no casualties. He didn’t hesitate.” She shook her head. “Not when it counted. Not when lives were on the line."

  "But… it wasn’t just about stopping him. She hesitated, her brow furrowing. “He was trying to understand him first.”

  Her breath left her slowly. “He didn’t just fight to win—he fought to be sure. He needed to know what kind of person Rekka was before he put him down. That’s not something a killer does.” Her hand lingered over the fabric at her arm, thumb pressing lightly into the material—as if reaffirming the truth of her own words.

  Her posture straightened. "That’s something a protector does."

  She steadied herself, the weight of it settling in her chest. "I don’t know what that makes him.” Her eyes met Obi’s. “But I know what it doesn’t make him."

  "A threat," she said, letting the word settle on its own weight.

  She lifted her gaze, her voice steady. "The real question isn’t whether he’s an ally or a problem. It’s why someone like him showed up at all."

  The silence that followed wasn’t tense—just heavy, like everyone was waiting to see who would dare name what none of them yet understood.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  The room held its breath, the weight of the conversation pressing into the silence.

  Burns’ expression remained steady, but his attention stayed on Tamaki a moment longer than expected.

  Arthur nodded to himself, as if everything had just clicked into place. “Of course he’s a protector. I sensed it in his aura. Smelled faintly of lightning and destiny.”

  Burns didn’t turn. “You just made that up.”

  Arthur folded his arms. “As did destiny.”

  A slow exhale followed, but Burns’ gaze lingered on Tamaki—like he was measuring something unspoken. He studied her for a moment longer than expected. It wasn’t just what she said—it was how she had said it.

  Tamaki Kotatsu had stepped forward; not bad.

  His brow lifted just a fraction, unreadable, before he exhaled. “That’s no small thing to put your weight behind.” His tone was steady, but something in it—just a hint—almost sounded like approval.

  He nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly. "You’ve thought about this." His voice wasn’t questioning, just acknowledging. "I can’t say I disagree."

  "It’s not just about how he fights." Burns continued. "It’s about who he is when the fight’s over."

  His focus shifted to Obi, his posture adjusting slightly. "But I’ve seen him firsthand too."

  Obi didn’t respond immediately, arms still crossed, gaze steady. Then he exhaled—low, thoughtful. "That’s two people calling him a protector."

  His tone was level, but the words hung with weight. "That’s a dangerous label to get wrong."

  Hinawa stepped in, his voice level. "So far, everything we’ve seen supports his restraint." He paused, glancing toward Burns. "Intent matters. But so does alignment."

  His voice cut clean through the quiet, his expression unreadable. "You're both speaking from what he did in one moment."

  "Behavior under fire isn’t the same as trust." His gaze moved between Tamaki and Burns. “One fight doesn’t make a man.”

  Hinawa remained still, his voice as level as ever. "If we’re calling him a protector, then we still need to determine what he’s protecting—and why."

  Beside them, Maki’s arms stayed folded, but her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t thinking about Ranma. She was thinking about the kind of person who fights like that—for someone else.

  Hinawa’s gaze locked on Burns. "You said you’ve seen him. So—what did you actually see?"

  Burns looked up slightly, his eye steady. "Didn’t know what I was looking at, not at first." He shifted his weight. "I couldn’t explain it. Just had a gut feeling—something in the wreckage didn’t add up.”

  His expression didn’t shift. "And I’ve seen enough battlefields to know when something’s been rewritten from the inside."

  "I gave the order to tighten formation— Kept it clean—nothing that’d raise questions. If I was wrong, no one would notice. But I wasn’t."

  His eye didn’t leave Hinawa. "We had the zone locked down. Full sweep, coordinated coverage. No one saw a breach. No one flagged movement."

  "But somehow, he was already inside—he was just there. Like he’d always been part of it."

  Burns remained still, his focus unwavering. “He made a mistake,” he said. “Just a small one. But it was enough.”

  “The sound gave him away. Not much—just enough for someone paying attention.” He let the memory settle for a beat. “A shift in the rubble. Just one wrong breath. That’s all it took.”

  Arthur muttered under his breath, “I once heard the sound of betrayal in a squirrel’s footsteps.”

  Iris giggled. “What?”

  He frowned. “They know.”

  The weight of his words settled, but Burns wasn’t finished.

  He gave Arthur a look—flat, unreadable—then turned back to Obi. “That’s how I knew where to look.”

  Arthur tilted his head. “So what you’re saying is… he failed a stealth check.”

  He nodded, clearly proud of the analogy. “Happens to the best of us. A squirrel once cost me a stealth op.”

  Maki didn’t even look at him. “You were trying to sneak into the women’s dorm.”

  Arthur looked confused. “A knight king answers all calls for aid.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  Obi glanced at him, expression unreadable. “Arthur. Don’t talk for the next five minutes.”

  Arthur nodded solemnly. “Five minutes of knightly silence. Understood.”

  Burns didn’t speak right away. His posture remained firm, gaze fixed on Arthur. Then, slowly, he exhaled. “Once I knew where he was, I didn’t move. I watched.”

  “He was already in the rubble,” he said, voice low but clear. “Just moving one piece at a time.”

  His eye didn’t waver. “Like he had all the time in the world for something no one else would’ve looked twice at.”

  A flicker of something unreadable crossed his eye. “And what was he looking for?”

  He didn’t shift, didn’t flinch. “All that risk—for a cat. Buried. Calm as you like.”

  Maki blinked. “You’re kidding.”

  Tamaki didn’t say anything. But her fingers curled again into the fabric of the jacket still slung over her arms. That sounded exactly like him.

  Iris’s eyes softened. “That… sounds like a kind of protector.”

  Arthur’s voice was quiet. “The greatest heroes answer small calls.” Then, without missing a beat—“Though cats are usually familiars. Could be prophetic.”

  Hinawa didn’t even look at him. “You still have four minutes left.”

  Burns didn’t speak. His eye lingered on the rubble—on the space where something had shifted, where the pieces didn’t quite line up.

  ‘I don’t leave it buried.’

  The words came back unprompted, low and quiet in his mind. Not a boast. Just fact. Said like the world had already proven it true.

  "Most people don’t dig through rubble for the sake of a stray,” he said finally, voice even. “That’s not heroism—it’s instinct. And that’s what makes it harder to ignore.”

  His hands loosened at his sides, tension unwinding in slow increments. He glanced toward the others. “It wasn’t just that he pulled her out,” he said. “It’s that he never once looked like he thought he’d fail.”

  His fingers flexed once before stilling—not in frustration, but in thought. “There was no panic. No rush. No fear.” A pause. “Just purpose.”

  “And that’s the part that sticks.” His eye narrowed, not in suspicion, but in something quieter. He was still working through it.

  “I’ve seen men risk their lives for less. Seen them hesitate, flinch, make calls they regret because the moment got too heavy.”

  He turned his attention to Hinawa, then Obi. “But that kid didn’t weigh it. He just moved.”

  “I don’t know what kind of man does that.” Burns let that hang for a beat, then gave the faintest shake of his head. “But I know it’s not the kind we usually get.”

  Iris clasped her hands loosely in front of her. “Some people rush into fire to be seen. Others go because they’re needed.”

  Her voice was soft, almost too quiet for the weight it carried. “That kind of kindness… it’s not for show. It’s just who they are.”

  She studied the rubble, her focus distant, thoughtful. “People like that don’t wait to be told what matters.”

  Her fingers brushed the silver cross at her collar. “The scriptures say faith is shown in the small things. In the quiet choices no one sees.”

  She looked toward Burns. “Maybe that’s why it’s hard to ignore.”

  Burns didn’t speak. But his eye lingered—not on her, not on anyone. Just on the fractured ground, as if turning something over in his mind.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  Obi didn’t speak at first. His gaze lingered on Iris, then drifted back toward the battlefield—his jaw tightening, just slightly.

  His voice was calm, but there was something behind it—something measuring. “Not many people act like that unless they mean it.”

  His brow furrowed slightly. “That says more than most reports ever could.”

  “Still, that’s a hell of a lot of risk to take,” Obi muttered, almost to himself.

  He weighed it—the risk, the choice, the absolute certainty.

  He looked toward Burns, something unreadable in his expression. “But if he didn’t hesitate, then maybe it wasn’t risk to him at all.”

  Burns didn’t answer right away. His focus held on the rubble, his expression giving nothing away.

  “He’s not some dumb hothead,” he said, voice low but certain. “This kid reads battlefields like veterans do.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back, movement crisp but restrained. “He registered the formation tightening before anyone else would’ve. Didn’t panic. Didn’t lash out. Just… adjusted.”

  “That’s the part most people miss. He didn’t just spot the trap. He understood it.”

  “You don’t see that kind of control. Not from civilians.” Burns’ jaw flexed slightly, but his tone never wavered. “I’ve seen lieutenants take longer to process a sweep like that.”

  Hinawa’s voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the weight behind it. “Reading formation patterns isn’t the same as respecting them.”

  He shifted slightly, just enough to suggest movement without breaking his stance. “Quick thinking doesn’t answer who he answers to. Control under pressure doesn’t tell us what happens when he’s the one applying it.”

  He looked toward Burns. “You say he didn’t lash out—but you also say he saw the net closing. That means he let it happen.”

  “Was that trust—or calculation?”

  Burns didn’t blink. “He didn’t flinch—and he didn’t posture.”

  His gaze flicked toward Hinawa, but the weight of it landed somewhere else—back in memory. “We boxed him in. Seamless sweep. No gaps. And he still stood there like it was a conversation, not a trap.”

  A faint shake of his head—not dismissive, almost impressed. “Even cracked a joke.”

  Burns’ fingers tapped once against his sleeve, the movement deliberate but restrained. “That’s not arrogance. That’s someone counting exits and reading tone while everyone else is waiting for an order.”

  His eye swept the group, voice even. “He wasn’t trying to get out. He was figuring out which way made the most sense.”

  He let the words settle, voice calm but edged with something harder to define. “It wasn’t just the way he watched the field. It was the way he watched me.”

  A slow exhale. “Every word, every shift—it was measured. Like he was trying to figure out what kind of man I was… while giving me just enough to figure out what he might be.”

  Burns glanced toward Hinawa, then Obi. “He wasn’t being evasive. He was testing the perimeter—seeing how far he could push before someone pushed back.”

  His posture remained steady. “That’s not stray behavior. That’s a fighter checking the edge of the cage.”

  Arthur shifted slightly, eyes narrowed like he’d been following every word—then promptly ruined the illusion. “So what you’re saying is,” he said, deadly serious, “he’s a tactician and a tailor.”

  Maki looked at him. “He’s not a tailor.”

  Arthur nodded, solemn. “True. He’s a tailor… of fate.”

  Hinawa didn’t even look at him. “Still two minutes.”

  Arthur blinked. “I said it quietly.”

  Obi sighed. “And yet, here we are.”

  Arthur tilted his head, thoughtful. “So... let me guess—he punched a hole in reality and walked out?”

  Huo Yan Li snorted. “He used someone’s head as a springboard and vaulted over four people.”

  Arthur leaned forward slightly. “Or maybe... fate opened a path just for him.”

  Karim Flam sighed. “That path was someone’s head.”

  Arthur looked impressed. “Fate is efficient.”

  Hinawa adjusted his glasses. “No. Stop.”

  Burns glanced his way, unimpressed. “Fate had nothing to do with it.”

  Burns exhaled, his gaze still distant. “We had him. Pressure from all sides. Every route sealed.”

  Burns drew his arms in, crossing them with deliberate calm. “Then Kotatsu stumbled. Her uniform slipped. And just like that—he had an opening.”

  His glance slid to Tamaki, his features closed off and unreadable. “But he didn’t gawk. Didn’t freeze. Just moved—fast enough to beat the moment itself.”

  “He dressed her in his jacket midair, redirected her movement, and put her between him and me.”

  Tamaki didn’t speak. But her grip on the jacket tightened—like she remembered exactly how it felt, that moment he moved not for himself, but for her. It wasn’t luck or fate, it was him.

  Burns let that settle. “Used it to pivot the whole field around him.”

  “And somehow, none of it felt like panic.” A slow exhale. “He didn’t just get out. He made us watch him do it.”

  “There’s a compass under the cockiness... and I don’t think we’ve seen what he’s really capable of yet. Not even close.”

  A long silence followed. Burns’ words hung there, heavy but unfinished—like no one wanted to be the first to name what they were circling.

  Maki’s jaw tensed slightly. She didn’t speak right away, but her gaze flicked toward the ruined district, then back to Burns.

  “Redirecting momentum midair… with someone else’s body?”

  She shifted her stance, arms still crossed. She kept her focus on him, unmoving, her attention steady and unwavering. “Most people wouldn’t even think to do that.”

  She shook her head once, but it wasn’t disbelief. "He didn’t just move through the trap… he owned it. Like it was never meant to hold him in the first place."

  Her gaze shifted—first to Tamaki, then to Burns. “He didn’t use her. He moved with her.”

  She exhaled. “He put her between you… and still made it feel like protection.”

  Her voice wasn’t skeptical—it was impressed. Thoughtful. “That’s control. Trust. Timing.”

  “That takes a fighter who knows what people are worth.”

  Maki exhaled slowly, the tension unspooling from her shoulders before she even noticed. Her arms had dropped to her sides at some point. "Anticipation like that... it’s strategic. Deliberate." She added, quieter now. “Like he knew the stumble was coming.”

  Hinawa didn’t nod. Didn’t shift. But when he spoke, his voice was low and flat. “He used the environment. Anticipated failure points. Executed mid-air adaptation under pressure.”

  His glasses caught the sunlight. “That’s not just combat instinct. That’s pattern fluency. Strategic fluency.”

  “Tactical jacket-based evasion.” Arthur said solemnly. “Classic knight maneuver.”

  He stared into the distance. “If I disappear into the woods and train for a month, I could probably do that.”

  “No, wait—two months. But I’d need a waterfall. And a prophecy.” Arthur broke the silence with a solemn nod.

  Maki didn’t even turn. “Shut up, Arthur.”

  Iris gave him a sideways glance, then looked toward Tamaki. Her voice was soft. “He moved to protect you.”

  She held Tamaki’s gaze—quietly, gently. “He gave you space when the whole world was closing in.”

  “And did it so naturally you almost missed it.” Her words came quiet, her gaze lowering. “That means something.”

  Tamaki didn’t look up. She just nodded—once—barely more than a motion. Her fingers curled tighter around the fabric at her elbows. She didn’t need to say it. She remembered. All of it.

  Hinawa’s focus shifted briefly to Tamaki. “You trust him.” It wasn’t an accusation. It was a deduction.

  Tamaki didn’t flinch. “I trust what I saw.”

  Obi stayed quiet a moment longer, then finally spoke. “Then maybe the question isn’t if he’s dangerous...”

  His eyes scanned the wreckage one more time. “Maybe it’s who he’s dangerous to.”

  Obi shifted his weight slightly, his arms remaining crossed as the silence lingered. His jaw tensed for a moment, then eased. “All this from someone who didn’t even stick around to explain himself.”

  His gaze swept the ruins again. “Either he’s running from something—or walking toward it.”

  He looked toward Burns, arms still crossed. “And I think it’s time we found out which.”

  Burns didn’t respond right away. His gaze lingered on Obi for a beat, then shifted back to the scorched ground beneath their boots.

  Burns stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the fractured earth. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

  His eye tracked the melted fissures spiderwebbing through the concrete—the path of destruction cut deep and deliberate.

  “Your team was first on-site.” He didn’t look back at Obi. “What did they find?”

  Hinawa was already moving before the words finished. “We haven’t gotten Shinra’s account yet—he’s still unconscious. Everything we know is based on what we’ve seen, not what he saw.”

  Hinawa shifted, his voice neutral but deliberate. “We completed the assessment earlier this morning. Company 1 should have the field copy.”

  “Localized burn temperatures exceeded Class II thresholds. Steel supports melted. Asphalt destabilized. No trace accelerants.”

  Hinawa didn’t stop. “Structural deformation runs deeper than standard combustion. We found temperature spikes too high for Third Gen tolerance.”

  “The Infernal wasn’t wild. It showed restraint. Civilian targeting. Tactical feints.”

  He glanced toward the blackened wall to his right. “Whatever it was… it wasn’t flailing. It was isolating Kusakabe.”

  The heat had left more than just scorch marks. It had twisted the street into something unrecognizable.

  “Shinra was injured. Burned—badly.” He paused, just long enough for the others to register it.

  He adjusted his glasses, gaze sharp. “That doesn’t happen under any conditions we’ve seen before.”

  Maki’s brow creased slightly. None of that should’ve happened. Not like this.

  No one spoke at first. The words sat there, heavier than expected.

  Then Tamaki blinked, startled. “Wait—he got burned?”

  She took a step back, like the words had shoved her off-balance. Her shoulders squared slightly, tension drawing into her frame. “No one told me that.”

  “Is he—” Her voice caught for a second. She exhaled, steadier this time. “Shinra’s okay, right?”

  Obi glanced her way—just once. “He’s alive,” he said, steady. “Took a beating, yeah. Bad enough to put him out for a while.”

  He looked toward the scorched buildings. “But it’s not life-threatening. Medics say he’s stable.”

  Maki’s voice came low, almost an afterthought. “If anyone can walk away from something like that... it’s him.”

  She didn’t look at Tamaki when she said it—but she didn’t have to. “Shinra doesn’t stay down easy.”

  Iris followed after a pause, quieter still. “He’s resting. The doctors said he’ll recover.”

  Her voice held steady—not forceful, just certain. “You don’t have to worry alone.”

  Tamaki looked down, her fingers flexing once at her side. Relief came slow—heavy, not light. Like it had to settle through everything else first. Her shoulders dropped slightly, the tension easing in increments she didn’t notice at first.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  A breeze pushed through the open street, carrying the distant sound of sirens.

  It was Maki who finally broke the quiet, her voice just above a murmur. “Still… that kind of damage—Shinra shouldn’t have gotten burned at all.”

  “You’re right.” Hinawa’s tone was quiet, but the edge behind it was unmistakable. “Third Generation pyrokinetics don’t burn like that. Their ignition resistance isn’t just biological—it’s systemic.”

  He adjusted his glasses, eyes narrowing. “Whatever he fought, it didn’t just overwhelm him—it bypassed everything we know about combustion thresholds.”

  Obi’s brow furrowed slightly. “Like it wasn’t just flame.”

  Obi let the silence settle, just long enough for it to mean something. Then he shifted, arms folding tighter across his chest. “We’ve got one kid in recovery,” he said, voice low. “And another no one understands.”

  Burns shifted his stance slightly, the movement small but grounding. “Whatever Shinra faced—it wasn’t just stronger. It was thinking.”

  His eye moved to Obi. “And I don’t think it’s a coincidence we met two anomalies on the same day.”

  Maki stepped forward, slow and thoughtful. “You think it’s connected.”

  Burns didn’t answer right away. His posture stayed firm, but something behind his eye narrowed. “I think it started the moment he showed up.”

  He let that settle—not a judgment, not a theory. Just the shape of something they hadn’t figured out yet.

  Karim gave a faint, involuntary scoff. “What kind of person walks into a mess like this without a reason?”

  Tamaki’s voice came quiet, but certain. “Someone who’s been through worse.”

  Iris looked at her, not surprised.

  Burns exhaled. “We don’t know what side he’s on.”

  Obi’s chin dipped in silent agreement. “No. But we know what side he was on last night,” he said, voice low. “But that’s not enough.”

  His gaze swept the ruined street, as if tracking footprints that no longer remained. “We still don’t know who he is, what he wants, or why he was even there.”

  “And we need to find him.” He drew a slow breath, arms tensing across his chest. “Before someone else does.”

  Burns paused, studying Obi for a moment longer, then shifted to the shattered street at their feet.

  When he spoke, his voice was quiet—but sure. “Then we find him.”

  “We figure out what he saw, what he knows—and whether the White-Clad or this Evangelist is just the start of it.”

  He folded his arms with slow finality. “And we don’t do it alone.”

  Obi nodded once, the weight of it understood. “Together, then.”

  A breeze swept through the shattered block, stirring dust and ash across the cratered street. Loose metal creaked in the distance, and the air shifted with a faint, acrid bite—like the fire hadn’t quite finished speaking.

  And somewhere, past the reach of their questions. Ranma Saotome walked alone—unaware the hunt had already begun.

  -o-0-o-O-o-0-o-

  A few minutes later, Company 8 loaded back into their Matchbox and began pulling away. The engine rumbled low, and the last traces of their presence rolled with the dust they left behind.

  Burns remained where he stood.

  He watched until their tail lights vanished down the fractured street, then turned back toward the ruined district—silent, but still watching.

  Another Matchbox pulled up alongside the cordon. Its door creaked open, and a Fire Soldier stepped out, boots crunching softly against broken stone. He held a weathered backpack in both hands, the fabric torn but intact.

  “Captain,” the soldier called. “We found this.”

  Burns looked over, his posture unchanged.

  The soldier approached, lowering the bag with quiet care. “It was buried in the same spot Saotome was digging through. Took some work to get it out.”

  Burns’ eye narrowed slightly, but he didn’t reach for it. He just looked at the pack, as if it might speak first.

  The wind shifted again. Dust caught the light. And for a long moment, Burns didn’t move.

  Arthur’s Notes: Episode 6 (Off-World Edition) – The Scholar’s Summit of Saintly Mayhem

  try to call it that—was, in Arthur’s words, “a convergence nexus of unparalleled intellectual radiance.”

  Who—or what—is Ranma Saotome?”

  so advanced that mere mortals cannot grasp his taxonomy!”

  you see in Ranma Saotome’s unyielding stride across fate’s battlefield?”

  differently, you say?”

  event! A ripple in the river of inevitability!”

  The Variable of Destiny.”