The threads raged.

  They weren’t fabric.

  They weren’t technique.

  They were her.

  Every flick of Sylvetta’s wrist came with a shudder of emotion—buried grief, shattered obedience, and the weight of every command she’d ever been forced to follow.

  And Watari—

  He was cutting through all of it.

  Each swing of his bde now resonated not against her form—

  But her trauma.

  Silent.

  Ichi.

  Loud.

  Kōsetsu.

  Spiral.

  Sakura.

  Power.

  Ibuki.

  Then Vanish.

  Gōraiken.

  The five sword styles flowed seamlessly.

  Midnight Fang wrapped around his wrist once more—Kaito guiding the motion.

  Takeya watched from behind, breathing ragged.

  “She’s controlling everything,” he murmured. “But not him.”

  Watari sshed through a net of threads that once would’ve overwhelmed him.

  Sylvetta’s eyes trembled.

  “You’re… not supposed to move like that…”

  He didn’t respond.

  Another ssh.

  Another.

  Sylvetta’s threads spun wildly to intercept—but every time they adjusted, Watari was already elsewhere. Kaito’s movement correction, Takeya’s guidance, Watari’s instinct—they had synced.

  Almost too te.

  Sylvetta staggered midair.

  Not from an attack.

  From herself.

  “You’re… breaking my pattern…”

  A breath.

  A memory flickered in her voice.

  “He used to say that, too…”

  Watari’s eyes narrowed.

  “Your brother?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Instead—

  She screamed.

  The threads expanded outward in all directions—like a puppet pulling the sky down.

  A dome of pressure colpsed over the field.

  Even Kaito dropped to one knee. “Tch—!”

  Takeya stumbled, catching himself on the wall.

  Watari took one step forward—

  And his knees buckled.

  Sylvetta hovered above it all, her silhouette jagged, arms limp as if dangling—but her strings screamed.

  “This is the part where you beg,” she whispered.

  “This is the part where you break.”

  Watari exhaled.

  “…No.”

  He stood up again.

  Eyes locked on her.

  “You’re just like him, aren’t you?” he asked. “You’ve turned into your brother.”

  Sylvetta flinched.

  “…What?”

  “You think you’re only strong when someone else’s hands are on the strings.”

  “But your Tamashkii…”

  He raised his sword.

  “…It’s yours. Not his.”

  The threads shuddered.

  Her voice cracked.

  “I… don’t…”

  Watari’s bde fred with raw resonance—bright, defiant.

  “You fight like you’re dancing to someone else’s rhythm.”

  “But you’re the one carrying the pain.”

  Another step forward.

  “Maybe it’s time you stop dancing for him.”

  Sylvetta’s breathing hitched.

  “I—I don’t know how.”

  Her threads whipped toward him one st time—erratic, unchained.

  But Watari moved through them all.

  Every ssh—

  A message.

  Every dodge—

  A choice.

  Then—

  He reached her.

  His bde pulsed.

  He invoked Ikazuchi’s name.

  And then——

  A memory surfaced.

  A quiet night in the training hall. Alone.

  He sat cross-legged, bde across his knees, staring into the mythical mist of his Reibaku. Staring at Takeminakata.

  “…Be honest,” he had whispered. “Am I weak?”

  Silence.

  Then—

  A voice.

  Deep. Storm-borne. Ancient.

  “I am not a bde that a weak user can possess.”

  Watari had ughed once—softly.

  “Then why does it feel like every time I get stronger, I fall further behind?”

  Another pause.

  Then—

  “Because that is the rhythm of life. A current. One that drags. One that lifts. It brings you to highs… and drops you to your lowest depths.”

  The Reibaku shimmered faintly in the candlelight.

  “But you, Watari… were meant to weather the storm.”

  Watari’s hands had gripped the bde tighter.

  The voice grew calmer.

  “Lately, that storm has been too quiet. Too soft. You’ve been walking through calm waters.”

  A breath.

  “You must bring out that wrath again.”

  “…How?” Watari asked.

  The answer—

  Raishuu no Kata.

  “Raishuu no Kata…” Watari whispered. “…Yūrei Ittō.”

  (Style of the Thundercp – Specter’s Single Bde)

  One clean strike.

  Takeminakata’s voice echoed. “Good. Let the storm rise.”

  Ssh.

  The threads fell.

  Sylvetta dropped from the sky, barely conscious, body gently caught by Watari’s free arm.

  Her eyes, wide and distant, finally met his.

  “I tried to dance right,” she whispered. “I just… wanted him to stop correcting me… T-To stop beating me.”

  Watari didn’t let go.

  “I’ll make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

  Sylvetta smiled.

  A small, broken smile.

  “…Okay.”

  And then—

  She was gone.

  Her body crumbled to dust.

  Tamashkii distorting and evaporating into quiet light.

  Kaito lowered his bde.

  Takeya finally let himself colpse.

  And Watari—

  Stood in the silence.

  The strings were gone.

  But the dissonance lingered.

  CUT TO BLACK.