The wild crowd fell suddenly silent, as still and cold as a graveyard under frost.
Atop the crumbling ridge of the school roof stood a figure no taller than five-foot-six. Brown hair spiked short and defiant above his head; a dark blue cloak hung open over his bare chest, revealing a flat, lean stomach. Brown knickerbockers reached his knees, and the moonlight caught the hard lines of his legs as he shifted his weight. His brown eyes swept the scene below with open disgust.
"I knew you were all scum," Bachi called down, voice clear and cutting, "but I never took you for child-killers."
He let the words settle, heavy as stones.
"Look at yourselves," he went on, fury rising. "You disgust me. You look like trash. I've been up here long enough to hear the filth spilling out of your mouths. And you—" his gaze locked on the lieutenant, eyes flaring a sudden, unnatural crimson—"you, Vanhelsin, you good-for-nothing piece of garbage. You said all your judgments are valid because his skin is black. Have you ever looked in a mirror? A man willing to murder a child for a sick ideology has no right to decide what's right or wrong."
A ripple of anger passed through the mob. One man near the front shouted, "How dare you sympathize with that thing? It's clearly not human!"
Bachi's lip curled. "Oh? And that hideous nose of yours—that's human, is it? Maybe I should burn you for having an abominable face."
"Who the hell do you think you are, boy?" Lieutenant Damascus snarled, face twisted with rage.
Bachi drew a slow breath. "Who am I?" He paused, letting the question hang. "I'm the only sane person left in this village. I'm the hidden truth, the forgotten history of this kingdom. I am its worst mistake."
Memories flickered behind his eyes—his father's quiet voice, the promise of a peaceful life in the shadows. A small, sad smile touched his lips.
"Dad, I'm sorry. You told me to stay out of trouble, to live quietly. But the shadows aren't where I belong anymore. It was peaceful while it lasted, but I'm stepping into the light now. Tayo's the forerunner. Forgive me—I'm about to cause you a lot of trouble."
He straightened, voice ringing clear across the yard.
"You want my name? Fine. I am Bachi Blezcherrs."
A gasp swept the crowd.
"Did he just say… Blezcherrs?" Captain Rosewalt muttered, staring upward in disbelief.
The lieutenant's face drained of color, then flooded red with fresh fury. "How did we miss this? A damned Blezcherr living right under our noses!"
"I thought we wiped every last one of those bastards out," a townsman hissed.
"Look at those crimson eyes—he's definitely one of them," another whispered. Fearful chatter spread like wildfire.
Bachi turned his back to the crowd. Moonlight poured over him as he shrugged the dark cloak from his shoulders and let it fall. Across the smooth skin of his back, bold and unmistakable, stretched an emblem: a single flower pebble, its lines stretching from the center of his spine to the very edges of his shoulders.
"And I am a proud member of the Rizzer troupe," he declared.
The lieutenant's voice cracked with shock. "The Rizzer troupe is dead. Every tribe connected to them—gone. So how are you still breathing?"
Bachi spun back around, eyes steady. "I don't know. Maybe I was just lucky."
"So what do you want, brat?" Damascus growled.
"Nothing much," Bachi answered. "Just to save Tayo."
Laughter exploded from the lieutenant—loud, mocking, echoing for miles. "You think you can stand against me? Come on, then. I don't mind killing two abominations in one night. The world will thank me."
"Tayo!" Bachi shouted, turning toward the stake. "Don't worry—I'll save you!"
Muscles coiled in his legs. He launched from the roof like an arrow, diving headfirst at the lieutenant. Damascus raised an arm to block the incoming fist, but Bachi twisted mid-air, spinning a full three-sixty and driving an downward kick into the man forehead. The lieutenant absorbed the blow without staggering, seized Bachi by the legs, and hurled him skyward.
Bachi flipped, landed cat-light on the balls of his feet, and surged forward again—only to meet a lightning-fast right jab, then a left, an uppercut, a brutal strike to the gut. Air exploded from his lungs. He crumpled, blood dripping from his mouth.
"So this is your curse," he rasped, struggling to rise but finding his body locked in place, frozen by invisible chains.
The lieutenant drew a dagger, blade glinting wickedly. The crowd roared approval.
"No mercy for you, brat." He stepped forward, raising the weapon. "Let's start with your throat."
Bachi strained against the curse, veins standing out on his forearms—useless.
The lieutenant's arm swung back for the killing strike.
In the blink of an eye the dagger disintegrated, crumbling to gray dust that sifted between his fingers and spilled to the ground.
Captain Rosewalt now stood between them, sword drawn, the invisible cut so precise the blade had simply ceased to exist.
"You really can't help yourself, can you?" Damascus sneered, meeting his captain's eyes. "At least leave a piece I could still use. You had to shred it to nothing."
"Town Action Code or not," Rosewalt said, voice low and lethal, "take one more step and it's your death, Lieutenant."
"Even you can't escape my curse," Damascus replied, smiling like a serpent.
"Why don't you try me."
"Why are you standing in my way, Captain?"
"Why are you making me do this, Lieutenant?"
Dark clouds boiled suddenly across the sky, spiraling inward as if the night itself were inhaling. Birds wheeling overhead dropped mid-flight, plummeting lifeless to the earth. A blinding white flash split the heavens, followed by a thunderclap that shook the ground like the wrath of gods.
When the light faded, Sango stood in the center of the yard, Tayo cradled safely in his arms—ropes severed, the stake splintered behind them as though struck by lightning.
The air itself seemed to wait for what would come next.