CHAPTER 77: EX 77. WHO ARE YOU?

The moment Nikko’s blurry vision cleared and she looked up at the figure standing over her, her heart seized in her chest.

Her instincts screamed, Run! Her breath caught, and she bolted upright, trying to throw herself off the bridge again.

But she barely got a step in before strong arms wrapped around her waist, locking her in place like steel chains.

"You’re not going anywhere," the voice growled, low and familiar.

She thrashed against him, kicking, elbowing, trying anything to break free, but he was stronger. Much stronger. With a grim expression, he shifted his grip, one hand coiled around her throat, cutting off her breath. Her eyes widened in panic as the world around her started to fade, the moon above smudging into haze, the wind into silence. The pressure on her neck intensified.

Then, darkness.

****

When Nikko awoke, it was to the chilling scent of blood.

Her limbs were bound, wrists and ankles secured tightly to the cold frame of a wooden chair. Her breath quickened as she realized what she was sitting in. It was the center of a massive eight-sided star-shaped octagram, crudely etched onto the concrete floor in thick, dark lines.

It was drawn in blood.

She jerked against her restraints, panic spiking in her chest. The warehouse around her was abandoned, the walls rusted and covered in peeling paint. The only light came from flickering fluorescent bulbs high above, buzzing faintly like insects of decay.

And then, she saw him.

A lone figure stood in the shadows, cloaked in a hood. Still yet watching her intensely.

Nikko’s heart nearly leapt from her chest.

’No. No no no... it can’t be...’

Her entire body froze as the figure stepped forward, his hood casting a long shadow over the floor.

"You’re finally awake," the voice said, calm and almost amused.

With one hand, he pulled the hood back.

Daikichi Yakomoto.

The same brother who had beaten her to a pulp in the training ring.

The same person who had told her to kill herself.

And now, he was here.

Staring at her with that same unsettling grin, eyes sharp with a twisted kind of interest.

"Welcome back, sister."

****

The bindings were tight, but Nikko still tried to struggle free, her body trembled as her heart thundered in panic. Her wrists bruised against the ropes, her breath heavy through the gag stuffed in her mouth. She kicked her legs and squirmed in the chair.

But it was useless.

Daikichi stepped forward, placing a firm hand on her shoulder, pinning her down with unsettling ease. His grip was iron.

"Don’t worry, sister," he whispered with a cruel smile. "It’ll all be over before you know it."

Nikko’s muffled screams escaped through the gag it was desperate, and came out in panicked whimpers of resistance. Which amused Daikaichi.

"Hm? What was that?" he asked mockingly as he reached forward and yanked the gag down. "Don’t bother screaming. No one will hear you here."

Nikko gasped for air, her throat dry and ragged. Then, her voice cracked with fear as she asked:

"What are you doing?"

Daikichi crouched in front of her, his eyes glinting with manic excitement.

"I’m making you useful."

The words hit her like a slap. Nikko blinked, stunned.

"W-what...?" she asked, her voice trembling, panic surging like acid through her chest.

Daikichi stood and raised his hair away from his forehead. A faint, glowing mark appeared, etched into his skin, dark and pulsing with infernal energy.

"I made a deal," he said proudly. "With a demon."

Nikko’s eyes widened in horror.

"Are you insane?!"

Even she, who had no grand place in the Yakomoto family, knew the first rule of survival in the Federation: Never make a deal with a demon. Their pacts always came at a cost far worse than death. Daikichi? He had thrown himself into damnation.

Daikichi just laughed, it was a crazed, bitter, broken laugh.

"Insane? Maybe. But nowhere near the lunatics in our family. The segregation. The brutality. The ’only the strong deserve to live’ bullshit. I’m done."

As he ranted, something inside Nikko shifted. His words weren’t wrong. She remembered the beatings, the constant humiliation, the way everyone, including Daikichi had treated her like she was nothing. Not because of what she did, but because she was born... weaker.

Daikichi’s voice dropped into a sinister tone.

"That’s why I’ll offer you to the Demon God. A sacrifice... to fuel my rise. With your death, I’ll awaken a Supreme Talent. You won’t be missed. At least this way... you’ll matter."

Nikko didn’t even flinch.

She just stared.

For a long, heavy moment, the weight of everything pressed on her, like the world itself had given her permission to fade away. Her summoning was next year... and she had no hope of awakening an ordinary talent talkless of a supreme talent.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe this was the only way she’d ever be useful.

Her spirit cracked, her eyes lost focus. The will to fight, already bruised from years of scorn, finally gave way to quiet surrender.

Daikichi noticed this.

"Good... let’s not make it more difficult than necessary."

He untied her and gently guided her to lie in the middle of the ritual circle like she was a lamb for slaughter.

Nikko didn’t resist.

She lay on the cold floor as Daikichi brought out a ceremonial knife. Its edges were jagged and carved with infernal runes. As he began to chant, the words ancient and guttural. From his palm, he drew blood, letting it drip into the circle.

"As our blood mixes," he muttered, "let the Demon God acknowledge my plea... and grant me strength!!!"

The knife gleamed under the flickering lights.

As he raised it high, Nikko closed her eyes, waiting for the pain.

But it never came.

Instead,

CRASH!

The sound of a body slamming into concrete echoed through the warehouse. A grunt of pain. As something heavy hit the wall and crumpled to the floor.

Nikko’s eyes opened slowly.

But Daikichi was gone from her view.

Instead standing in his place...

Was a boy.

Young, maybe ten years old.

He had Immaculate white hair, loosely tied behind his head and a pair of piercing blue eyes sharp as a dagger.

He wore a black tank top with white shorts, and simple black sneakers that looked comically casual for the moment.

He had a sword resting casually on his shoulder.

Not a Yakomoto.

Just... a stranger.

And yet, as he looked at Nikko, something powerful stirred in the air. His voice came low but clear, cutting through the silence like divine judgment.

"And who," he said, staring at Daikichi’s crumpled form across the room, "gave you the right to decide someone else’s worth?"