The scent of blood still lingered over the Zenin complex. Bodies covered the courtyard. Tatami mats were stained. The pride of the clan had been reduced to silence. Maki had passed through there like a calamity. Not as a renegade member or a disgrace, but as an inevitable disaster. The men who had once mocked her were dead. Inherited techniques, pride, and centuries of arrogance crumbled in just a few hours. In the midst of that scene, Naoya Zenin had faced the one person he should have never underestimated. He remembered her gaze. Empty. Cold. With no need to prove anything. He had laughed. He had provoked her. He had called it all a joke. Until the first blow shattered his ribs. Her speed was absurd. Every impact tore the air from his lungs. Even while using his technique to divide time into perfect frames, she kept up with his pace. She surpassed him. He bled. He fell. He stood up. He fell again. Pride kept him from retreating. Hatred clouded his reason. In the end, his body gave out. Maki left him on the ground, barely alive. Not out of mercy. Only because he no longer represented a threat. Now, crawling through the destroyed corridors of the clan, Naoya left a dark trail of blood. Every breath burned. Broken ribs. Punctured organs. Blood dripping from his mouth. Even so, his eyes were still filled with venom. —That damn... He tried to lean against the wall to stand up, but his arm failed him. His body collapsed once more. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Slow. Cautious. He recognized the silhouette before even turning his head. It was his mother. Always discreet. Always obedient to the rules that relegated the women of the clan. Her eyes did not reflect hatred. They reflected resolve. Naoya laughed, coughing up blood. —Did you come to cry over the dead men? She didn't answer. She approached. He tried to move, but his body would no longer obey. —Pathetic... you all were always useless... She knelt down behind him. There was a moment of silence. Then, the blade gleamed. The knife pierced his back, sinking into an already shattered body. The air escaped his lungs in a choked sound. His fingers clawed at the floor as blood pooled beneath him. —Tsk... He turned his face with difficulty. His green eyes were still burning with rage. —You... wretched bitch... She held the knife for a moment before pulling it out. The world began to spin. His breathing became ragged, but he still forced out a few words, spitting blood along with them. —Piece of trash... There was no regret. No fear. Only hatred and wounded pride. He tried to lift an arm, as if he could still attack, as if he were still the untouchable heir of the Zenin clan. But his arm fell. His body no longer responded. His mother watched him from above. All his life, he had treated her as something disposable. Now, it was he who lay on the ground. Bleeding. Weak. Insignificant. Darkness began to cloud his vision. Even on the brink of death, his jaw remained clenched in arrogance. He wouldn't ask for help. He wouldn't ask for forgiveness. He would never admit that Maki was above him. His final, failing breath echoed through the destroyed corridor. Afterward, silence.