"My oh my, did the little mouse get lost?"

The chilling voice taunted into the silence of the forest. The tall man carelessly observed as the teen rolled to the ground, body limp and strawberry blond hair scattered across his face and covering his features. 192cm, slicked black hair, a scar carved over his left eye, and a pair of cold glasses— this was the Divine Soldier.

Craig Hojo.

::

"..."

The air was crisp and chilly. There was no warmth apart perhaps from the poor one that emanated from the human body. He held a phone close to his ear, his other hand rhythmically drumming against the table as he received the other person's words.

There wasn't much to add to what the other was saying. What's more, it didn't seem like the caller wanted an answer at the moment. The man was half-informing, half-venting, to be honest. The tone, the pace of his voice— sharp, concise, straight to the point, everything was there. Yet, it was undeniable how he would add some useless details or insight into his feelings.

Words flowed like a river, steadily and calmy— but also unstoppable. It was unlike the male not to control his feelings.

Kyoya only listened. His face was unreadable, merely painted with his usual apathetic expression. The crafted smile on his lips peacefully rested— he was so used to wearing it that sometimes he forgot to take off the mask.

The drumming of his fingers against the cool surface halted with the pause of the caller's voice. He allowed himself to reach for his new cup of espresso, the drink already lukewarm from the weather. Yet, Kyoya did not seem to be feeling the cold. He didn't shiver, his teeth didn't clack, and apart from his usual light coat, he had nothing over his clothing.

He habitually drank the bitter liquid, feeling some loss at the lack of scathingly hot beverage against his throat. Nevertheless, he didn't showcase any emotion on his face, resting the cup on the table once again before he began to trace the cool rim with his fingertip.

He listened, eyes flitting to the faraway hill and dome from time to time, and after a minute, the voice stopped. It sharply halted, like it was forcefully stopped, and Kyoya guessed that Takashi had to go— or that Karasuma or another colleague of his was nearby.

One second, Takashi's voice came through again.

This time, the voice was curter, sharper, more straight to the point than before. It held an almost clinical edge that Kyoya both loved and hated— it was so similar to his way of acting when on the job, the mere idea of Takashi working for the Underworld disgusted him.

Kyoya despised that there was only him in the Underworld— he sometimes wanted to drag them down with him. But he loathed the mere thought of their presence in it even more.

Maybe because he was closest in age to Takashi, because they had met earliest, or perhaps it was how close Takashi's line of job was to his own— Kyoya felt most intimate to the raven head than to his ex-best-friend-turned-child.

Kyoya did not comment on Takashi's ways. It wasn't his place to do so, no matter how much he cared. And even if he did want to, he did not think that he and Takashi were close enough to dwell on such subjects. His chest swelled, his heart squeezing with a somewhat familiar feeling before he answered— voice as curt if not curter than Takashi's.

"Yes,"

He almost missed a beat, but the worried part of him added in a smoother yet just as cold tone.

"I can drive over. I will bring some of my material."

His voice did not trail. It never did. That was something ingrained in him for as long as he could remember. There was a beat of silence. Kyoya knew Shimamori would hang up in the following two. The next one, he would bid him well, the last one would be for good measures.

"What do you think of the target?"

Kyoya didn't know why, but he couldn't help but cut through the last beat. And as he expected, Takashi did not hang up. One second, long enough for the agent to muse over the question in the short time frame allocated to him.

"He is very pitiful."

Kyoya left the words to hang in the air for a moment, weighing and pondering their worth.

"I see."

Takashi hung up.

Kyoya observed in beguiled silence his phone before setting it to the side. He surveyed his computer screen, taking a peek at the students' charts one last time before turning the device off and standing up. He went to the living-room, eyes flitting to the clock as he deliberated over Takashi's words.

He had called the Target "He."

The crafted smile on Kyoya's lips slipped.

::

He lifted his right hand to his face, quickly catching the ankle of the teen. His lips were still tugged into a ghost of a smile as he leaned his body to dodge the second feet that swung at his face.

Mitsukuni twirled as he landed back on the ground, freed from the adult's grasp. His doe-eyes were narrowed, seeming feral, and his face was devoid of its usual cheery and childish expression. He breathed.

After Nagisa left him to regroup with 3-E, Mitsukuni rested for a few seconds, casually stretching his limbs before going around the small area to have a look. He was aware of the eyes following him— at least he could feel that something was about to dawn on him, his guts were telling him, and they were never wrong.

The stranger appeared not even a second after he stepped back into the small clearing, falling right behind his small figure to knock him out. Mitsukuni could only indulge the adult, feigning hurt as he allowed his body to fall to the ground limply. He had wanted to try an ambush, a surprise attack the moment the mercenary turned his back on him— well, this foreigner was skilled enough to know that his hit hadn't been clean enough to knock him out.

Not that Mitsukuni hadn't anticipated the possibility, it was necessary, both as a businessman and martial artist, to have some backup plans in case plan A failed. That was common sense, either ingrained from young or gained through age.

Fortunately or not, Mitsukunu beneficiated from both approaches, as a former heir to the Haninozuka family, he had no other choice but to learn so. As a successful former businessman, it would be more bizarre if he hadn't known or understood the importance of plan B, C, or whatever yet.

He leveled his gaze to look into the man's eyes. There was no surprise, no ripple of emotion apart from mere amusement displayed in the man's gaze. This man was Craig Hojo, the leader of the Wolfpack.

Mitsukuni blinked.

He darted forward, muscle memory rushing back at him and countless battles flashing through his brain.

He wasn't limited to judo, whatever the martial art. If it was something linked to the Haninozuka family one way or another, he knew of it. Mitsukuni did not consider himself to be the pinnacle of martial art, but he had enough confidence in his skills to boast about being in the top 10 when it came to them.

Flurries of kicks and punches rained on Craig, who simply dodged and parried. The one-sided exchange went on for a while, Mitsukuni on the offensive and Craig on the defensive. With each second, Craig took half a step back— the intensity and speed of Mitsukuni's attacks shouldn't be underestimated.

Craig dodged another kick, he oriented his hand to parry one of Mitsukuni's well-oriented punch, neatly protecting his jaw. But this time, instead of only parrying, Craig tightened his grip around Mitsukuni's fist. In one fluid motion, he moved his grip from the fist to the teen's wrist, and with the ease, only a professional could have, he twisted it.

Mitsukuni's wrist could have broken.

The teen followed the unnatural motion with his whole body, turning with his wrist to keep it in place before landing and momentarily stopping his assault. Hojo did not wait for a second chance. He did not need one and knew how to grab an opportunity, especially those he created himself.

He went on the offensive.

There was a clear height difference between Craig Hojo and Mitsukuni— thirty centimeters at least. But it was no problem for both of them. They had enough experience under their belt to cope with this slight setback. As someone particularly tall, Craig was used to fighting shorter opponents, Mitsukuni's expertise in fighting taller people was history.

Graig lowered the center of gravity of his body, allowing himself to aim at lower places and better reach out for Mitsuki's body. He attacked, forcing the blond to enter a defensive state. Craig was no dumb man. From the moment Mitsukuni dodged his first sneak attack, he knew that they had underestimated the students.

Karasuma misguided them—

He would need to send a complaint to the higher-ups once all of this was done.

As Craig quickly got the hang of the younger's movement— as expected of a professional, he began to doubt the blond's belonging to the class. After all, he had never seen the boy with 3-E before, and his fighting style had little to nothing to do with the one taught by the military. It didn't matter how much they encouraged the student to develop their style by accomodating their hobbies. They shouldn't be so proficient in so many disciplines— not at this age, and certainly not as former regular civilians.

Was the blond another assassin in the end?

Was the government trying to play him by sending a decoy to deal with him?

He smiled, grin feral as his eyes glinted. He halted his assault, allowing the younger to breathe for a second as he took off his pair of glasses, carelessly tucking them in his shirt's pocket.

For Graig, taking off his glasses was synonymous with flipping his switch. It meant he got serious; his kinetic vision was excellent, nothing could escape his eyes so long as they remained open.

So perhaps, it was this overconfidence in his sight.

His overreliance on his sense.

His half-hearted guard against a child.

He swept his hair out of his face, carelessly thinking about how he'd deal with the blond before taking care of the remaining students.

For a millisecond, his eyes remained closed.

In that millisecond, a much bigger frame fell.

Less than a second later, the blond teen's familiar figure lunged at him before knocking the light out of his being.

Mitsukuni breathed, guardly observing Craig's supposedly limp body. His honey-brown eyes flickered upward to look at the raven-haired adult in front of him.

"Ahaha."

Awkward laughter filled the silence.

"Fancy seeing you here, Takashi~."

Takashi's icy-blue eyes stared back at him, unimpressed. His pupil rippled with repressed worry and dashes of anger, making it even harder for Mitsukuni to counterattack with his usual host antics.

"That was dangerous, Mitsukuni," Takashi's dull voice rang in Mitsukuni's ears, making the poorly crafted smile fade from his lips.

A grimace overtook Mitsukuni's features instead. He knew it was dangerous. At least, now, he realized how dangerous the situation indeed was. No matter how many backups he had, he underestimated Craig or overestimated himself. Mitsukuni was talented, gifted, a once in a century genius, some might say, but that did not change his stature nor the pure strength his body currently held. Overpowering Craig with sheer force was merely impossible— he needed technique, cunningness, experience. His mind was experienced; his body was not. He was of much shorter stature than what his mind was used to. It was evident that he might— would slip, and against such an opponent, this meant lowering his winning odds to 5%. In such fights, everything rested on details and mental fortitude, the first to slip was the first to go down.

Takashi quietly took in his former childhood friend's appearance. He was more worried than angry, especially at the thought of Mitsukuni getting hurt. Both shared tight bonds, not as friendly as before— their relationship was different now. Mitsukuni was much younger. Takashi could quickly tell that he became something closer to an older brother or uncle to the youth more than a best friend or confidant. There was a particular gap between them as of now, one due to different ages, interests, and responsibilities.

Truthfully, Takashi's role in their previous life was taken over by Karma and Gakushu a long time ago.

"I'm sorry."

Takashi sighed, ever so silently. He checked Hojo's pulse one last time before getting up and taking his belt off to use it as restraints for Hojo's limbs. Mitsukuni mutely handed him his own (allowing the already baggy pant to slip a bit) so that Takashi could also tie Hojo's ankles.

"I'll bring you back," Takashi stated as he stood straighter, figure towering Mitsukuni's defeated one. His blue eyes glanced to the top of the hill, where Karasuma, Irina, the students, Koro, and Kyoya were. He felt minute worry, a feeling he was well acquainted with settling inside, but he dismissed it— ignorance was bliss. He knew better than anyone.

He would ignore this familiar feeling.

Mitsukuni numbly nodded, a low hum slipping past his lips as he followed behind the older male.