Rin stepped onto the blood-stained mats, her katana raised. Each step brought her closer to the man who had stolen everything from her. The cherry blossom petals swirled around her feet, their fragile beauty a cruel mockery of the destruction that had led her here.

Hisoka stood beneath the ancient tree, his katana resting lightly in his hand. His presence was unsettling—not from the overt menace Rin had expected, but from the calm indifference that radiated from him. He brushed a fallen petal off his shoulder, his dark eyes piercing through the dim light.

"You’ve come far," Hisoka said, his voice smooth and measured. "Your resolve is commendable, if misguided. Do you even understand what you’re fighting for?"

Rin didn’t respond, her grip tightening on her katana. Her breaths were shallow, but her resolve remained unshaken.

Hisoka tilted his head, studying her as though she were a puzzle he had already solved. “That scroll you carry—the one Akihiro gave his life to protect—do you even know why it was worth your clan’s destruction?”

The question struck like a blade, but Rin refused to falter. “It’s worth more than your life,” she spat.

Hisoka chuckled, the sound low and almost pitying. “Is that what you believe? Or is it what they told you?” He took a step forward, his katana glinting in the moonlight. “That scroll is no sacred artifact, girl. It’s a curse—one that’s bound your clan for generations. Akihiro died to protect a lie.”

Rin’s knuckles whitened around her hilt. “You’re trying to twist the truth.”

"Am I?" Hisoka’s voice softened, almost gentle. He took another step closer, the gap between them shrinking. "Tell me, Rin… When did Akihiro ever tell you what was in the scroll? When did he ever let you see it? Did he trust you at all?"

Rin’s heart pounded.

She saw it now—not the battlefield, not the sanctum, but the night Akihiro had pressed the scroll into her hands, his voice hoarse. “Run.”

He hadn’t explained. He hadn’t told her why.

Hisoka smiled as her silence stretched. "You fight for the dead, but the dead don’t care, Rin. Hand me the scroll, and end this childish crusade."

Her fingers trembled for the briefest second.

Hisoka's smirk widened.

"You’re trembling," he noted, voice smooth as silk. "Is it anger? Or doubt?"

She clenched her jaw, forcing steel into her bones. “Enough. Your lies won’t save you.”

Hisoka exhaled, almost disappointed. "Ah. So you still cling to illusion."

Hisoka gestured to the tree behind him. “Do you know what this symbolises? The fleeting nature of life, the beauty in its impermanence.” His lips curved into a faint smile. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? That we fight and kill for things that wither so quickly.”

Her voice cut through the silence, sharp and unwavering. “I don’t need your philosophy, Hisoka. I only need your head.”

Hisoka chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming. "Bold words for a girl drenched in her own blood. Come, then. Let us see if your vengeance can overcome the inevitability of decay."

Hisoka raised his blade, the motion slow and deliberate. A single cherry blossom floated between them, caught in the lantern light. With a flick of his wrist, the blossom split cleanly in two, its halves falling to the floor.

"This won’t be a battle, Rin. It will be an unveiling. And when it’s over, you’ll see—you were never more than a petal in the wind."

Rin exhaled slowly, steadying her stance. Her fingers adjusted around the hilt of her katana, firm, unyielding. The weight of every loss, every scar, every promise settled into her bones.

Then—she lunged.