When words became blades

Mikado avoided Shiki for two days.

Two days of sleepless nights.

Two days of clenched fists.

Two days of pretending his chest didn’t ache every time he heard Shiki’s voice in the distance.

But fate didn’t care about avoidance.

“Momokeda. Ichinose. Training arena. Now.”

The command echoed like a death sentence.

Mikado’s heart pounded as he stepped into the arena. Dust floated in the air, the wide space eerily empty—no spectators, no teammates. Just them.

Shiki was already there.

Standing calmly. Waiting.

That alone made Mikado furious.

“…So,” Mikado said coldly, breaking the silence. “You’re not running away this time.”

Shiki turned, eyes narrowing slightly. “I wasn’t running.”

“Really?” Mikado laughed bitterly. “Because that’s all you ever do. Dodge questions. Hide things. Pretend everything’s fine.”

Shiki clenched his jaw. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it!” Mikado snapped, stepping forward. “Explain the secret meetings. Explain the Oni power. Explain why you keep throwing yourself in front of my blade like your life doesn’t matter!”

Silence.

Heavy. Crushing.

Shiki finally spoke, voice low. “I never said my life didn’t matter.”

“Then why act like it?” Mikado shouted.

Shiki’s eyes flickered—pain, anger, something deeper.

“Because if I don’t,” Shiki said quietly, “someone else will get hurt.”

Mikado froze.

“…You mean me?”

Shiki didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

Something inside Mikado cracked.

“So that’s it,” he whispered. “You see me as weak.”

Shiki’s head snapped up. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you mean!” Mikado yelled. “You decide everything on your own. You don’t trust me. You never did.”

“That’s not true,” Shiki said sharply.

“Then why won’t you tell me the truth?!”

The words echoed across the arena.

Shiki’s fists trembled at his sides.

“…Because if you knew,” he said, voice strained, “you’d look at me like a monster.”

Mikado’s breath caught.

For a moment—just a moment—he saw it.

Fear.

Not guilt.

Not arrogance.

Fear.

But anger drowned it out.

“Too late,” Mikado said, drawing his weapon. “You already are one.”

The words landed like a blade to the chest.

Shiki went still.

Slowly, painfully, he raised his own weapon.

“If that’s what you believe,” Shiki said, eyes darkening, “then prove it.”

Energy crackled between them.

Oni blood stirred.

Momotaro pride flared.

Neither moved.

Neither breathed.

This wasn’t training anymore.

This was a challenge.

This was heartbreak sharpened into steel.

Mikado took a stance, hands shaking—not from fear, but from something far worse.

“Don’t hold back,” he said. “I won’t.”

Shiki’s voice was barely a whisper.

“…I never wanted to fight you.”

Mikado swallowed hard.

“Then why does it feel like this is the only way left?”

Their weapons clashed.

The sound rang through the arena like a scream.

And as steel met steel, one truth burned brighter than any power either of them possessed:

This fight wouldn’t just draw blood.

It would shatter whatever was left between them.

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