The wind at the port was sharp and cold, cutting through the air like a blade. Crates lay shattered across the dock, metal containers dented and scarred as though giants had torn through them. And amidst this ruin, two figures stood in the dying light — locked in a vicious, bloodied dance.
Ryuji Tatsugami's chest heaved, every breath laced with the taste of iron. His fists were raw, split knuckles leaving streaks of crimson across his opponent's skin. His black shirt clung to his body, soaked in sweat and blood, muscles twitching with exhaustion but his eyes burning, alive with rage and resolve.
Before him stood Genzou Araragi, the silent demon of the Araragi-kai.
Genzou's long back a masterpiece of ink: a snarling oni across his back. The irezumi was alive in the moonlight, each flex of muscle making it shift, coil, roar.
His face was calm, but his eyes — dark, sharp, cold — locked onto Ryuji with a predator's focus. Blood ran down the side of his mouth, a gash split across his brow, but his posture never wavered. Where Ryuji was a storm, Genzou was the mountain standing in its path.
Without a word, they moved.
Ryuji lunged in, fists snapping forward — one, two, three — sharp jabs toward Genzou's face. The older man tilted his head, sliding under the first, raising a forearm to block the second, pivoting his body to let the third graze his cheek. His foot shot out — low kick — aiming to sweep Ryuji's knee, but Ryuji twisted mid-step, stomping down to break the sweep and driving his elbow toward Genzou's temple.
CRACK.
Genzou's head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his mouth — but his arm came up, slamming into Ryuji's ribs like a piston. Ryuji's breath exploded from his lungs, but he gritted his teeth, twisting his body with the blow to lessen the impact, retaliating with a knee aimed at Genzou's gut.
They broke apart, circling.
The air between them was electric — each breath drawn was a warning, each muscle twitch a promise of violence. All around them, scattered Araragi-kai men watched from the shadows, too afraid to intervene, knowing this was beyond them. Behind the crates, Kaito watched with clenched fists, his eyes wide.
"They're… monsters," Kaito whispered to himself.
The next clash came without warning.
Ryuji shot in, shoulder dipping, faking a body blow before twisting up into an uppercut. Genzou leaned just barely out of range, his eyes flicking with approval, and countered with a palm strike aimed at Ryuji's throat. Ryuji ducked under, sliding forward on his knees and slamming his shoulder into Genzou's gut — lifting the older man off his feet, driving him back.
CRASH.
Both men slammed into a container, metal groaning under their combined weight. Genzou's arms came down like clubs, hammering into Ryuji's back, but Ryuji clung on, gritting his teeth, driving his head up into Genzou's chin. Blood sprayed from both as they tore apart, stumbling back onto the cracked concrete.
For a moment, they stood — chests rising, falling — eyes locked.
The full might of his irezumi was revealed: the oni's fanged mouth snarling across his back dripping bloods, the dragon's eyes glaring from his arm, the lotus blossoms blooming like silent witnesses to his brutality. Even the Araragi men watching shivered, some swallowing hard some of them wide opened their eyes saying look at the back the Oni is bleeding.
Ryuji felt his pulse thunder in his ears. His own back itched, the hidden weight of his own dragon tattoo burning beneath his skin — but he would not reveal it. Not yet.
They surged forward.
This time, no feints, no tricks — just raw, brutal exchanges. Fists met jaws, knees cracked ribs, elbows slammed into shoulders. Blood splattered the ground. Each man grunted under the force of the other's blows, feet grinding against the concrete to keep balance.
Ryuji's vision blurred, his ribs screaming with every breath, but his heart roared louder. His father's face flashed through his mind — the old days, the warm voice, the hand on his shoulder.
"Live with no regret, Ryuji."
And then: the fire, the betrayal, the cold lifeless face of the father he loved, the fall of the Tatsugami-gumi.
A snarl ripped from Ryuji's throat. His fists blurred into a barrage, forcing Genzou back a step, two — until Genzou slammed his heel down, twisting his hips, and launched a brutal left hook into Ryuji's cheek.
The world exploded sideways.
Ryuji hit the ground hard, blood rushing from his split lip, but even as his body screamed, his mind refused to falter. He forced himself up — one knee, then both feet, panting like a beast, fists raised once more.
Genzou wiped the blood from his mouth, his expression cold… but then, as their eyes met again, something flickered there.
The faintest, almost imperceptible, smirk.
Their fists drew back one last time — muscles coiling, legs tightening — ready to swing forward, to decide this with one final blow—
But then Genzou froze.
His eyes flicked past Ryuji, to the edge of the dock.
In the distance — headlights. Engines rumbling. Black cars sweeping in, cutting across the port's darkness like sharks gliding toward blood.
The Kurohane reinforcements had arrived.
For the first time that night, Genzou lowered his fists. His chest heaved, his body dripping with blood, his knuckles raw and cracked — but his posture was as composed as ever. He reached down calmly, picked up his coat, and draped it over his shoulders, the oni and dragon vanishing beneath the cloth.
He looked at Ryuji.
And smiled.
"Next time, boy."
Ryuji's eyes widened, his heart pounding in his ears. His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. His body screamed for him to surge forward, to finish what they'd started — but then:
"Ryuji! This way!"
From behind the stacked containers, Kaito's voice rang out, urgent, desperate.
Ryuji flicked his gaze toward the voice — then back at Genzou. His teeth clenched. His jaw tightened.
Tsk.
With a sharp click of his tongue, Ryuji spun on his heel, tearing through the maze of containers toward Kaito. His footsteps pounded over broken crates and splintered wood, his blood leaving a trail behind him.
Genzou watched him go, his eyes cold, unreadable.
The Kurohane cars rolled up, their engines low and purring. Behind them, the remaining Araragi-kai members formed up, their battered bodies falling into line behind Genzou.
At the edge of the port, just before slipping into the darkness, Ryuji glanced back one last time.
Genzou stood alone at the center of the dock, the wind whipping at his coat, his figure sharp against the cold glow of the headlights.
An oni bathed in the twilight.
And Ryuji understood something deep in his bones:
This was far from over.
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