The frostbitten weeds from last night hadn't died; they'd liquefied into a pulp that clung to every rock face like rot. Mixed with the corpse ridden topsoil of the ridge, the path had turned into a consistency between sludge and multiple feet of snow. Each step dragged at his boots with a sickening suction while somehow also sliding, and the scent of it—a mix of piss(or more accurately ammonia), other chemicals, and something similar to meat-sweet—kept crawling up his nose no matter how shallow he breathed.
What would've normally taken no more than maybe two hours now stretched out into a labored, stinking crawl. By the time they neared the halfway point, Kamo's legs were raw with irritation, his face streaked with whatever airborne sludge the rot released, and had he not been with Fure, his mood would have slipped into something close to rage.
the time Kamo trudged back through the upper ridge tunnel, his arms were screaming and the sun had begun its slow crawl westward. Late afternoon. Maybe 4 PM. He figured they'd left around six that morning, give or take—though he was too drained to confirm it. Fūre had peeled off somewhere deeper in the base without a word, carrying the heavier bag, leaving Kamo to return alone.
Kamo didn't bother eating.
Inside the bunker, he washed up—barely—then found a corner and dropped into meditation. It was one of the only things lately that let him pass the hours without thinking too much. Slow breath, blackout thoughts. The base always sounded busy, but he tuned it out, letting the background chatter blur into nothing.
He might've stayed there all night if not for the noise—raised voices echoing down the corridor, sharp enough to cut through even his focus. Kamo opened one eye. The argument was getting worse. He knew where this was headed.
Kamo stood, rolled his neck, and walked toward the sound, smirking before he even entered. By the time he rounded the corner of the main hall, the argument was already in full swing. Two younger Kynenn barked at each other, and to Kamo's recent convenience, the whole room had aggressively taken sides of whatever idiotic argument was taking place. Except for Nagitsu, who arrived well before Kamo and stood between them with a hand raised, clearly trying to mediate, but his tone was losing composure.
"It's nothing worth splitting over," he was saying. "Either solve it now or move on."
"They started it," one of them snapped.
"Then fight it out," Nagitsu bit back. "I'm not a fucking babysitter."
Kamo stepped forward from the shadow of the hallway before anyone could escalate.
"That's not necessary," he said flatly.
The room paused.
"If you're that brazen… if you've got so much pride," Kamo continued, voice level but firm, "then why not put it to better use—like a man should. Use it on the battlefield."
He didn't need to raise his voice. His presence did the work. The posturing faded from the group in seconds.
"I need a team," Kamo said. "Something specific. Not just strong. Not just loyal. I need people who won't hesitate. Who'll prove themselves, not in here, but where it matters."
He let the silence sit for a second.
"Anyone think they're above that?" he asked, half-daring someone to speak.
Nagitsu looked at Kamo with a concerned, yet curious glare. If Kamo was calling for a team, the plan had been set.
He wanted to ask why now, but this wasn't the place. The rest of the group—drafted, grumbling, but mostly resigned—watched in silence, each probably hoping this mission might earn them respect for once. Kamo read the mood, then stepped out, Nagitsu trailing behind.
They broke from the noise, ending up at the bottom of the stairwell, away from ears.
Nagitsu spoke first, voice taut.
Nagitsu broke the silence first, tone hard but tired. "What changed? No way Fūre made such a rash call in two days."
Kamo didn't look at him. "It wasn't rash."
Nagitsu pressed, voice rising, "Don't start with the riddle shit, Kamo. I deserve a real answer. Why the hell are we marching to our deaths?"
Kamo finally met his eyes, his voice as level as ever. "He wanted a vote, right? I gave one. Not just agreeing. If Fūre thinks raiding them is the move, then I'm with him. But I said—why fight all of them? Kill a single leader instead."
Nagitsu let out a sharp breath, frustration and relief tangled together. "So you're not just going along—you think it's smart."
Kamo nodded, just once. "One clean cut. Doesn't matter if there's six left. Take a head off in public—nobody plans for that."
Nagitsu's jaw tightened. He struggled not to say more, then gave up. "It's not a bad plan, Kamo. But you never really challenge him. You just find a new way to say yes."
Kamo didn't answer, but something flickered—regret, or just annoyance, hard to tell.
"Look, I'm not trying to nitpick. We've got enough shit between us. And I'd do anything for you, but I hate what this place is making you. You know we are ending real lives, including possibly our allies, over what, a spectacle? You get that, right?"
Kamo held the silence, only now he felt awkward. His nonchalant expression answered the question.
Nagitsu just shook his head, forced a tired half-smile while his eyes watered slightly. "Fine. I've got your back even still. I trust you, and if this all works out then we are in a better spot than before"
He didn't wait for thanks, just started back up the steps, the distance between them both obvious and old.
Kamo lingered in the stairwell, still as stone, until even the echo of Nagitsu's footsteps faded. He hoped the same as Nagitsu. He didn't bother trying to feel better about it. If they failed to kill even one leader, the entire mission would fall apart—the chaos wouldn't undo the exposure. Worse, if the targets didn't even show, they'd risk being discovered with nothing to show for it.
Kamo went back to his room—if it counted as a room at all—already feeling the responsibility settle on his shoulders. If this failed, it was on him, not Fūre. He had wanted to take the risk himself, to carry that weight. But as he lay back and stared at the ceiling, the reality pressed in: if Ketsuen was exposed now, before they were ready, it would be because he gambled and lost. And they wouldn't have much of a chance at survival.