Chapter 140: Regret?
The tatami creaked as Yami shifted his stance. His eyes narrowed on Miles, his body coiled like a spring.
Then—he moved.
Yami exploded forward, his fist cutting through the air with the force of a hammer. His strike was sharp, clean, the kind that had floored dozens of opponents before they even blinked.
The crowd murmured in awe.
"This is it..."
"The foreigner’s done for."
"Yami-san’s fist is unstoppable—"
But just as the blow was about to land, Miles shifted.
A step, smooth and effortless, and the punch cut through empty space.
Whoosh.
Miles didn’t even look strained. He turned his head slightly, letting the attack pass as though it had been nothing more than a breeze.
Yami stumbled half a step, eyes widening. His lips parted in disbelief.
"What—?"
The hall erupted in whispers.
"Did he just dodge that?"
"No one’s ever avoided Yami-san’s first strike—"
"He didn’t even flinch!"
Miles’s grin spread, sharp and amused. "Too slow. Come on."
Sayaka, watching from the side, felt a shiver run down her spine. Her hand flew to her mouth as the déjà vu struck—Miles’s movements, his composure, the way he treated the fight like child’s play. She had seen this once before.
Her breath caught.
Yami’s face twisted with anger, his pride cracking. "You were just lucky!" he spat, regaining his stance.
Then he lunged again.
Yami steadied his breath, teeth clenched, and darted in again. His second strike came faster, sharper, aimed low before snapping upward into a feint—an attack designed to catch even seasoned fighters off guard.
The crowd leaned forward, anticipation buzzing.
But Miles moved differently this time. He didn’t step back. He didn’t sidestep. Instead, he tilted his body just enough, weaving around the strike with a fluid motion that almost looked lazy. His footwork was light, his torso swaying like water flowing around a stone.
The fist cut past him harmlessly.
Whispers rippled through the dōjō.
"Again?"
"He’s not just avoiding—he’s playing with him."
"Impossible... Yami-san’s speed was real this time!"
Anger twisted Yami’s face, veins rising along his temples. "You...!" He growled and threw another punch, but before it could extend fully—
Miles’s hand shot out.
Clap.
His fingers locked around Yami’s forearm, stopping him mid-strike like a steel vice.
Miles sighed, his voice calm but edged with finality. "Did you think I’d allow you to make a third move? I don’t have much time to spare."
He shifted, his stance lowering. Then, in a single, fluid motion, Miles executed something the room hadn’t seen in years. His palm pressed against Yami’s chest while his leg swept behind, his entire movement flowing like a wave crashing down.
Yami’s body lifted briefly off the tatami before being driven to the ground with perfect control.
Gasps filled the hall.
"That move—!"
"Wait, I know it—"
"It’s Sensei’s signature technique!"
Yami groaned but quickly scrambled back to his knees. His pride didn’t allow anger this time. Instead, he pressed his fist into his opposite palm and bowed deeply before Miles.
"Yami greets the Senior Brother."
Miles raised a brow faintly. "Senior Brother? So... you recognized the move"
Yami’s voice was respectful now, heavy with realization. "Yes. That move belongs only to Sensei. If you know it, then it means Sensei himself taught you. That makes you our senior. We cannot afford to treat you otherwise. I apologise for my arrogance."
Turning sharply, Yami faced the stunned students. His voice rang with authority. "All juniors, greet the Senior Brother!"
As one, the students bowed, fists pressed into palms. "Juniors greet Senior Brother!"
The hall, moments ago tense with whispers, was now filled with respectful silence.
Sayaka stood frozen at the side, her eyes wide. She had known Miles was strong. But this—this respect, this revelation—left her shaken.
Then, a voice rang out from behind them. Calm, deep, yet carrying the weight of command.
"...What is happening here?"
The clash on the tatami froze as a new presence entered the dōjō. Students turned their heads, whispers falling into silence.
At the doorway stood a man in his late fifties. His hair was silver at the temples, neatly tied back, his gi crisp and spotless. Years of discipline carved his posture into something almost unshakable—broad shoulders, straight back, every step measured. His eyes were sharp, the kind that had seen war and returned without losing clarity.
Rei.
His gaze swept the hall once, then fixed on Miles. The air shifted.
"Shinigami..." the word slipped from his lips, low and sure.
A slow smile broke across Rei’s face, like a soldier recognizing an old comrade. "You brat. You grew up."
He strode forward, footsteps soft but heavy with authority. When he reached Miles, he put a firm hand on his shoulder.
Miles smiled back faintly. "Rei. You look old."
Rei snorted. "What are you talking about? I can still face ten men at once."
Miles chuckled, shaking his head.
Rei’s mouth opened again. "So, Shini—" He caught himself midword.
Miles’s eyes narrowed just a little. "Call me Miles."
Rei’s smile deepened. "So you have a name. ’Mires,’ is it? A good one."
Miles sighed and glanced at Sayaka.
She was covering her mouth, trying to stifle her laugh.
Miles gestured. "Meet Sayaka."
Rei’s eyes moved to her, scanning briefly with a veteran’s instinct. "She looks like a warrior to me. Tell me, Miss Sayaka, which dōjō are you from?"
"Umn... ahh..." Sayaka faltered, glancing at Miles.
"Come on," Miles murmured.
Rei lifted a hand, chuckling. "I understood. Anyway, you’ve already met my students, it seems. What do you think?"
Miles’s gaze drifted toward Yami. A bead of sweat slid down the young man’s cheek, his body still tense from the aborted fight.
"They’re quite good," Miles said finally. "I can see your reflection in your disciples."
Rei laughed proudly, chest swelling. "Of course they’re my students."
Sayaka hid her smile, amused at the pride between the two men.
Rei turned to his class. "Let me introduce you properly. Students, meet my friend Miles. We served together once, in my army days. He was very young at the time... but he could still beat me. The move you call my signature? Actually, he’s the one who taught me."
Gasps rippled through the hall. Whispers darted back and forth like quick birds.
Miles raised a hand slightly, giving a polite nod. "Hello, guys. Konnichiwa."
Rei clapped a hand on his back and guided him and Sayaka toward the inner office—a small room lined with wooden shelves, training scrolls, and a single low table. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and ink.
Once the door slid shut, the weight of the students’ stares fell away.
Rei settled opposite them, his tone quieter now. "So. How can I help you?"
Miles leaned forward slightly. "I need a favor, Rei."
Rei’s eyes softened. "You tell me to die, I die. I owe this life to you."
Miles waved a hand lightly. "No need to go that far. But... are you still in contact with the Japanese army?"
Rei leaned back, exhaling through his nose. A wry smile curved his lips. "I think dying is much better and easier..."
The night wind swept across the rooftop, carrying the scent of the sea mixed with the city’s neon glow. The helipad lights blinked steadily, casting long shadows over Miles and Sayaka as they waited.
Sayaka checked her phone. "Two minutes ETA."
Miles nodded, calm as ever. "Alright."
For a moment, she hesitated. Her eyes lingered on him, as if weighing whether to speak. Then she finally asked, her voice quieter than before, "Can I ask you something?"
Miles glanced sideways. "Sure. Tell me."
Sayaka’s gaze lowered slightly. "During the contest, I realized what I lacked. It wasn’t training... it was experience. Real-world experience. Which I don’t have." She drew in a breath, her tone tightening with sincerity. "The clan’s rules demand that we leave for years, to face the world and return with scars and lessons. But even then... it’s not enough. It’s not the same."
She paused, eyes sharp but searching. "Can you tell me... what was your age when you killed someone for the first time?"
Miles’s eyes hardened faintly. He didn’t look away, but his jaw clenched once before he answered. "I’ll give you that answer later."
Sayaka blinked, caught off guard by the deferral. "...I see."
Her voice softened, but her question cut even deeper. "Don’t you regret it? Don’t you regret killing anyone?"
The hum of the city seemed to fade for a heartbeat.
Miles turned toward the skyline, the wind pulling faintly at his coat. His words came steady, low. "I regret many things in my life... but killing has never been on that list."
Sayaka inhaled sharply, then gave a small nod. "I got my answer. Thanks."
Before more could be said, the thrum of rotor blades rolled across the rooftop. The sound grew louder, washing over them until the dark shape of a helicopter descended, its searchlights slicing through the night.
Sayaka raised a hand against the wind, her hair whipping around her face.
The skids touched down, the doors sliding open.
Miles and Sayaka stepped forward without hesitation and climbed into the chopper. The door sealed behind them with a heavy thud, and the machine lifted once again into the star-scattered sky.