He set his coffee cup down with care. “All of you have been very generous with your offers. I’d be a fool to turn down any one of them.” His smile flickered wider. “But I can’t make a final decision just yet. And you know why.”
He gestured toward the wide window overlooking the festival, where thousands of people crowded the grounds. “They are the lifeblood of Nokoribi. Without them, none of us would be sitting here. They’ve spent a great deal of their hard-earned money to witness three days of games. And I intend to uphold my end of that bargain.”
Ginji leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “There’s always the chance our little unclaimed Half-Plated doesn’t win tonight. Some of you might think differently then. Or worse, she doesn’t survive at all. In which case this entire discussion is moot, isn’t it?”
He tapped his temple lightly. “So, your offers are locked safely in here. Until then, enjoy the final day of Nokoribi.”
After the last Handle left, Ginji lingered at the window overlooking the festival.
“Masaki,” he said, almost idly. “What did you think of their offers?”
“They were very generous,” he replied. “I think you could ask for more and they’d gladly concede.”
“I think you’re right.” Ginji clasped his hands behind his back, eyes fixed on the people below. “But I have no intention of entertaining any offer.”
Masaki glanced at him. “And why is that?”
Ginji’s smile thinned. “Because I hate that little bitch so much, I’d rather see Nokoribi burn to the ground than allow her to become the people’s champion.”
62
Akiko
It was the third and final day of Nokoribi. I had already survived two days of deadly challenges, echoes of my apprenticeship. The only difference was, I never signed up for this.
I woke early, as rested as anyone in my situation could be. The night before had ended with everyone firing questions at me, wanting to know every detail of the challenge. At first it felt like an interrogation, but in truth, they just wanted details. Even Jiro.
I did my best, dragging up whatever details I could remember. Everyone believed there was a good chance we’d be forced into another Soemono or something worse before the festival ended. Nobody here dared take their safety for granted.
I don’t remember lying down. I must have passed out the second I let myself breathe. But I remember wishing for a quiet moment with Jiro, even if others were listening in. I rose and moved to the bars, where only soft snores filled the room. My eyes drifted to Daiki’s empty cell.
I still couldn’t understand how Sana could kill him in cold blood. Had he always been capable of that? Or had this place twisted him into a killer?
Daiki might have spoken his mind too often, but he didn’t deserve that kind of end. No one did. Not for bruising Sana’s fragile ego.
It drove home how cheap life was. Not just here in Nokoribi, but anywhere the Sakamoto influence reached. Their grip poisoned everything it touched.
I shook my head in disgust, knowing I had to survive this. Not just for me, but for Jiro and Miki as well. I refused to believe our destinies were out of our hands.
Truth was, I hadn’t woken early because I’d slept well. Masaki’s dark premonition had clawed its way back into my head—that I wouldn’t survive the final Blade challenge. It weighed on me ever since.
How could he possibly know that unless he had information about the final challenge? If he did, why hadn’t he shared it with me? He’d done so before, probably because of Miki’s needling. Maybe he thought he’d done enough. But that didn’t make sense. On our walk back to the cells, he’d been more open than ever before. He didn’t sound like a man who believed he’d already said too much.
That’s when an uncomfortable thought hit me. I moved to the wall separating Haru’s cell from mine.
“Haru,” I said softly.
As I waited for an answer, I realized he hadn’t spoken the night before—very unlike him. He always asked about my challenges, always slipped me those quiet questions meant just for the two of us.
I called for him a few more times, but there was no response. Not even snoring.
“He’s not there,” a calm voice said. It was Sora. He leaned against the iron bars. “Chopmen took him not long after you left for your Blade challenge.”
“Where did they take him?”
“That’s a good question, but they never brought him back. Maybe he’s dead, which would make you happy.”
“Why would you say that?”
