Despite the tightness of the situation, part of Arata's attention remained locked on their primary objective: the Boss. He turned back toward the main room of the warehouse, watching through the small window as the Boss moved with his entourage toward the exit.

  His options narrowed to two pathways, each with calculable risk.

  Option one: engage the immediate threat. Deal with this masked figure hanging from the ceiling, eliminate him, then pursue the Boss. The time it would take is unknown, as well as the success probability. Finally, the risk of losing the target, thus failing their mission, was too high.

  Option two: ignore the threat. Pursue the Boss immediately before he gets too far. This would allow Arata and Kaito to chase after the Boss, but on the other side, the ninja looking guy would also take part in the chase, which would compromise the mission’s success rate.

  Arata's thoughts fractured, splitting between scenarios, running probability trees that branched into infinite complications. What if the Boss had backup waiting outside? What if this whole infiltration was a trap and they were already—

  These are calculations Arata had made beforehand, before even stepping into this mess. But right now, for no apparent reason, calculations no longer made any sense.

  A hand settled on his shoulder.

  Arata turned, surprised. Kaito was looking at him with that expression he'd seen a hundred times before, the one that said I know exactly what's happening in your head right now, and you need to stop.

  "Arata."

  Kaito's voice was steady, carrying none of the usual playful energy.

  "Go after them. I'll take care of this one."

  The masked figure's purple eyes widened slightly behind his face covering, the only visible reaction to Kaito's declaration.

  ***

  Despite his extraordinary cognitive abilities, which Kaito knew better than anyone, Arata had a particular weakness that could cripple him at the worst possible moments: analysis paralysis.

  When presented with multiple high-stakes choices simultaneously, Arata's brain didn't just slow down. It locked up completely, caught in recursive loops of probability calculation and risk assessment. What made him brilliant in controlled environments became a liability under pressure. His mind would split its processing power between competing scenarios, running simulations on top of simulations, until the very act of thinking became the obstacle.

  Psychologists called it choice overload. Neuroscientists referred to it as decision fatigue under acute stress. The prefrontal cortex, responsible for executive function and rational decision-making, would become overwhelmed by competing demands, flooding the brain with cortisol and effectively shutting down higher-level processing.

  The more intelligent the person, the worse the effect. Smarter brains generated more complex scenario trees, more detailed probability matrices, more variables to account for. Eventually, the system collapsed under its own computational weight.

  Most people experienced this as simple indecision. For someone like Arata, whose entire combat style relied on split-second tactical adjustments, it was devastating.

  As his best friend, Kaito had learned to recognize the signs years ago. The slight hesitation. The fractional delay in response. The way Arata's eyes would lose focus for a moment, pulled inward by the storm of calculations running behind them.

  And Kaito had learned a rather simple solution: make the decision for him.

  Remove the choice and force the path forward.

  ***

  Arata stared at Kaito for exactly one second.

  In that second, he saw the absolute certainty in his friend's eyes. No doubt. No hesitation. Just the simple, unshakeable conviction that this would work.

  Kaito wasn't bluffing. He would handle this.

  The decision tree collapsed into a single branch.

  Arata moved.

  He launched himself toward the door they'd entered through, energy already gathering around his legs as he accelerated. The Boss and his men were leaving.

  He didn't look back.

  "You think you can handle me?"

  Behind Kaito, the masked figure's voice echoed through the storage room—deep, distorted, carrying multiple tones simultaneously like several voices speaking in perfect unison. It reminded him of something he'd heard in a movie once, a villain whose breathing apparatus made every word sound like a threat, mechanical and inhuman.

  ***

  The storage room fell silent for a heartbeat.

  Kaito turned around and noticed only a hanging rope. Just a black cord dangling loosely in the darkness where the masked figure had been. Empty. Swaying slightly from residual movement.

  He disappeared?

  Kaito's eyes swept the room, adjusting to the low light. Boxes stacked against walls. Abandoned machinery creating pockets of deeper shadow. A dozen places to hide, and his opponent had seemingly vanished into one of them.

  A voice materialized directly beside his left ear, so close he felt the breath against his skin.

  "I've already notified the Boss of your intrusion. Your friend won't make it very far."

  Kaito didn't flinch. His eyes locked onto a shape fifteen feet away. There was a silhouette standing perfectly still on the edge of a stack of crates.

  "You think so?"

  The figure became visible as Kaito's enhanced senses compensated for the darkness. He stood in an unusual stance, balanced entirely on his left leg, right foot pressed against his left thigh in a posture that should have been unstable. But he held it effortlessly, weight centered, breathing controlled. The purple aura circling his body moved in irregular patterns. It looked like spiraling bands that twisted upward like smoke caught in conflicting air currents. The energy pulsed and contracted, expanding and collapsing in a rhythm that matched no pattern Kaito recognized.

  Kaito wasn't impressed by the theatrics.

  Though he had to admit that this weird ninja-looking guy did have a certain aesthetic going for him. The all-black tactical gear, the mask concealing everything except those glowing purple eyes, the way he stood like gravity didn’t apply to him... it was cool.

  Didn't Kaito have the right to at least appreciate his opponent's presentation?

  He smiled, making no effort to hide his amusement.

  Then he slammed his fists together.

  The sound echoed like a thunderclap.

  Kaito's aura exploded outward from his body in a visible wave. It was not the refined, controlled energy most Candidates used, but something raw and overwhelming. Even with immense restraint, he couldn't fully contain it. This is what Kaito liked to refer to as General Aura.

  For a split-second, barely noticeable, a different aura flashed across Kaito's body. Not the standard white-blue energy of reinforcement, but something distinct. Orange light, bright and fierce, radiating from his core like flames manifesting in physical space.

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  If he'd been fighting a regular opponent, someone around his age with average perception, it wouldn't have mattered. Seeing such a subtle pulse required exceptional observation skills or reflexes honed through years of combat experience.

  Unfortunately for Kaito, his opponent was neither young nor amateur.

  The figure he was facing—one of the Harbor Group's High Cadres, operating under the codename Kageheishi (影兵, Shadow Soldier)—possessed perception abilities that operated on an entirely different level. His sensory range was so refined that he could track the trajectory of a bullet mid-flight by the displacement of air particles alone. He could read micro-expressions through masks and detect heartbeat variations from across a room.

  Noticing a brief flash of secondary aura was trivial.

  And with this subtle observation, Kageheishi knew exactly what Aspect Kaito possessed.

  ***

  What Kaito referred to as "General Aura" was the foundational energy system every serious fighter learned before anything else. Before discovering your Aspect. Before developing specialized techniques. Before learning elemental manipulation or ability enhancement. You started with this: the raw, universal energy used to reinforce your body, increase speed, enhance durability, amplify strength.

  It was the baseline. The prerequisite. The difference between a trained combatant and someone who just happened to have votes.

  Kaito's General Aura output was uncommon.

  No—it was beyond uncommon. It was abnormal.

  Even accounting for his Candidate status, which naturally granted him superior energy capacity and regeneration, Kaito had always been ahead of everyone in raw output. By margins that made no sense. Even Arata, who could calculate probability distributions and tactical scenarios faster than most people could process visual input, couldn't fully explain Kaito's power levels. The math didn't work. The growth rate violated every known model of vote-to-strength conversion.

  And right now, that abnormal energy was radiating from Kaito's body at an intensity that made the air itself shimmer with heat distortion.

  "I'm going to finish this quickly," Kaito said, his tone carrying an unfamiliar edge of condescension. "So I can go deal with your boss right after."

  It wasn't his usual style. Kaito was confident, sure, but rarely arrogant. He fought with enthusiasm, not superiority. He joked during combat, not because he thought his opponents were beneath him, but because fighting genuinely excited him.

  This was different.

  But despite the extraordinary display of power—despite the pressure filling the room, despite the immense energy flowing around Kaito's body—Kageheishi showed no reaction. His posture didn't shift. His breathing didn't change. His purple eyes remained fixed on Kaito with the same cold assessment as before.

  It was as if he'd seen far worse throughout his career.

  ***

  As one of the Harbor Group's High Cadres, Kageheishi's role differed fundamentally from standard enforcers like the Reaper. Where Kuroda Shigure had been a blunt instrument—powerful, sure, but still designed for mundane harvesting and intimidation—the High Cadres operated in the shadows. Assassination, infiltration, intelligence gathering, they were the Harbor Group’s biggest assets. The Boss’ biggest assets.

  Kageheishi specialized in stealth operations that required absolute precision. He'd eliminated targets who possessed three times Arata's vote count. He'd infiltrated Candidate academies and erased entire investigation teams without leaving evidence.

  Raw power impressed amateurs.

  Kageheishi was not an amateur.

  ***

  A thought crossed Kaito's mind.

  Is he the one who took Mika?

  The possibility made sense. Kidnapping required stealth, speed, and the ability to neutralize resistance without causing a scene. All specialties that aligned with Kageheishi's skill set.

  "Are you the one who killed the Reaper?"

  The question came suddenly, cutting through the tension.

  Kaito remained silent, meeting the purple gaze without expression. Arata had drilled this principle into him countless times: answering an enemy's questions gave them free intel. Every response revealed information: your priorities, your knowledge, your emotional state. Better to say nothing and let them fill the silence with assumptions.

  Kageheishi broke the silence himself after several seconds.

  "That's why you're so confident." His distorted voice carried something that might have been amusement. "You actually think the Reaper was something."

  The statement hung in the air, perfectly calibrated to provoke.

  Because it was logical. If the High Cadres represented the Harbor Group's true elite, then of course they would surpass someone like Kuroda Shigure. The Reaper had accumulated 1,178 votes over ten years, but votes alone didn't determine hierarchy in an organization built on supernatural capability. Skill, Aspect quality, strategic value—these factors sometimes mattered more than raw numbers.

  The Reaper had been a harvester. Expendable. Replaceable. A tool designed for a specific function.

  The High Cadres were assets. Irreplaceable. Each one represented years of investment, training, and operational experience that couldn't be easily duplicated.

  The gap between them wasn't just numerical. It was categorical.

  Knowing this, Kaito confirmed what Arata had warned him about before they infiltrated the Tsukuyomi Estate: expect the High Cadres to be Candidates. Expect them to be dangerous. Expect them to be significantly stronger than anyone they'd faced so far.

  Despite the warning, Kaito couldn't hold himself back any longer.

  The grin spread across his face. It was not the friendly smile he usually wore, but something sharper, more dangerous.

  "To be honest..."

  More energy gathered around his body, building in intensity, pressure increasing exponentially.

  "If I had to fight someone like the Reaper..."

  Kaito's eyes lit up. An even larger surge of energy exploded from his core, completely overshadowing his previous display. The output was monstrous, transcending anything a normal Candidate should be capable of generating.

  Wooden boxes collapsed, repulsed by the sheer force. Tables flipped and smashed against walls. Machinery toppled with crashes that echoed through the storage room like artillery fire. The concrete floor beneath Kaito's feet cracked in spiderweb patterns, unable to withstand the pressure.

  "The fight would be over in less than ten seconds."

  ***

  Arata burst through the door and immediately scanned his surroundings. The main warehouse floor was empty—the Boss and his entourage had already left through the far exit. He could hear engines starting outside, the low rumble of expensive vehicles designed for speed and security.

  He sprinted across the open space, footsteps barely audible despite his pace. His energy circulated through his legs in controlled bursts, enhancing each stride without wasting excess power.

  The exterior door stood open, presumably left that way during the Boss's departure. Arata slipped through and found himself in a loading area surrounded by high walls, part of the Tsukuyomi Estate's inner compound, designed to allow discrete vehicle access without external visibility.

  A black car waited near the gate, engine purring. Mercedes-Maybach S-Class, heavily modified, equipped with a reinforced chassis, bulletproof glass and it was probably even enchanted with protective barriers.

  The Boss walked toward it with unhurried confidence, flanked by two bodyguards. One of them opened the rear door, bowing slightly as his employer entered the vehicle.

  The Boss didn't check his surroundings. He didn't scan for threats nor did he show any concern about potential surveillance or attack.

  Why would he? This was his territory. His compound. His domain. Who would be insane enough to assault the Harbor Group inside their own stronghold?

  Arata watched from the shadows as the car began moving, headlights cutting through the darkness as it approached the estate's main gate. Heavy metal barriers retracted automatically. The car passed through without slowing.

  Arata's mind worked through options at high speed.

  Following the vehicle directly was risky. The Harbor Group would have counter-surveillance measures in place—spotters, chase cars, perhaps even aerial drones monitoring the Boss's route. Getting caught while tailing them would compromise everything.

  Additionally, if the destination was far, if the Boss was heading across the city or even to another district entirely, Arata would have to burn significant amounts of energy maintaining pursuit speed. Candidates could enhance their physical capabilities beyond human limits, but it wasn't free. Energy expenditure scaled with intensity and duration. Sprinting at car-matching speeds for extended periods would drain his reserves dangerously low, leaving him vulnerable if combat became necessary at the destination.

  Both options had severe drawbacks.

  Arata stood frozen in indecision, calculations running, probabilities shifting—

  Then he saw it.

  Just for a moment. A split-second as the car turned toward the main road and streetlight illuminated the interior through the tinted windows at exactly the right angle.

  A face. Pressed against the glass. Eyes sad, distant, defeated.

  Mika.

  Arata stopped thinking.

  Energy flooded his legs—no calculation, no efficiency optimization, just raw output. His body launched forward with enough force to crater the concrete beneath his feet. He didn't care about surveillance anymore. Didn't care about energy expenditure. Didn't care about tactical positioning or strategic reserve or any of the hundred things his mind usually prioritized.

  Mika was in that car.

  Everything else became irrelevant.

  ***

  For any Candidate, votes represented the foundation of power. The quantifiable measure of accumulated strength. It was what separated the weak from the strong.

  As part of Sentō no Kisoku (The Combat Principles)—the universally recognized framework of Candidate combat doctrine—discretion regarding personal vote count was considered fundamental tactical wisdom. Bluffing, misdirection, surprise advantages... all of it depended on your opponent not knowing your true capabilities.

  Revealing your vote count was stupid, self-defeating. A handicap you imposed on yourself for no benefit.

  The rules were absolute.

  Except for one person.

  ***

  Kaito's energy didn't stop growing. The intensity kept building, increasing exponentially, making the entire warehouse structure groan under the pressure. Support beams vibrated. Metal walls buckled slightly. Dust rained from the ceiling as rivets strained against forces they weren't designed to handle.

  His shirt lasted three seconds before the fabric simply disintegrated, unable to withstand the energy output radiating from his body. The cotton fibers broke down at the molecular level, crumbling into ash that scattered in the superheated air currents surrounding him.

  Numbers began manifesting across his chest—glowing characters that burned themselves into visibility through sheer power.

  10,000.

  Five digits.

  Ten thousand votes.

  For Kaito Hayashida, the rules didn't apply.

  He was the perfect fighting machine.

  Born for it. Built for it. Designed by genetics, circumstance, and inexplicable fortune to be exactly this: overwhelming, unstoppable, impossible to match through normal progression.

  He didn't hide his vote count because he didn't need to.

  Kaito was an exception to every rule.