Chapter 66 - Miharu KozukiHollow NightThe stage is set.

  The air hums with chaos and bloodlust, an undercurrent of violence threading through the cacophony of cshing steel and desperate shouts. Above it all hangs the faint echoes of fractured alliances and forgotten promises, pying a cruel melody in the dark—a harmony of despair and inevitability.

  It is here, in the shadow of conflict, that I stand. Red. The warrior who strides boldly into the Hollow Night with purpose in her heart and fire in her veins. A hero, a symbol, a sword in the service of destiny.

  But tonight, I feel the mask begin to slip.

  Each step I take reverberates like the beat of a drum. My feet move forward, automatic and unerring, but my mind drags behind, weighed down by thoughts that refuse to stay buried. The battlefield shifts and churns around me, a sea of shadows and half-glimpsed faces locked in violent struggle.

  Somewhere in that chaos are Mizuko and Daisuke—victims of a war I didn’t know I was fighting until it was already too te.

  I should be focused. My mission is clear. The script unfolds in my mind, its intricate lines weaving themselves into an unshakable sequence. But tonight, the edges of it feel blurred, distorted. My thoughts rebel against its constraints, daring to wander to pces they don’t belong.

  Red.

  The name tastes wrong on my tongue, sour and metallic, like blood. My inner voice—the one I’ve carefully silenced—dares to whisper another name instead.

  ...Miharu?

  No.

  Not here.

  Not now.

  Miharu doesn’t belong on this stage. Miharu is a ghost, a shadow that exists only beyond the bounds of this performance. She is the girl who flinches at raised voices, who hides from the weight of expectation, who trembles under the crushing gaze of her own failures.

  Red is fearless, I remind myself. Red is bold and unrelenting. Red sys her doubts as easily as she sys her enemies. I chose to be her because Miharu was weak, because Miharu was never enough.

  So then why does Miharu’s voice cry out like so tonight?

  Ahead of me, cutting through the swirling chaos like a beacon, stands Kumo.

  Her presence is like a sudden downpour—raw and electric, her aura sparking with an unyielding ferocity. The storm is all-consuming, drawing the battlefield into her orbit. It isn’t just power I feel radiating from her. It’s conviction, as solid and immovable as the ground beneath us.

  Her eyes, the mouldering coals of resolve they are, lock onto mine, pinning me in pce as if I were the sole vilin in her story.

  And perhaps, I begin to realize, I am.

  Behind her, the chaos of the battlefield fades, the noise retreating into the periphery like a backdrop fading into the dark. There is only Kumo now. Only me. Our confrontation is the inevitable climax of this scene, the kind of moment the Hollow Night seems to revel in—a meeting of opposing forces, their csh destined to leave one standing and the other broken.

  But tonight, the script—my script—wavers.

  It begins to write itself in that familiar, haunting style, the words materializing in my mind like an ironcd prophecy:

  “Kumo steps forward, unyielding. Her weapon arcs through the air in a clean, decisive strike.”

  [Perform a side-step to evade her path.]

  The command is as clear as ever, the voice in my mind as cold and detached as a surgeon mid-operation. Before her weapon even leaves her side, I see its trajectory py out in my mind’s eye, a perfectly choreographed sequence. My body moves in response, rehearsed and automatic, slipping just out of the weapon’s reach.

  The motion is precise. Effortless. It should feel satisfying. But it doesn’t.

  “Kumo pivots, releasing a second strike aimed to corner you.”

  [Parry the strike.]

  My bde moves instinctively, meeting hers with a resounding csh. The impact jars my arms, sending a sharp vibration up to my shoulders, but still the motion is practiced, calcuted. The bde redirects hers just enough to keep me unscathed.

  “You’re a ghost,” Kumo says, her voice cutting through the air sharper than her weapon. “You’re not even here.”

  I falter.

  Her words seem to hit something I didn’t know was fragile, cracking it open with brutal precision.

  “I don’t have to be,” I reply, my voice a carefully measured mask of control. But even as I speak, something inside me shifts uneasily.

  “Why?” she asks, and there’s a sharp edge to her tone—raw and demanding. “Why, Miharu?!”

  My name falls from her lips like an accusation, a bde aimed directly at the heart of my facade. The sound of it reverberates in my skull, tearing at the seams of the identity I’ve so carefully stitched together.

  I am Miharu, trembling and unsure.

  I am Red, bold and unrelenting.

  And yet, part of me yearns to be neither.

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap, the words shing out before I can stop them. My voice is harsher than I intended, brittle with something dangerously close to fear.

  I lunge forward, my bde slicing through the air in a practiced crescent. The motion is fwless, a move I’ve performed countless times before. But tonight, my hands feel clumsy, uncooperative. The swing is a fraction too slow, the edge of my bde missing the precision it demands.

  “Kumo blocks your strike with ease. She presses forward, her strength pushing you back.”

  [Shift into a defensive stance and block the counter.]

  The prediction unfolds before my eyes. Kumo’s bde is relentless, her strikes coming down like thundercps. I move to intercept, but the impact feels heavier than usual, my arms trembling under the weight of her assault.

  “You’re letting him control you,” she says, her voice low but steady. Her words slip through the chaos, finding me even as I fight to keep my focus. “You think Rusuban cares about you? About any of us?”

  The sound of his name is like a spark to dry kindling. For a moment, the battlefield around me seems to flicker, as if the Hollow Night itself is holding its breath.

  “You don’t know anything,” I hiss through gritted teeth, the edge of my bde catching hers in a shower of sparks.

  But my defiance feels as hollow as it sounds in my ears.

  “Kumo breaks through your guard.”

  This time, there are no words of guidance to save me. The pain blossoms sharp and immediate as her bde cuts across my ribs. My breath hitches, and I stagger back, clutching at the wound.

  She doesn’t press the attack. She doesn’t need to. Her eyes remain locked on mine, unwavering in their resolve.

  “You’re not Red,” she says, and her voice cuts deeper than her bde ever could. “Not really. You’re just Miharu, scared and running. You always have been, and you always will be.”

  The words hang in the air, heavy and unrelenting. For a moment, it feels as though the Hollow Night itself has gone still, the chaos around us dimming to nothing more than a dull, distant echo.

  She’s wrong. She has to be.

  Red is fearless, I remind myself, a creature of purpose and fire. Red doesn’t waver, doesn’t doubt. Red is who I am, who I chose to be.

  But then why does Miharu’s voice echo so loudly in my mind?

  “Stop it,” I whisper, the words escaping before I realize they’re aloud. My voice is faint, almost lost in the din of the Hollow Night. It’s not meant for Kumo. It’s meant for myself, a desperate plea to silence the part of me I thought I’d buried. “Just stop.”

  Kumo doesn’t stop. She steps forward, each movement deliberate, her weapon poised like the strike of an oncoming storm. Her presence alone is enough to suffocate, pressing down on me with its sheer weight.

  “If you want to be this ‘Red’ so badly,” she says, her voice unwavering, “then fight me like she would. Stop hiding behind him.”

  Behind him. Rusuban.

  The name nds like a blow to my chest, and I feel the cracks in my resolve widen.

  Cordyceps’ voice lingers in my mind, as it always does. It’s soothing and commanding at once, a melody that once felt like salvation. He gave me this identity. This power. He told me who I could be, who I should be. With him, I could leave Miharu behind and become something greater—someone greater.

  But tonight, his voice feels hollow. Distant. A whisper drowned out by the roar of my doubts.

  “Kumo approaches again, looking to strike.”

  The stage directions are clear, their commands etched into my mind like they always are. I can see the scene py out before it happens—the fsh of her bde, the sharp csh of steel, the inevitable moment of impact. My body should already be moving to counter it. I should be following the script, as I always do.

  But I hesitate.

  The images pying in my mind are no longer reassuring. They’re suffocating, binding me to a course of action I suddenly feel powerless to follow.

  “Why?” Kumo asks, and this time her voice is softer, her tone stripped of anger and repced with something else. Something I don’t know how to respond to. “Why are you doing this?”

  I don’t have an answer.

  Kumo’s weapon trembles faintly in her grip, her movements slowing. The raw electricity radiating from her body begins to dim, its crackling sparks fading into faint whispers, like a distant storm retreating over the horizon.

  Her stance softens—not in weakness, but in something else. I don’t know if it’s compassion or condescension, and I hate how both make me feel.

  Her eyes, though. They burn just as fiercely as before.

  “Come on, Miharu,” she says, her voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts like a scalpel. The edge is still there, but beneath it lies something else—something gentler.

  “This isn’t you.”

  “This is me,” I snap, but my voice wavers. The words sound more like a desperate plea than the confident decration I wanted them to be.

  Kumo doesn’t flinch.

  “You don’t believe that,” she says, stepping forward. Her movements are cautious but steady, her resolve unbroken. “You’re better than this. You’re stronger than whatever he’s made you believe you are.”

  The words settle uncomfortably in my chest, rattling the fragile equilibrium I’ve been clinging to.

  Better? Stronger?

  I’m not sure I even know what those words mean anymore.

  Behind her, the chaos of the battlefield continues to rage—a storm of cshing steel, desperate cries, and fleeting shadows. Yet it’s all faded to the background, a dim and distant hum. There’s no audience here. No stage. No script.

  Just Kumo and me.

  “Kumo lowers her weapon. She extends a hand toward you.”

  The stage directions appear, the ghostly words hovering in my mind like they always do.

  [Take advantage and run your bde through her.]

  I freeze. The command hangs there, lingering like poison in my mind. The scene begins to unfold as written, each moment aligning perfectly with the script.

  Kumo’s hand stretches toward me, open and unarmed. Her palm is rexed, her fingers loose, an unspoken invitation lingering in the air between us.

  “Come with me,” she says, her voice steady, her words devoid of anger or accusation. She speaks with an unwavering certainty, as if she believes what she’s offering is the simplest, most natural choice in the world.

  “Be the Red who used to fight side-by-side with us,” she continues, her tone softening further. “The one who led us into our first fight. You don’t have to csh against us like this. You don’t have to fight yourself. Just... come with me.”

  Her words twist something inside me, an ache I can’t name.

  I stare at her outstretched hand, at the faint flickers of electricity still fading from her fingertips. Something inside me cracks.

  Come with me.

  The words echo in my mind, their weight pressing down on me like a cruel taunt. They mimic every promise he’s ever whispered in my ear.

  Follow me, and I’ll give you purpose.

  Follow me, and I’ll show you who you really are.

  Follow me...

  The storm inside me boils over. Confusion and fury, guilt and betrayal—they twist together into something raw and unbearable, until the edges of everything blur.

  “Kumo leans closer, her expression filled with trust. Her guard lowers completely.”

  [Strike now while she’s vulnerable.] , the directions urge.

  “No...” I whisper, shaking my head as the words hover there, taunting me.

  Kumo’s brow furrows, her concern deepening. “Miharu, what—”

  “No!” I scream, my voice shattering the fragile stillness between us. My bde sshes through the air, forcing her to step back.

  “You think you’re any different?!” The words tear out of me, raw and broken, startling even me. “You think you can tell me who to be?! What to do?! What’s right and wrong?!”

  Kumo’s eyes widen. Her hand falls slowly back to her side, her open stance colpsing into something guarded.

  “I’m not your Red,” I spit, the venom in my voice surprising even me. “I’m not anyone’s anything! I don't want your useless expectations, so get them away from me!!”

  The stage directions flicker into view again, but for the first time, I don’t care. They’re nothing to me—just words, just hollow commands. They mean nothing.

  “I’m done letting other people write my story,” I growl, my voice trembling. It doesn’t feel like fear, though. It shakes with rage. With certainty.

  For the first time, the lines between Miharu and Red don’t feel blurred.

  They feel nonexistent.

  Kumo’s mouth opens as if to speak, but no words come. She simply stares at me, her expression unreadable.

  In her eyes, though, I see something I hadn’t expected—something that twists the knife deeper.

  Pity.

  And that pity only makes me angrier.

  “Kumo tries to step forward, a hand raised in surrender.”

  [Rush her before she can regain her footing.]

  The command was instinctive. I didn’t even wait for the stage directions to fully form before I surged forward, bde drawn, moving faster than thought. It wasn’t a decision—it was a reflex, a compulsion that had lived in my bones long before tonight.

  Kumo barely managed to raise her bde in time. Sparks flew as our weapons collided, the force of my strike driving her back. Her arms trembled under the impact, her footing unsteady.

  “Dammit, Miharu!” she shouted, her voice a votile mix of anger and desperation. “Why are you doing this?!”

  “Because I don’t know who I am!” The scream tore out of me, raw and jagged. My bde crashed against hers again, then again, each strike harder, each one more unrelenting. “And I don’t care!”

  My voice cracked, but I didn’t stop. The words kept pouring out, fuelled by a fire I couldn’t control.

  “I’m not going to be your idea of me, or his, or anyone else’s!”

  Each blow felt like it carried more than steel—it carried my frustration, my fear, the unbearable weight of trying to live up to roles I didn’t even understand my entire life.

  Kumo faltered under the onsught, her footing slipping as she tried to regain control.

  “Kumo stumbles, her defences faltering. She looks at you with shock and hesitation.”

  [Disarm her.]

  I ignored the brackets, their hollow authority meaningless to me now. They didn’t dictate me. They couldn’t.

  Kumo’s bde sparked wildly as she struggled to hold her ground. Her movements were growing erratic, her energy flickering like a dying fme.

  “Miharu, stop! Please!”

  “Why?!” I shouted, my voice hoarse, fraying at the edges. “So you can turn me into your perfect little soldier too?! So you can make me into someone you approve of?! Someone he approves of?! I’m not…” My voice cracked, the words coming out as a shuddering gasp. “I’m not doing it anymore!”

  Our bdes met again, the csh ringing in my ears like thunder. But this time, it was who Kumo buckled. Her knees hit the ground, the force of the impact reverberating through the air. Her weapon slipped slightly from her grip, her fingers trembling against its hilt.

  She looked up at me, her eyes wide. There was no hatred in them. No fury. Only something softer, something deeper—fear, sorrow, maybe even understanding.

  “Miharu…” she whispered. Her voice was fragile, barely audible over the ringing in my ears.

  My grip on my bde tightened. I didn’t hesitate. I raised my weapon high, the cold edge glinting in the dim, fractured light of the Hollow Night. This was it—the moment to end it all, to silence her voice, to silence everything.

  But then I saw my reflection in her eyes.

  It wasn’t Red staring back at me. It wasn’t Miharu, either.

  It was something else entirely.

  Someone I didn’t recognize.

  My hand froze mid-swing. The weight of the bde felt unbearable, the momentum of the strike evaporating in an instant. I stood there, trembling, the bde hovering above her exposed form, as if frozen in time.

  “Kumo lowers her gaze, bracing for the strike that never comes.”

  The brackets didn’t return. There were no further stage directions. No whispers guiding my actions, no prescriptive commands to follow. Just silence.

  And in that silence, I didn’t feel afraid.

  The reflection I saw in Kumo’s eyes was unfamiliar, yes, but not terrifying. Not a monster. Not an illusion.

  I didn’t know who I was. Not yet.

  But for the first time - I realized I didn’t need to.

  Slowly, deliberately, I lowered my bde.

  Kumo let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as the tension in her body gave way. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling as if she had just been saved from drowning.

  She didn’t move. She just knelt there, staring up at me. Her eyes searched mine, filled with confusion and something else—reluctant hope, maybe.

  “I’m not yours,” I said quietly. My voice didn’t shake this time. It was steady, final. “And I’m not his…”

  I looked up then, at the cascading bits of gss and dust carried by the wind, scattered across the sky like stars. In that moment I felt my hand reach up, as it often did, to that ‘Heaven’ I’d yearned for so long.

  But this time, I pulled it back down. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “…I’m mine.”

  The words hung in the air, heavier than the sword in my hand. For a moment, neither of us moved. The battlefield beyond us felt like another world, the distant sounds of combat dulled into an echo.

  Kumo’s lips parted, as if to say something, but no words came. She just knelt there, her gaze locked on me, her weapon limp in her hands.

  I didn’t wait for her to respond.

  Without another word, I turned and walked away.

  My footsteps echoed in the stillness, each one heavier than the st. I could feel her eyes on me as I moved, but I didn’t look back.

  There were no more stage directions. No more whispers.

  No more fighting between Red and Miharu.

  Just me.

  I felt something tell me that, at least for now, she was more than enough.