Mizuho didn’t make a sound. She just watched the incomplete black figure in the center of the arena, watching him reassemble again and again in the flash of Hifumi’s blade, only to shatter each time.
Each reassembly was slower than the last. Each shattering left him more fragmented than before. But each time, he still reassembled.
Hifumi looked at Yuan Qing. He was missing his left arm, half his face, half a wing. His whole body was like a piece of porcelain that had been haphazardly glued back together.
“Your crow feathers… they’re not enough anymore,” Hifumi’s blade hung in mid-air, not delivering the next slash. “Admit defeat.”
Yuan Qing raised his head. The eye that remained looked at her calmly.
Yuan Qing was waiting.
Waiting for an opportunity.
Hifumi took a step forward. The blade flashed down. This time, Yuan Qing didn’t disintegrate. He used his remaining left wing to block the slash head-on.
“Clang—”
The crow feathers shattered. The last few feathers on his left wing scattered. The force of the slash pushed his body backward, sliding across the ground. He braced with one foot, teetering precariously.
Hifumi’s second slash was already upon him.
Yuan Qing twisted his body sideways. The blade edge grazed past his black robe.
The third slash. He didn’t dodge. He charged straight into the flash of the blade.
Hifumi’s eyes widened slightly. The slash was already committed; she couldn’t pull it back, couldn’t change its direction.
And the angle from which Yuan Qing charged was precisely that blind spot in her swordsmanship—the one he had found in the first round. Due to the drastic shift in the situation, Hifumi had forgotten to correct this bad habit of hers.
Yuan Qing’s right hand shot out. His five fingers pierced through the blade’s light, clawing toward her wrist.
Hifumi reacted quickly. She flicked her wrist, trying to knock his hand away with the sword’s hilt. But Yuan Qing’s fingers had already touched her skin—cold skin, with a faint pulse beneath it.
Then he grasped it.
Hifumi’s blade stopped in mid-air, mere centimeters from Yuan Qing’s neck.
Their postures froze there. Yuan Qing held Hifumi’s wrist. Hifumi’s blade hung beside Yuan Qing’s neck. Neither moved.
The entire arena was deathly silent.
The host’s mouth hung open. The guest commentator’s mouth hung open. Sundae held Inu-oh, forgetting to let go. In the twin-tailed girl’s phone, the barrage of comments was still scrolling, but no one was watching.
Mizuho’s fingernails dug into her palm, but beneath her sunglasses, she tried her best to keep her expression neutral.
“Your counter… was using your own body as bait,” Hifumi explained. “You were waiting for me to get complacent. Waiting for me to think victory was assured. Waiting for me to forget to protect my blind spot when I committed to that slash.”
Yuan Qing finally spoke. “Mhm.”
His fingers tightened slightly. The grip on her wrist wasn’t forceful, but it was firm.
Hifumi didn’t try to break free. Instead, her attitude was calm. “Your body is in this state, and you’re still thinking about defeating me?”
Yuan Qing struggled to maintain his condition. “I can do it.”
“Stop being so full of yourself.”
Hifumi jerked her wrist, trying to break Yuan Qing’s hold. But Yuan Qing’s fingers were clamped tight, not loosening in the slightest. They were deadlocked for a moment. Then Hifumi suddenly withdrew her blade, switching the entire cold blade from her right hand to her left.
The White Snake slid from her right arm to her left, coiling around the new hilt.
Too late.
Hifumi’s left-handed blade swept upward from below. The blade edge traced a silvery-white arc, cutting toward the arm with which he held her right hand.
Yuan Qing released his grip and retreated. But he was too slow.
The blade edge grazed past his forearm. It didn’t cut flesh. He staggered back several steps, dropping to one knee, his right hand bracing against the ground as he gasped for breath.
Hifumi, meanwhile, looked down at her right wrist. There were a few shallow red marks there, left by Yuan Qing’s grip.
The White Snake coiled around her left arm, its crimson eyes fixed on Yuan Qing, its tongue flicking out.
Yuan Qing raised his head. Crow feathers churned over his body. He was trying to reassemble.
“Still just a little short.”
“Just a little,” Hifumi nodded. “Your crow feathers aren’t enough. If you still had the reserves from the first round, I wouldn’t have been able to break free from that grip just now.”
Neither side denied this assessment.
If his crow feathers had been sufficient, the moment he grasped Hifumi’s wrist, he could have used hardened crow feathers to lock her joints, preventing her from switching hands or blades.
But they weren’t enough. From the first round until now, he had used too many.
Hifumi raised the cold blade. “With this next move, I hope to bring this fight to a definitive end.”
She didn’t attack. She waited, waiting for her opponent to fully reassemble his body.
Waiting for him to be able to respond to her with his whole heart.
Mine Mizuho, only you are special.
You’re flying.
In the arena of twelve thousand people, everyone watched the black figure kneeling on one knee. They watched the new feathers slowly grow on his incomplete wings, watched the missing parts of his face be filled in piece by piece with crow feathers.
Yuan Qing’s breathing gradually steadied. The crow feathers were still churning, but he could already feel power flowing back. Not a lot, but enough. Enough was fine.
He raised his head, looked at Hifumi, and then raised his fists once more.
Without any exchange, Hifumi also raised her blade, responding to her opponent’s resolve.
Mine Mizuho, I really dislike your fighting style. Too proud. Always clinging to unrealistic fantasies, as if with just a little more effort, victory won’t abandon you, and you can defeat me.
Even though you’re almost at your limit. Even though your crow feathers are almost gone. Even though your body has just barely reassembled, and you can barely stand steady.
“You truly are an asura demon…”
“Of course,” Yuan Qing replied.
No extra crow feathers condensed into a “Crane” or a “Falcon.” All Yuan Qing could do now was throw punches.
Simple. Direct. Even primitive.
He took a step forward. Hifumi’s sharp edge was already before his eyes.
Yuan Qing twisted sideways. The blade edge grazed past his black robe. Simultaneously, he threw a right punch, aiming for the side of the blade.
Hifumi withdrew her blade to block.
“Thud—”
It was just flesh and bone striking the blade. The sound was dull.
Hifumi retreated half a step. Yuan Qing advanced half a step.
Hifumi’s blade suddenly changed direction, shifting from a block to a slicing attack. The blade traced an arc, cutting from the side toward Yuan Qing’s ribs. But with “Hawk’s” enhancement, Yuan Qing kept up.
He retracted his fist, twisted his body, letting the blade edge graze his robe. At the same time, his right wing suddenly flapped. The few remaining crow feathers detached, shooting toward Hifumi’s face at extremely close range.
Hifumi tilted her head to dodge. But this tilt made her blade slow for an instant.
Yuan Qing seized the chance to throw a punch. This punch pierced through her blade’s light, aiming for her shoulder.
Hifumi had no time to block. Her body instinctively leaned back to dissipate the force. The fist brushed past her shoulder. It didn’t land solidly, but it still created a bit of space.
Both sides maintained the current standoff, thinking about how to completely subdue the other while taking the chance to rest.
“Haa…”
Yuan Qing tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling, and let out a long breath.
Hifumi lowered her head slightly, her eyes fixed intently on Yuan Qing.
“You can’t lose, Hifumi,” the White Snake rubbed against Hifumi with its tail. “If you lose this match, you’re finished.”
“…”
Hifumi remained silent.
Yuan Qing overheard the White Snake’s whisper.
“You didn’t become a Magical Girl just for yourself.”
“…I know,” Hifumi’s tone toward the White Snake was very soft.
It’s about time.
Hifumi’s blade was faster than before. Every slash carried a whistling wind. Every slash precisely aimed for Yuan Qing’s vital points. But Yuan Qing didn’t retreat. He weaved through the flashes of the blade, twisting, pulling back his shoulders, ducking his head.
Every slash grazed past his skin. Every slash missed by just that little bit.
Hifumi’s swordsmanship had a pattern. All swordsmanship had patterns. And where there were patterns, there were naturally unpredictable elements outside those patterns.
Hifumi’s blade grew faster and faster. Yuan Qing’s evasions became more and more extreme.
His stamina was draining rapidly. His legs began to feel weak. His breathing grew ragged. But “Hawk” was still operating. Still analyzing. Still searching.
Searching for that moment of laxity in Hifumi’s attacks.