Run Lock Run

A blast of wind roared past Rokuro’s ear as he turned the corner—and nearly slammed into a fruit cart.

“Outta the way granny cart!” he barked, vaulting over a stack of oranges as Kagi swept past him like a ghost. Behind them, a whistle shrieked.

“THERE! THE LOCK!”

A dozen armored boots thundered behind them, joined by the metallic clatter of spears and the angry cries of city guards. The alley stretched on like a tunnel with no end, shadows flickering between walls of sandstone and ivy-covered balconies.

They turned another corner—and skidded to a halt.

A squad of guards blocked the path ahead, blades raised.

“Hands where we can see them!” barked the captain.

“Ah shit,” Rokuro hissed. “How did they even get here first?!”

Kagi didn’t reply. She stepped forward calmly—and with a flick of her wrist, a purple sphere materialised next to her. In an instant the sphere took shape and a purple reflective blade appeared out of thin air. It was sleek, oversized, and shaped like an ornate key, glowing faintly with purple sigils.

Rokuro’s jaw dropped. “Did you just—where were you hiding that?!”

“Focus, delinquent,” Kagi said coolly. “We’re surrounded.”

Kagi exhaled softly, her gaze narrowing as the first soldier lunged at her.

Flick—flash.

In the blink of an eye, she vanished—reappearing behind him in a streak of purple afterlight. Her afterimage shattered like glass just as his blade cut through it.

“Too slow.”

She dragged her keyblade along the ground in a blur—then twisted upward with a clean arc. A shockwave of purple light carved through the air, launching her attacker into a crate behind him with a boom.

A second guard tried to flank her.

“Locked,” she muttered.

A violet sigil bloomed at his feet—snap—and chains of light erupted upward, snaring his arms mid-swing. He struggled, but his sword clattered uselessly to the ground.

She didn’t even look his way. With a flick of her wrist, a thin beam of energy—Keyshot—lashed out and struck his helmet with pinpoint force, knocking him unconscious.

Meanwhile, Rokuro had his fists raised like a boxer ready to fight a lion. 

“No fancy weapons here,” he muttered. “Guess it’s fists versus pointy sticks…”

A spear thrust at him. He dodged instinctively, grabbed the haft, and yanked the guard forward—then slammed his forehead into the guy’s nose.

“Welcome to Tokyo-style crowd control, dumbass!”

But another one charged from behind, swinging a blade down toward his back.

Rokuro turned—and saw it too late.

His eyes widened. “Crap—!”

Just before the strike landed, a surge pulsed through his gauntlet. He couldn’t let it hit him. Purple-white energy sparked along the veins in his arm. A shockwave burst out as he threw a wild desperate counter punch, and—

BANG.

The impact launched the guard clean off his feet, crashing him into a wall with enough force to dent the stone.

Rokuro blinked at his own fist. “…How in the blue hell?!”

He didn’t remember wanting to throw a punch. It all happened so quick…

Kagi took down the last attacker with a clean horizontal slash and turned toward him. “So. You do have potential.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Rokuro responded. “I didn’t do that on purpose!”

Sirens echoed in the distance. More boots. More voices.

They didn’t have time to dwell. Only run.

“This way’s blocked!” Rokuro shouted, skidding to a stop near another alley. Dead end. A crumbling stone wall, too high to climb without—

Kagi was already halfway up a stack of crates.

“Up?” he gawked. “Seriously?!”

“You prefer getting skewered?” she shot back, climbing like it was a morning workout.

With a growl, Rokuro scrambled after her. One crate nearly gave out under his foot, “The hell kinda rat runs up the walls?!”

At the top, Kagi spun and reached a hand down—not helpfully, but to press a finger to her lips. “Quiet.”

Voices barked below. Guards spilled into the alley, blades drawn. But by the time they looked up, the pair had vanished over the rooftop edge.

The rooftops of Crystalor were slick with dew and angled like knife-blades. Kagi ran like she belonged in the air—light steps, dress fluttering, each jump perfectly timed. Rokuro followed like a drunk raccoon trying to do parkour.

“Back in Tokyo, I used to smoke on rooftops—now it’s a life-or-death game of tag in another world!?” Rokuro gritted his teeth as he shouted something that sounded like a light novel title.

Kagi didn’t pay him any mind. She leapt the next gap with a twist of her heel, landing silently on the next roof like a phantom dancer.

Rokuro’s landing was less graceful. He hit the tiles with a loud thud, rolled, and ended up flat on his back, staring at the sky. “What am I even doing with my life?”

“Move!” Kagi hissed, yanking him to his feet.

They ducked under a chimney, skirted a balcony, and kept moving.

But then—

CRACK.

The sound came from under Kagi’s foot.

A split second of weightlessness.

Glass.

A skylight.

“Oi Kagi—!”

Her shoe punched through a decorative roof window. She slipped with a surprised grunt and reflexively grabbed the nearest thing:

Rokuro’s leg.

“Wha—OI—DON’T—!”

Too late.

The glass shattered like an explosion of diamonds, and the world turned sideways.

They landed hard—on old wood, loose quilts, and a pile of dusty cloaks that had clearly been abandoned for years. Rokuro let out a wheeze, tangled in fabric and limbs, one sneaker sticking out from under a moth-eaten tapestry.

Kagi rolled off him with a deadpan sigh. “Your scream was unnecessary.”

“You pulled my leg!” he coughed. “Literally!”

A long silence followed—until they both heard the unmistakable creak of footsteps from below.

A voice, elderly but firm: “I’m warning you! We’re armed down here!”

Rokuro and Kagi froze, eyes locking, still breathless.

“They’re armed…” Rokuro raised a brow, “Can we take them?”

The attic door creaked open—and a wrinkled old man in a patched tunic stepped into view, holding… a mop like a spear. Behind him, a woman peeked out nervously, her hair tied in a bun, clutching a rolled-up piece of parchment.

“We’re armed, I said!” the man barked. “Don’t think we won’t use this!”

Rokuro squinted. “…Does a mop count as a weapon in this world?”

The old man advanced one cautious step, mop held high. “Thieves, rebels, freaks—whichever you are, out! The whole city’s on alert! They’re saying you’re the ones being hunted!”

“Hunted?” Rokuro muttered. “Feels more like pest control the way they’re chasing us…”

Kagi raised both hands slightly, her voice calm and deliberate. “We didn’t mean you any trouble. We’ll leave, quietly.”

Rokuro looked between the old couple and the broken skylight. His shoulders slumped as he got to his feet with a grunt. “Tch… We didn’t even do anything wrong.”

Then his eyes landed on the frightened old couple.

“But I guess these folks didn’t either.”

It would be bad for them if the authorities found the supposed criminals in their house.

He gave the elders a nod. “Alright. We’re gone.”

Kagi turned back, nodding in approval.

The couple was taken aback by how quickly the two supposed criminals complied. They expected thieves, murderers even… but not two honest kids just trying to run away and save their lives.

There was almost something noble in how they agreed to leave potential shelter so they wouldn’t get dragged into the mess.

That certainly wasn’t how criminals would act…

The old woman gave her husband a look. He nodded.

“Wait,” the old woman said softly.

They both froze. Kagi was already pushing Rokuro halfway up the window like a pair of amateur burglars. They turned.

The man lowered the mop, eyes narrowing. “Why are you being hunted?”

Rokuro glanced back. His brow furrowed. “…We’d tell you if we knew.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then the man exhaled, long and tired. He laid the mop down against the wall.

“…Come downstairs,” he said. “Before someone sees you peeking out.”

Kagi and Rokuro exchanged a glance.

“Your call,” she murmured.

Rokuro shrugged. “I say we take the deal. Worst case scenario we fight off a mop."