Villain Child

Hideaki pushed himself up, trembling violently, swaying like a drunk, one hand gripping a wound on his ribs.

And then he laughed.

A shaky, breathless, delirious laugh.

"Heh-ehe... Ehehe-he-hehe...!"

He wiped blood from his mouth, smearing it across his cheek.

"Finall-y... m-myself again..."
His voice shook — not from power, but from exhaustion.

"Those stupid boobs were s-so annoying!" he spat with venom, his voice warped with anger and glee.

Pixie stepped back unconsciously.

Hideaki tightened his grip on the axe. His fingers slipped on the blood coating the handle.

"And n-now..."

His eyes dilated with manic euphoria.

"PREPARE TO DIE FOR REAL!!!"

He lunged again — stumbling mid-motion — but still swinging with murderous intent.

His body was failing.
His stamina gone.
But his bloodlust carried him forward.

A berserker running on broken bones and adrenaline.

"W–What the hell is happening!?" Ken's eyes widened in terror.

He watched it happen. He saw Hideaki — someone with feeling of unsettling weird vibes radiating from him, someone he had felt threatened by, someone who showed uncontrolled bursts of aggression every time they met. Someone he never fully trusted, since their first meeting at Seiji's apartment.

And now, that same person had just fought an unbelievably insane battle. But the way Hideaki looked now… the sheer madness he radiated… it made Ken’s fear of him grow stronger and stronger.

He tried not to scream.

He gazed at Rika who was drowning in tears, shaking from the pain caused by her drained Ability.

"Rika! Please hold on! I-it'll be okay!" He said desperately, trying to cheer her up, but deep inside he was not believing his own words.

And Seiji — despite the crushing exhaustion — forced himself to keep looking for a way out, an escape path, anything. But even if he tried, the crushing feeling of heavy mind, made by one of Pixie's Magic Abilities, made him pause his thinking, too often.

Meanwhile,

Hideaki was already on the brink. His breathing was ragged, uneven, his hands trembling so violently he could barely keep hold of the axe. And yet — he kept attacking. Every strike was desperate, uncontrolled, driven not by skill but by raw fury.

The blade sliced through the air unevenly — too low, too high, too wide. Sometimes he nearly tripped just trying to swing again, stumbling over his own steps.

Pixie dodged, blocked, parried — but even she felt how wild and unpredictable his movements had become.

They moved like two shadows locked in a chaotic, murderous dance where either one could die at any second.

Pixie finally decided to go all out. Her hand flared with an explosion of colors — multiple Magic Abilities at once.

Then she struck.

Fire scorched Hideaki's skin, leaving it blackened.
Ice spikes pierced into his side.
A blast of wind slammed him into the wall so hard he coughed up blood.

Hideaki collapsed for a second, his body twitching. He was burnt, bleeding, and shaking. His teeth clenched in pure rage.

"Looks like I'm in the winning position, sweetie! MUHAHAH!" Pixie laughed, raising her hands for another move.

'Tch- N-no! She's not gonna kill me! She's- she's n-not! That fucking bitch! I hate her!'

His blood boiled.

His skin burned. His wounds were pouring blood excessively, like someone had opened valves in his body. His legs refused to obey him; he swayed as if he might fall — but still pushed forward, fueled entirely by hatred.

Pixie clearly sensed the immense surge of unstable mana inside him — overwhelming, abnormal, unlike anything she recognized.

"You have something powerful in you! Some... rare Magic Ability? If so then I WANT TO HAVE IT TOO!!!" she grinned and just as she reached toward him,

Pixie froze.

In a split second she saw her reflection on the axe's blade.

A twisted smile. Eyes hollow.

A sharp pain shot through her chest — not from a wound, but from a memory.

Her fingers stopped an inch from Hideaki's skin.

A breath hitched in her chest.

A pulse of pain — memory, not injury:

A cramped, dirty apartment.

Her mother's shaking hands stealing trinkets with her weak Magic Ability.

No father. No money. No warmth.

"Sorry, Keiko-chan... this is all I can do."

Then — her own Magic Ability awakening.

Not harmless theft like her mother's.

But something much darker... violent.

The power to steal someone's Magic Ability itself.

Then, her school's memories flooded back: her lonely childhood, the mockery of her classmates and taunts calling her a "Ability thief", "Villain child".

"Stealing others' powers will never make you special! It's a crime against everyone!" she recalled her teacher's harsh words.

Then, a question nagged at her: 'Is ridiculing a child any better?'

She tried reaching out to classmates just to be shoved away.

Teachers were afraid.

Children ridiculed her.

Some parents demanded that she be transferred to a school for "threats."

Then, years later;

A pastel ice cream shop.

Her first job.

The smell of vanilla and wafers gave her the illusion of a place where no one hated her.

She served people with a smile, even if something hurt underneath like a fresh wound.

In a pastel world, she could pretend to be normal.

Then the moment everything broke.

One summer, a group of school "friends" who had always bullied her came for ice cream.

They started recording her.

Making fun of her mother.

Calling her a thief.

One boy grabbed her wrist and said with a mocking laugh,

"You're not going to steal my magic through a cup, are you? Show me how powerful you are, you monster."

Pixie felt something new.

Not pain.

Not fear.

Emptiness.

And in that emptiness — an impulse.

The innocent touch of her hand on his skin was enough.

The boy screamed, feeling his Magic Ability "disappear" as if someone had cut him from the inside.

The others fled in panic.

Pixie was left alone, wallowing in the ice cream spill from the overturned machine, as if the white and pink streaks were a symbol of her new birth.

That day, she felt power.

She felt that the world that had wronged her...

was not untouchable.

After the event, her psyche "broke" in a very characteristic way:

she began styling herself like a pastel, overly saccharine doll, contrasting her inner self with her outer appearance;

she became theatrical, overly expressive;

her laugh became too high-pitched, too long, too forced;

she learned to pretend to be "cute," but her eyes always betrayed a cold fascination with human weakness;

she began to see people as "toys" who either hurt her or whom she might hurt.

In the pastels of the ice cream parlor, she learned to smile.

In the macabre, she learned to lie.

In the boy's scream, she learned to love fear.

A tear she refused to let fall.

In the reflection on the axe, she saw that monster clearly.

Her own creation.

Her own downfall.

'I just wanted to be strong...'

she thought, and for the first time in years, her eyes trembled.

That moment—

that single heartbeat—

was her final mistake.

Hideaki swung, tripping over his own foot. The axe flew in a completely different direction than he intended. He didn't control the trajectory. He didn't aim.

--and then his wild swing flew toward her neck.