Cote Crossovers | Alternative Universe.

『Chapter 8 - About Him』

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Today, I had an unusually vivid dream.

It was a recollection of ancient fragments of my memories, of the first time I met Ayanokouji Kiyotaka, which happened to be on this day a few years ago.

That specific date had always held special significance for me. It wasn’t just because April 2nd was my birthday, but that it also marked the day I discovered his existence.

Perhaps hearing his name triggered the dream, or maybe it was the fact that exactly six years have passed since I last saw him. Regardless, I would never forget that fateful encounter.

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.

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“Get ready. The fight will start in 5 seconds.”

The announcement echoed through the vast, sterile chamber. A world of endless white that stretched out in every direction, leaving nothing but an oppressive void.

In the center of the ethereal expanse, two figures stood facing each other. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, a silence that hummed with the anticipation of violence. The fighters assumed their stances, bodies coiled like springs ready to explode into motion.

One was an adult, his body honed and disciplined, clad in the professional attire of a seasoned combatant. His muscles were taut, his eyes calm and focused, betraying years of experience and countless battles fought and won. His opponent, however, was an enigma.

He was a boy no older than ten, with tousled brown hair and an air of quiet intensity. He wore a strange, form-fitting black suit that clung to his small frame, its material unlike anything I’d ever seen.

The suit seemed to hum with an almost imperceptible energy, a subtle reminder that this was no ordinary child. His eyes, gold and unreadable, locked onto the adult with a calmness that was unsettling.

That calm, vacant expression, those cold, sharp eyes, and that unmatched poker face — everything came together to form an emotionless facade that revealed nothing about him.

I came to understand that the child had no need to hide something that didn’t exist. The contrast between the two was crystal clear.

The man, a towering figure of strength and experience, hiding behind a carefully crafted mask, concealing his thoughts, versus the boy, a seemingly fragile child whose very presence defied explanation, openly displaying the unfiltered truth of his inner self.

“Begin!”

The referee’s whistle sliced through the air, and in the blink of an eye, the two fighters lunged at each other. The silence of the void was shattered by the clash of bodies, a symphony of violence as they exchanged blows with lightning speed.

Attack, defense, attack, defense — the rhythm was relentless. The adult moved with precision, each strike calculated and deadly. But for all his skill, he found himself on the defensive, pushed back by the boy’s ferocious assault.

The child’s movements were fluid, almost unnatural in their speed and agility. Only I, and perhaps his opponent, could truly follow the boy’s movements. He fought with a savagery that belied his age, each strike delivered with a force that I would have thought to be impossible for someone so young, if I couldn’t do it myself.

I watched in a slight interest, unable to appropriately describe the sight unfolding before me.

The adult, a seasoned warrior, was being overwhelmed, even dominated, by a child who wasn’t much older than me.