All it took was a plane crash, and Kise Ryota was no more.
Strangely enough, he didn't feel sadness, only regret. Regret for not checking his engine beforehand. Regret for missing out on his friends with his job as a pilot. Regret for not spending t...
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He lifted his right arm out of reflex as he noticed the foreign object that aimed for him. In his mouth were his toothbrush and the mixture of paste and water. Ryota, upon hearing the sound of glass shattering, had hurried to the living to take a look.
His left hand quickly pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth, a second before his right wrist got caught in a rusty chain that sent him tumbling forward on the floor. He grimaced, both from the harsh and unexpected fall, and the taste of the diluted toothpaste going down his throat.
Shura's guard slightly dropped as he alarmedly glanced at his Future Boss before he voicelessly snarled, stalking closer to the green head without a care for his safety. How could he allow Mikaël to get into harm's reach while he was present?
Ryota's left hand easily let go of the plastic toothbrush as he instinctively rolled his body to the left, narrowly dodging another chain charging his way. He released a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding before raising his head to take a better look at his aggressors.
Three draped figures proudly stood in the middle of the shattered glass that lay on the parquet. There were no uttered words, no grand movements, but their momentum was comparable to the one Ryota felt when he saw Aleksey— no, perhaps was it even greater?
Unlike the Pakhan who silently stalked its prey like an awk, piercing golden hues never leaving its target, the concealed figures exuded a prominent smell of despair. Aleksey was Death, the Men were Despair. Both were emotions Ryota was all too familiar with, but to meet the impersonation of such feelings wasn't something he expected.
He did a backward roll, cursing at the t-shirt that wasn't tucked in his joggings before standing up in one fluid motion. His eyes barely spared the chain that embedded itself where he previously laid a glance as a chill went down his spine. Despite all his talks about not fearing death, Ryota did fear the notion of the afterworld. Now more than ever as he had found himself a place to call his own.
His eyes minutely darted to check on Shura and Zhihao's condition before he focused back on the intruders. "So," he panted. "Who are you?" he questioned, a sly smirk automatically taking over his lips.
Ryota wasn't aware, but his 'calm' reaction, as well as his steady speech despite the Vindice's presence, was something the Past him would have never achieved. It was the result of his work, adaptation, challenges that toughened him up since he meddled with the underworld. It was the incarnation of his growth as an individual.
The Vindicare didn't answer, one of them merely tilting their head aside. Some people who belonged to the Mafia still were unaware of them, or was the question a display of reckless boldness?
