Their arms locked again mid-strike, forearms grinding with sheer pressure.
Stone beneath them shattered.
Again.
And again.
Neither faltered.
Sweat beaded on Riku's brow—not from fatigue, but from sheer focus. Akuma's movements were monstrous in precision, like a machine born of war.
Their legs twisted, Riku aiming for a sweep—Akuma flipped over it, countering with a downward punch.
Riku caught the wrist.
Slid in.
Uppercut.
Akuma slid back, cracking his neck.
Then, for the first time…
He paused.
His crimson-black eyes narrowed—not in anger, not in amusement, but in recognition.
"…Tch."
"What?" Riku asked, still in stance.
Akuma let out a low breath. "You look just like him."
Riku's eyes flickered. "Who?"
Akuma didn't smile this time.
"Don't play dumb. I know who you are now."
He took a step forward—not to fight, but to speak.
"You're the brat of Naizen Hayashi."
Riku's heart skipped.
The name. The tone. The weight behind those words.
"…What did you just say?"
Akuma tilted his head slightly. "Your father. Naizen. Quiet, brooding type. Carried himself like he owned the Rift. Too proud for his own good."
Riku's fists clenched. "You knew him?"
"I fought him."
The air changed.
Akuma's voice lowered, but carried force like thunder under the skin.
"We first crossed paths in a Rift Zone—some shattered pocket in the Abyss where even time refused to flow. He didn't say a word. Just looked at me like I didn't belong there." Akuma exhaled. "He was wrong."
Riku's breathing deepened.
Akuma continued.
"We met again years later. He tried to stop me—tried to cut me off on my path to another Rift. Said something about 'balance'… and 'protecting the threshold.'"
Akuma's hand opened and closed slowly.
"He came at me with everything. Fierce. Desperate. Like he was defending more than just the Rift. Maybe... you."
Riku's throat dried. "And?"
Akuma locked eyes with him.
"I killed him."
The words struck harder than any punch.
No drama. No boast.
Just a statement.
Fact.
Riku didn't speak.
He couldn't.
Akuma stepped closer.
"He died well, if that matters. Better than most. But in the end—he was just another wall to break."
Riku stared, unmoving.
Then he raised his fists again.
Akuma's grin returned, though there was no cruelty behind it—only resolve.
"You got his eyes. But you're sharper. Faster. Stronger. You've already passed him."
Riku's voice, when it came, was low. Hollow.
"…Then let me show you what his son can do."
And the fight resumed.
Faster than before.
Harder.
Fueled by memory, by pain, by fire.
But still—no powers.
Just raw will.
And neither backed down.