Kujo laughed—not mockingly, but almost like he was impressed.
"Whatever it is—it can't be too bad. Let's test it out, kid."
Niko was still catching his breath, a little overwhelmed by the lingering feeling in his chest—like something inside him had been rewritten.
He looked up. "It's called… Burnout," he said slowly, still trying to grasp the weight of it. "Every time I exert myself, I get paralyzed for ten minutes. Could be longer depending on how hard I go."
Kujo raised both brows, then gave a long whistle.
"Oof. That's a rough one."
But before Niko could spiral, Kujo raised a hand and added calmly, "But don't panic just yet. Punishments like that? They don't hit unless you're really pushing it. I mean really, really pushing yourself. Like, blowing past your natural limits, going all-out like your life depends on it."
Niko blinked, eyes narrowing. "So… I won't get paralyzed just for using a move?"
Kujo shook his head. "Nah. Contracts are smarter than that. You get punished when you abuse the power, not just when you use it. That's the whole point—it's a balance system. So unless you're trying to tear a mountain in half or vaporize a ring, you should be fine."
Niko nodded slowly, letting that settle his nerves a bit.
Then Kujo said something that caught him off guard.
"Also—contracts can change."
Niko looked up, surprised. "Wait, really?"
Kujo gave a slow nod, folding his arms. "It's rare, but it happens. If you grow. If you evolve past the contract itself, or if the House decides you're ready to handle something different—it might shift. New punishment, new rules, maybe even a stronger form of your power. But that kind of thing takes time. And survival."
He gave Niko a hard look. "So don't go wishing for it."
Niko nodded again, then Kujo's tone turned serious.
"One more thing. Don't ever tell anyone about your contract. Not your punishment, not the details, nothing. Keep that between you and the House."
Niko raised an eyebrow with a crooked smile. "Didn't I just tell you mine though?"
Kujo winked. "Your fault, kid."
Niko let out a breath, the nerves melting into something new—excitement.
"Alright… I wanna try something."
Kujo took a step back, giving him space.
Niko focused, channeling energy into his core. He thought of Blitz. But instead of the usual burst forward, the moment he activated the move—his body didn't lurch.
Instead, a glowing energy fist blasted out from his side, clean and fast—so fast it was almost invisible. It rocketed across the floor straight for Kujo.
The old man's eyes lit up. He lifted his arm just in time, catching the strike with one forearm, skidding slightly as the blow pushed him back.
When the force faded, he lowered his arm and chuckled.
"Now that," Kujo said, shaking out his shoulder, "is an upgrade."
Niko stared at his hand, breath catching as faint trails of energy still danced between his fingers. The surge of power was unlike anything he'd ever felt—clean, focused, and alive. A rush of wind brushed past him from the remnants of the energy punch, and he clenched his hand tighter, grounding himself.
He looked down at his sword resting nearby.
What if I channel Blitz through the blade…?
Gripping the hilt, he stood tall and inhaled deeply. The marble beneath his feet seemed to hum with anticipation. He held the sword steady, then willed Blitz—not into his body, but into the weapon itself.
The result was immediate.
A radiant pulse crawled across the steel, coating the blade in crackling energy. He swung instinctively, clean and swift.
VWOOSH!
A gleaming arc of energy shot from the blade's tip, slicing forward like a radiant crescent. It didn't tear the ground or shake the arena, but it flew, controlled and precise, until it faded into the air.
Niko blinked.
"That was—" He lowered the sword, smiling. "That was clean."
It reminded him of Juno's first strike in his battle against Iri—simple, fast, and sharp. That slice of darkness wasn't a catastrophic explosion or dramatic shockwave—it was a warning, a demonstration. Now, Niko had done the same… in his own way.
He turned to Kujo and walked over.
Then, with a respectful tilt of his head and a small bow, he said, "Thank you. For showing me all this."
Kujo, arms crossed and chest bare, gave a slow nod and scratched his chin. "No problem, kid. You've got decent instincts. Just remember—don't get cocky."
Niko smirked, "Yeah, yeah."
"Seriously," Kujo added with a sideways grin. "You're on the first step of a long, mean staircase. Power's not always your friend."
Niko nodded, letting those words settle. He turned, slipping through the heavy curtain once more. The sudden warmth and light of the city beyond greeted him, the gentle hum of life all around.
He wandered.
Stalls lined the stone walkways—some made of torn cloth and crooked wood, others carved into the wall itself. The air smelled faintly of spice and firewood. People talked, argued, laughed. Small children ran between legs, and somewhere, someone played a flute.
Niko walked quietly, soaking it all in.
Then his eyes landed on a small fruit stand. Mangos. Perfectly ripened, a golden-orange sheen under the dim glow of a nearby lamp. The vendor had stacked them carefully, almost like treasure.
Niko stopped.
He could already imagine Iri's reaction. She'd pretend she didn't want it. Say something like "That's unnecessary." But he knew her well enough by now. She'd eat the whole thing quietly, pretending she wasn't enjoying it.
He chuckled to himself.
He reached toward the stand—then hesitated.
He lowered his hand slowly.
"Not yet," he said under his breath. "I'll buy them… after I beat someone."
Because something about that felt right. He wanted to earn it. The power, the victories, even the little things like a fruit for a friend.
He turned back toward the open path of the Pale Arc's "city." His sword rested at his waist. His energy was alive again, humming beneath the surface.
And for the first time since entering the House, Niko felt like he wasn't just surviving.
He was becoming something.
Niko stepped past the mango stand, still thinking about which one Iri would've liked. He made a mental note to come back—after he earned it. Maybe after a good fight. He smiled to himself, proud of how far he'd come since meeting Kujo.
As he turned into a narrower side street, the noise of the crowd dimmed. Fabric awnings fluttered above, and the stone underfoot felt smoother, older. It was quieter here—less like a market, more like a neighborhood.
That's when he almost bumped into someone.
A kid, by the looks of it.
She stood in the center of the path, short and small-framed, maybe ten years old at most. Her blonde hair was cut just above her shoulders and messy, like it had no intention of being combed. She had large, deep brown eyes, and slightly flushed cheeks like she'd been running earlier. Her clothes were simple—just a long tunic and shorts, dusty from the road.
She was holding something in her hand. A piece of cloth, or maybe a folded paper. Niko couldn't tell.
"Oh—sorry," he said, stepping back.
She didn't even look up.
"You okay?" Niko asked, leaning a little. "You're kinda just standing—"
"Move," she said quietly. Not angry. Just… dismissive.
Niko blinked, taken aback.
She still didn't look up. Just walked around him without another word, her light footsteps vanishing down the path.
"…Okay then," Niko muttered under his breath, watching her go. "Grumpy kid."
Still, he stood there a moment longer.
He didn't know why, but something about her gave him pause. Not fear, exactly—just… a weird absence. Most people in the House gave off something. Some feeling of danger or confusion or pressure. She didn't.
She felt like nothing.
But Niko shrugged it off. There were all kinds of people in this city. He had other things to focus on. Like finding someone to test his new strength.
He turned and headed back toward the main streets, the shadows of the alley falling quiet behind him.
Niko stepped out of the alley and stretched his arms, the echoes of that strange encounter with the kid already fading from his thoughts. He was too amped up, too energized by his newly awakened power to dwell on weird little moments. The city buzzed around him—voices, clatter, laughter, trade—and somewhere in it all, he was sure there had to be someone strong.
He started wandering with purpose, moving through the dense walkways of the Pale Arc's strange marketplace. Colorful banners flapped overhead. Metal clicked against stone. Smells of spiced meat and strange oils drifted in the air.
He approached the first person he saw with a sword on their hip.
"Hey, wanna spar?"
The woman looked him up and down, then shook her head. "Too pretty to bruise, kid."
Niko blinked. "Wait, what?"
But she was already walking off.
Next, he spotted a tall man in plated armor, sipping soup at a cart.
"You free for a spar?"
The man laughed mid-bite and wiped his beard. "Only fight I want is between me and this bowl, kid."
Niko huffed, moving on.
He tried a third—this one a cloaked figure with wild tattoos. Before he could even get the question out, the man snapped, "Buzz off." No eye contact. No chance.
It was frustrating.
But just as Niko opened his mouth to try again—
BOOM!
The ground rumbled. Screams ripped through the air. Niko froze, head snapping toward the sound. Smoke curled up from a plaza not far off, rising in thick, dark coils into the sky.
Without hesitation, Niko bolted toward it.
When he reached the plaza, the scene sent a cold rush through his spine.
A crowd had scattered, panicked and screaming. Stone tiles were scorched black, chunks of the ground torn up from some kind of blast. And at the center of it all, a man stood atop a long, blood-stained sword—his sword—currently skewering another warrior who was twitching weakly beneath him.
The man was slender, shirtless, with wild red hair that looked like fire kissed it at birth. His skin was pale, and his eyes—
Demon red.
Glowing, cruel, and filled with something deeply wrong.
He leaned down over the dying man impaled on his blade, mouth twisting into an unsettling grin. He moaned, slow and theatrical, like the sound gave him pleasure.
"Oh my… oh my…" he said, voice high with joy, "this is gonna be the best!"
His laughter rang through the air like cracking glass.
And Niko, fists tightening, stepped forward.