"If justice cannot survive in this world, then let us become its last breath."
It took nearly two hours to reach the resistance's hidden base—though calling it a base was generous. Rentarō and Enju followed Hotaru through collapsed tunnels, sewers, and burnt-out subway lines. Along the way, more cursed children joined them. Silent. Thin. Watching Rentarō with suspicion that felt centuries older than their faces.
They had all seen too much.
The Burrow connected to an abandoned metro control station deep beneath District 14's ruins. Broken monitors lined the walls, most shattered. A few still sparked, displaying grainy images of empty streets above. Makeshift bunks had been set up between the old maintenance bays. A single generator hummed in the back, powering lights no brighter than candle flames.
Inside, twenty-five people—adults and children—watched as Rentarō entered.
Sumire had been right.
The resistance wasn't an army.
It was a shelter of those who had nowhere left to go.
A man with a greying beard stepped forward. His left arm was gone below the elbow, bandaged tightly.
"Name's Karasuma. Former Promoter, Civil Security Company 6," he said. "And you're Satomi."
Rentarō nodded. "I am."
"Didn't expect you to crawl out of your grave."
"I didn't expect to survive the last time I opened my mouth in front of the Council," Rentarō replied.
Karasuma let out a short, bitter laugh. "Fair enough."
He pointed to a corner of the room, where a hand-drawn map of Tokyo's inner sectors was pinned to a stained corkboard.
"Council's been consolidating hard," he said. "They've taken every known Promoter ID system and twisted it into a tracking grid. If you so much as check into a food distribution center, they'll tag you."
"Cursed children?" Rentarō asked.
Karasuma's face darkened. "Disappearing by the dozens. Some are executed. Some are sent out of the city. Others… we don't know."
Enju clenched her fists. Rentarō put a hand on her shoulder.
"What about Seitenshi?" he asked.
"She's alive," Karasuma said. "But isolated. Any loyalist movement gets snuffed out before it takes shape. They're leaving her as a symbol—but killing everything she stood for."
Rentarō's eyes flicked to the map. "And the Seven Stars?"
Karasuma nodded. "They've divided the city like a pie. Each councilor controls a zone. But there's a rumor—just a whisper—that Tendo Kisara is building something. A new class of Initiators. Not just cursed children—something else."
Hotaru, who had been sitting nearby, finally spoke.
"I heard that name before," she said. "She used to protect us."
Rentarō turned to her. "She did."
He didn't say anything more.
Didn't explain how Kisara had chosen vengeance over justice. How she had used him. How she had nearly killed him to destroy the old world's chains.
He didn't have the strength to say it out loud.
Later that night, Rentarō sat alone near the generator, sketching notes into a small, torn notebook. Routes, names, access points—old habits he couldn't break.
Enju walked up, carrying a dented mug of heated water.
"No coffee," she said. "But it's warm."
He took it, smiled faintly. "Thanks."
They sat in silence for a moment. The air buzzed with the distant hum of failing tech.
"Do you think Kisara really believes she's saving this world?" Enju asked quietly.
"I think she stopped caring whether the world survives," Rentarō said. "She only cares about the guilty suffering."
Enju looked down.
"She used to smile," she whispered.
"I know."
The next morning, Rentarō stood before the resistance members.
The children sat along the edges—watchful. The adults leaned forward, sensing something in the change of his posture. He wasn't asking for help anymore.
He was taking responsibility.
"District 7's suppression unit is deploying a transport in two nights," he began. "Carrying weapons, tracking drones, and something they've been calling Project Chrysalis."
Karasuma frowned. "What's that?"
"Not sure yet," Rentarō said. "But it's being sent to Kisara's new forward research facility."
A low murmur spread through the room.
"She's preparing for something," Rentarō continued. "And we've got one shot to intercept that convoy before she locks it down. If we don't, she'll have the means to eliminate every last Initiator that doesn't kneel."
Hotaru stepped forward from the shadows.
"You want us to fight?" she asked, staring up at him.
"No," Rentarō said softly. "I want you to survive."
Then he turned to the room.
"But I'm going. With whoever's willing."
He let the silence settle. Then, one by one, hands rose.
Karasuma. Two cursed children. A quiet woman with an old rifle. Enju, without hesitation.
And Hotaru—her eyes unreadable—lifted her hand last.
"I'm tired of hiding," she said.
Rentarō nodded.
"Then let's show them," he said, voice rising. "That the heart of this city still beats."
**Elsewhere — Kisara's Research Compound**
The specimen floated in a tank of pale-blue fluid. Its body was humanoid—limbs proportioned like a cursed child's—but its eyes were blank. No pupils. No light.
"Status?" Kisara asked, arms crossed, hair tied up in a sharp braid.
The lab technician bowed. "The Chrysalis prototype is stable. Neural links complete. Awaiting the final command sequence."
She stared through the glass.
It wasn't just a weapon.
It was a message.
That justice didn't require innocence.
Only obedience.
She turned.
"Prepare it for transport."
"Yes, Lady Tendo."
Kisara looked toward the shattered skyline of Tokyo in the distance.
He'll come, she thought.
And when he does, I'll show him what justice looks like… without mercy.