Click.
Haji paused, his breathing hard and heavy. Jarvis, on the other hand, gulped as he held his pistol steadily.
"You should’ve just given up, Hajime," Jarvis breathed out, his body starting to relax—not out of complacency. "Why... why do you have to struggle so much?"
His face twitched as he ground his teeth, glaring at Haji with murderous intent. What angered Jarvis the most was not Gene’s death, nor the fact that this chaos had spiraled out of proportion, but that Haji was too persistent. Jarvis knew he had to deal with him himself.
"You truly are just like your father," he added under his breath, eyes glinting. "You just don’t know when to give up."
Haji smirked, glancing over his shoulder. "If I weren’t like him, you wouldn’t have stopped here to deal with me yourself."
Jarvis narrowed his eyes at Haji’s back, scoffing. "Surely, you and your father also share that same rude tongue."
Because that was true.
Since Jarvis had been taken in by the Ha family, it was clear to him that Haji’s father was not any better than him. Be it in their studies or their fighting styles, one could clearly see the difference—that Jarvis was better, smarter, more strategic.
Unlike the other, who was more carefree and relied on a straightforward fighting style.
Haji’s father’s only advantage was that he was the son of the governor, and Jarvis was not. If anything, Jarvis’s family had committed treason, only for the governor to forgive Jarvis after deeming him innocent of his parents’ wrongdoing.
"Your father and I would’ve been good friends, Hajime," Jarvis remarked, his finger caressing the trigger. "And none of this would have happened if they had just been less righteous. But your father, your grandfather, your grandmother, and even those who claimed to be their loyal followers all acted like they were faultless."
His eyelids drooped. "But in truth, they were all just as rotten. And they... including the rest of us, all belong to hell."
"It was a long fight full of struggle, but you are right. Unless there is only one of us left, this will be an endless cycle—a cycle that can only be broken if one of us is dead."
Jarvis paused again, staring at the man whose back was turned to him. He felt no lingering sentiment about Gene’s death. After all, since Gene was born, Jarvis had never seen him as his own, nor had he ever felt anything paternal toward him.
If anything, Gene was more like a... project.
Someone he could mold with his own beliefs. Obviously, Gene was a failed project because, unlike Jarvis, he was soft in many ways.
But Haji...
Jarvis let out a deep exhale, trying to suppress memories of the past—memories he thought he had buried when he betrayed the late governor and the man he once called brother. But he was wrong. Now, as he stood on the verge of ending Haji’s life, those memories and nearly forgotten emotions resurfaced.
After all, Haji—the young Haji—was the first and only one who truly believed Jarvis was better than the others. Young and foolish as he was, Haji used to look at him with so much admiration that, at one point, it made Jarvis want to do good.
And since young Haji sought him out more than anyone else, Jarvis could safely say he had raised him. He was even the one who taught Haji how to read and write. He was like Haji’s father.
And if I’m being honest... I would’ve preferred it if you had sided with me back then.
Had Haji listened to him, Haji wouldn’t have lived such a hard life. He would have retained his title, his comfort, and everything that was once his.
If only Haji hadn’t looked at him like a monster on the night of the uprising—if he hadn’t left that lasting impression—Jarvis would have made him governor when the time was right. They could have ruled the entire region of Ha together.
But no.
That night—what Haji did and what he said—made one thing painfully clear to Jarvis: in times of crisis, blood was thicker than water. No matter the bond they shared, Jarvis was not his father.
Perhaps it was Jarvis’s bittersweet attachment to the only meaningful connection he ever had that made him turn a blind eye and let Haji live this long. Perhaps that was why Haji was allowed to escape this territory not once, but twice—and return for the third time.
BANG!
SLAM!
Jarvis brushed his disheveled hair back. Blood and bruises marked his face and clothes as he stood over Haji, panting. He spat blood to the side and searched for the pistol, but it was gone, kicked away during the fight.
"Hah..." Jarvis exhaled sharply, fixing his gaze on Haji one last time. He was prepared to beat him to death, but Haji was already broken. There was no way he could chase him anymore.
"Die," Jarvis whispered. "Hajime, if you live... I will be the first to hunt you down. So just... die."
Stepping back, Jarvis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The sound of a chopper thundering overhead reached his ears. He couldn’t afford to stay.
He turned away, limping.
He might have won the close-quarters fight, but his age had taken its toll. Without the chair, he wasn’t sure he would’ve held the upper hand.
Never mind that, he thought, exhausted. I just have to go...
"AHHH!"
Jarvis froze as a scream erupted behind him. Slowly, he turned, and his pupils constricted.
Haji was still standing, still running... straight at him.
"You—"
Before Jarvis could process it, Haji tackled him straight through the floor-length window.
And before he even knew it, he was already free-falling off the building.

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