"We were here first." His voice was ice wrapped in velvet. "You want to try us? Go ahead."
Ryueen spread his arms slightly, a gesture of invitation that was also a dare. "You may control the guns. But have you got the balls to pull the trigger? To fire that first shot? To explain to the Chairman why you opened fire on fellow students over territory while the world burns?"
He stepped forward, closing the distance slightly, his grin returning—sharper now, more feral.
"I didn't think so."
The two groups faced each other across the polished mall floor, the silence between them heavier than any gunfire.
Behind them, the empty stores watched like silent witnesses.
Above them, the cameras continued their endless recording.
The game had changed.
But the players were still moving.
Ayanokouji Kiyotaka watched Ryueen's theatrical posturing with an expression of profound boredom.
As Ryueen finished his threat, Ayanokouji actually yawned—a deliberate, almost insulting display of disinterest that made the tension in the air crackle even harder.
"You seem to be misunderstanding something, Ryueen-kun." His voice was flat, emotionless, the tone of someone explaining basic arithmetic to a particularly slow child. "We don't need the Chairman's permission to take this place. When we say it's ours—it's ours. The school's approval is irrelevant. Your 'first claim' is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is who has the power to hold it."
He tilted his head slightly, a gesture that might have been curiosity or might have been the prelude to a death sentence.
"Ichika. Shoot the big one. Show our friend here the price of challenging us."
Ichika Amasawa's face lit up with an expression of pure, unhinged delight.
Her grin stretched wide, too wide, her dark red eyes gleaming with something that looked terrifyingly like love as she gazed at her senpai.
"Yes, Ayanokouji-senpai!" Her voice was almost a squeal, the fangirl enthusiasm grotesquely mismatched with the weapon in her hand. "Let me take care of it. Let me show them. Let me—"
She was already moving, her 9mm spinning in her grip with a fluidity that spoke of extensive training, extensive practice, extensive enjoyment of violence.
She didn't aim at Albert's chest.
Didn't aim to kill.
She aimed at his foot.
BAAM.
The gunshot echoed through the mall like thunder, reverberating off walls and storefronts, a declaration of war that no one could ignore.
Albert's scream followed immediately—a raw, animal sound of agony that cut through the shocked silence of both groups.
He crumpled, his massive frame collapsing as he clutched at his foot, blood pumping between his fingers in rhythmic spurts.
"Boss! Boss, help!" His voice was high, desperate, stripped of all the menace his size usually conveyed. "It hurts! It won't stop bleeding! I can't—fuck, it hurts!"
Behind him, his classmates erupted into chaos. Some rushed forward to help, hands pressing desperately on the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.
Others scrambled into the mall's stores, searching frantically for anything that could serve as bandages, disinfectant, medical supplies.
A few simply stood frozen, their faces pale, their minds struggling to process that someone had actually shot one of them.
Hiyori Shiina's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with accusation. "Are you insane, Ayanokouji-san?! The noise—you'll attract every zombie within hearing distance! You've just endangered everyone in this mall!"
Ayanokouji didn't respond to her. Didn't even glance in her direction.
His eyes remained fixed on Ryueen, watching, cataloguing, assessing.
Ryueen Kakeru's expression had gone completely dark.
Not the performative anger he often displayed, but something deeper—a cold, murderous fury that transformed his face into a mask of barely controlled violence.
His hands trembled slightly at his sides, clenched so tight the knuckles were white. For a long moment, no one moved. No one spoke.
The only sounds were Albert's pained whimpers and the frantic shuffling of his classmates trying to help him.
Finally, Ryueen spoke.
His voice was low, controlled, each word deliberate and weighted with promise.
"Fine." The word was a concession, but it tasted like poison. "You want the mall? You can have it. For now."
He took a step back, then another, his eyes never leaving Ayanokouji's face.
"But this isn't over. My people are coming. Real fighters. People who know how to handle themselves when the rules stop applying. Until they arrive—" his lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile, "—enjoy your peace while it lasts."
He turned, already moving toward the exit.
"Shiina. You stay. Take care of the rear. Make sure Albert doesn't bleed out before we can get him real help."
Hiyori nodded once, her expression unreadable, already kneeling beside the wounded giant to assess the damage.
The rest of Class C followed Ryueen out, their weapons held tighter now, their eyes darting nervously between the retreating figure of their leader and the armed group still holding the mall.
No one spoke. No one looked back.
The doors slid shut behind them, leaving silence in their wake.
The mall fell silent again, save for Albert's pained groans and the hurried footsteps of those trying to save him.
Hiyori Shiina stood motionless for a long moment, her eyes moving from the spreading blood to the smiling Ichika to the utterly expressionless Ayanokouji.
When she finally moved, it was with deliberate calm—kneeling beside Albert, assessing the wound, issuing quiet orders to the panicked students around her.
Ayanokouji watched her with deep look.
The supply lines were secured. The mall was his.
But in the shadows beyond the doors, a wounded jackal was already planning his return.
And jackals, everyone knew, were most dangerous when they had nothing left to lose.